Reply to an Addendum

Dear Peter M. Ball,

GET OUTTA MY HEAD.

All snark aside, this is actually why I adore Peter as a mental health writer, and value the hell out of him as a friend. Peter has a habit of saying things that I’ve been struggling to figure out how to articulate, or mentioning things in passing that knock me on my ass for a while because they’re so me it’s scary. Also? He was wonderful enough to add a follow on piece to his article here, over at Man Vs Bear. Go, read it. It’s wonderful.

Back? Okay then.

Let me tell you the worst kept secret in the history of secrets: I’m not good at the whole ‘being social’ thing.

Pick your jaw up off the ground, guys. Don’t be mean.

It baffles me most days that I freelance, because it actually hurts to do the job that I love to do. I don’t mean ‘I get a little stressed sometimes’ here. I mean ‘this job dramatically and negatively impacts my mental health on a near daily basis and I force myself to do it anyway for the nuggets of awesome hidden away in the panic and vomiting’.

You see the Insta pics of that latest movie review, right? And it looks like a lot of fun. And in the second that picture is taken, it is fun. And when I say I love my job, I do actually mean that I love that part of my job. But through that photo, what you miss is the lead up- the part where I stress about tickets a dozen times (which reminds me I left the ticket to tonight’s gig at home- fuck), and making sure everyone gets equal spare ticket nabbing privileges, and arranging times to meet up, and getting there early but not too early, and oh gods there’s just so many fucking people. And it’s always worse when it’s a kid’s movie because parents and grandparents are the worst and will push in front of you and teach their loin-leavings to be rude and horrible to other people in general for the sake of getting one spot closer in line. And if you don’t hate kids, parents, and grandparents by the time you’re in your seat, you’re pretty much guaranteed a sainthood.

I hate the lining up bit. And the other people behind me where I can’t see them bit (hyper-vigilance is fun, y’all), and the part where you get knocked into repeatedly or crashed into by kids, or have people reading your phone over your shoulder. And the part where you have to try and make idle chit chat with bored people and you don’t actually know what to say because talking with new people really, really isn’t my strong suit. And god forbid you say something controversial like, ‘Actually, I’m a freelance writer and reviewer’ when they ask what you do or how you managed to get a ticket, because the automatic response is almost always bitchy, and it’s hard to smile and not snark back.

The seeing the movie and talking about it bit? Love it. The interacting with people? Not so much.

Interviews are painful, too, which is why I favour phone interviews to in person ones. On a phone call, no one can see you flailing, and fidgeting, or driving your nails into your palms or your wrists or your legs to stop yourself from panicking because you’re 100% sure you’ve fucked something up even if you’re not sure how you’ve done it.

I have literally drawn blood trying to stop myself having a panic attack during a phone interview. And I still, voluntarily, do interviews.

Even the transcription process hurts, because in listening to the audio I can pinpoint every single stumble I made. Oh, that’s where I screwed up and said the wrong word like a complete moron.

Oh, that’s where I got the name slightly wrong because I’m an asshole.

OMG KYLIE WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?

I can handle in person interviews if I know the person, though even then I’m hyperaware of how awkward I am, and the way I try and cover it over by being, y’know, super happy hyper girl pretending not to be holy shit I think I’m gonna puke girl.

I am not a social butterfly by nature, but I glue those fucking wings on and make do.

 

So when Peter talks about the stress of making a call- I get it. I have started phone interviews with tears running down my face because I’m so panicked. I have had a panic attack down the phone line to my editor when a guy I was meant to interview gleefully screwed me around and I had no idea what to do about i. I have drawn blood trying to focus. I literally have every interview q&a prep page including the following:

Hi [name]! It’s Kylie from [insert publication here]. How are you?

That’s great to hear! Are you still alright for our interview?

Awesome!

Why? Because when I’m anxious- and that’s a certainty with interviews- there’s a high chance I’ll be so focused on not mispronouncing words or stumbling over names that I’ll forget the really basic stuff. Like not coming across like an asshole.

To put it in perspective: my interview with Tim Ferguson is my favourite interview, and the one I was the most confident in. But I still can barely stand to listen to the audio because I know every moment I flailed, and every point I struggled to keep up, and ad-lib questions, and every moment I was flailing stupidly at the phone because oh my gods I really respect this guy and what if I fuck it up? I’m gonna fuck it up, of course I am. That’s what I do.

And that was me on a good day.

Broken Words

There are certain phrases I’ve been programmed to say, regardless of their validity or fairness.

I’m fine, just tired.

I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.

I can’t draw.

Honesty is for the internet, because the conversations online are often less taxing than ones offline. Also? I’m often a coward. It’s easier to take the blame or shrug off the problem than it is to risk the people I know telling me they don’t believe me. My current counsellor calls me an ‘unwilling people pleaser’.

He kinda has a point.

I found myself, over and over, saying I couldn’t draw today. Silliness happened online, and I wanted, needed, to draw it. Me feeling inspired to art, knowing it would be seen by someone I respect the hell out of? It’s rare.

When I was in highschool, I had a shitty art teacher who made me feel like crap about everything I tried to do. I started out passionate, engaged. Not a shocker: growing up when I was asked what I wanted to be, my answer was almost always ‘writer, singer, artist’. Sometimes ‘palaeontologist’ so I could work with my big sister. By the time I graduated I was half-assing assignments like nobody’s business because, over and over, that art teacher told me I was shit at art, and eventually I gave up and started believing.

Grade nine, she ‘helped’ me with an assignment, taking over and adding glue and white paint to the surface of my artwork while I was out of the room. She’d suggested the addition, and I’d said no, I didn’t think it’d work with what I was trying to do. She failed me for those additions, because they were too much and ruined the overall look of it. It clearly didn’t go with what I was trying to do.  She even managed to break the triptych I’d made for an art showing at the school, cutting the linking chains and gluing Velcro to the back of the timber, and basically making sure it couldn’t be salvaged after the event. She hung the pictures- of ghosts, because I was a morbid little shit even back then- upside down. I remember looking at everyone else’s work, all beautifully presented, with mine arranged upside down and lopsidedly haphazard, hidden in the back like it was an embarrassment. In class, the old cow would stand behind me as I worked, pointing out flaws and asking why I couldn’t be like her favourite student.

Four years of that, and it was ingrained pretty well that I suck at art. It took years to even pick up a coloured pencil again. But the thing is, I enjoy being creative. And I’m even okay at it when I get out of my own way.

For the first time in forever, I decided to make something and show someone. It’s not perfect, granted- I’m not going to be animating anything for Disney. But I like it. It’s cute. And it makes me happy. It also makes the person I’m giving it to happy, which is kinda the point.

But still, even looking at a piece of paper covered in proof to the contrary, in the back of my mind I hear ‘I can’t draw.’ To the point I got spooked. I actually worried whether one of my friends would be angry about it- even though he’s the kindest, most easy going person who would never give someone shit for imperfect art. I was genuinely worried he’ll be mad about a picture because ‘I can’t draw’ and he might be offended that I took the silly and made an ugly picture of it even though I know it’s not ugly and actually like it.

My brain is a complicated place to be.

We all have a running narrative of bullshit forced into our heads from ourselves, but also from those around us. The unhelpful relative who tells us that we could stand to lose some weight if we want to get/keep a partner. The teacher who told us boys only like girls who smile (jokes on you, asshole: I still get hit on when I’m scowling, so there!) The helpful sort who explained that creativity is a hobby, not a career, and starving artist is all you’ll ever be because you’re not talented enough to be in the minority of successful art makers.

I’ve recently started cognitive behavioural therapy, which is fucking phenomenal for someone who likes picking things apart to study them. It’s hard, sometimes, but I kinda love it, because it’s like dissecting a story to see how the author made it work.

I am the writer of my life story, and gods dammit, but I’ve made it a hell of a complicated narrative.

In a way, in CBT sessions we play a game: find a negative thought currently fucking me up, and figure out where it came from. What started that fear, or running monologue? And how do I change that belief now?

I was scared to show a friend a picture of some My Little Ponies because a woman told me when I was younger that I can’t ‘do’ art properly. Given she was in a position of authority on the subject and was bullying the hell out of me, I started to believe her, to the point where that voice in my head telling me I suck is hers, even after all these years.

What I didn’t expect was how that ‘you’re not creative’ fucks me over as a writer. I’ve been writing fiction for years, but rarely sharing it. Certainly never getting it published away from spheres I control, even though I want to be an author. But I hesitate, over and over.  Because ‘you’re not creative’ wormed its way into the part of my creativity that means the most to me.

The bullshit we’re told is sneaky. It gets into the nooks and crannies you don’t expect it to be in, until you’re left wondering what the absolute fuck is wrong with you. You chalk yourself up to lazy asshole levels of uselessness, beat yourself up emotionally for the wasted effort, and never realise that there might be something just below the surface.

We’re all a melting pot of our own baggage, and the baggage other people have dumped onto us, knowingly or not.

The thing about epiphanies is that they’re fucking worthless on their own. I am really, really good at having them- at picking things apart and understanding why they’re happening. What I suck at is figuring out how to fix things.

I’m getting slowly better though. Here, I know that Van Gogh had a good point: if you hear a voice saying you can’t paint, paint and it’ll stfu. Push through, and take some of the pressure off, and suddenly that big scary ‘can’t’ is turning into a ‘kinda can’. Take the Dory approach (just keep swimming), and ‘kinda can’ turns into ‘can’ turns into ‘fuck me, I’m awesome’.

When they said you have to suffer for your art, I had no idea that they actually meant that you’ll probably suffer crippling self-doubt and a society given belief that you’re unworthy to call yourself a creative. But there you go.

The Sunday Circle: The Smurf Haired Girl Vs The Depressive Episode

[For those not in the know, Peter M. Ball hosts the Sunday Circle on his blog every week, which you should know because you should honestly be stalking his blog by now. This is my response to his questions.]

 

This week didn’t go well. I had PLANS- the sort that needed to happen, the sort that have been struggling to happen with a move and a bunch of drama associated with it. Last week was to be the week I got back on track. I wanted to get to today’s post triumphant and maybe just a teensy bit smug about it all.

The problem, of course, was that I was so busy plotting my triumphant return to getting shit done that I missed the rather obvious issue: I was stacking the deck against myself. If you look at my post from last week, you’ll see it’s the queen of the big-ass to do lists. It’s ridiculous.

And it should have been a glaring neon sign that I was about to be in bad brain territory. Whenever I’m about to struggle, my body lets me know in advance with a random flurry of preparation. Like extreme nesting, I try to do as much as possible so that while I’m feeling like shit, I can at least tell myself that I’m not screwing anything up overly much.

The week started off well. I was focused, I was there. And though the problems I was tackling were breaking my brain and taking forever, I was seeing progress. And then… I wasn’t. There were distractions galore stealing my time, and frustrations that honestly need to be dealt with, and then I fought with someone I adore, and spent two days curled under a doona, freezing my ass off and getting increasingly frustrated that my body’s way of dealing with massive amounts of conflict and stress is with shock symptoms for days afterwards.

So my achievements became ‘I did some writing work’ and ‘I kinda just gave up on getting the fucking blog formatting right this week and decided that’ll do, pig’. That’s… that’s pretty much it. I got a few writing jobs done, and it seems they were well received (I got a charming text from someone I reviewed that absolutely fucking made my day), and I stuck my pride to the sticking place and tried to resolve the big horrible fight of bullshittery when, let’s be honest, I’d have rather just pretended nothing ever happened, because resolution runs the risk of more conflict and more days stuck hiding under doonas unable to do a gorram thing beyond listen to my ‘Depression: The Musical’ playlist and wishing coffee made itself.

So because my headspace is still far too close to shitty territory for my liking, this week, I’m approaching it from a much different- much smarter- direction. I’m scaling back. I’m trying a new rule: one thing daily for my business, and one thing daily for me. That way, on the good days, I can throw more into my day, and on the bad days, I can do the absolute minimum and not feel like a total screw up.

What am I working on this week? Mostly the writing adjacent stuff. I need to get the distractions sorted- the problem with living with a chronic procrastinator when I’m pretty damn good at procrastinating myself is how easily it turns into both of us getting to the end of the day, having done not a fucking thing. That can’t keep happening. Boundaries must be set and enforced.

The collaborative review blog I made, Reviewers of Oz, still needs work. But it’s going to be part of a blog tour for an author’s novel release in mid April, and that needs to be a massive priority. If I can do that well, it’s a damn good way to start moving from ‘new, shitty blog’ towards ‘new, but kinda sorta professional and accepted’ blog, and I want that.

I’m reviewing A Rock & Roll Writers Festival next weekend, which should be a hell of a lot of fun, and a good chance to learn more and chat to some writers and artists I haven’t gotten to meet before. And I’ll need a couple of reviews written for it and delivered by close of business Monday. Doable.

Other than that, I want to get back to writing 2k a day (made easier because Camp Nanowrimo starts next month, which is an ass kicking to get it done, at least), and reading for an hour. For the most part, these are my ‘one a day’ goals.

What’s inspiring me? To be honest, the blind panic that happens when I realise I’ve fucked up; that I’ve missed the glaring warning signs that shit isn’t going well when I know damn well I need to be vigilant. This time, I was really lucky. It didn’t last as long as it could have before I was able to drag myself out of the blue mood. But part of my business plan as a freelancer has to be taking care of myself, and minimising these moments. So figuring out how to pay better attention clearly has to be a priority.

What am I avoiding? The world, maybe? I’m avoiding the part where I have to sit people down and say, ‘as much as I love spending time with you, we can’t keep just hanging out all day. Both of us have stuff to do, and I need to make things happen in a way that isn’t possible when we’re doing this.’ I hate the very idea of that, because it means putting my stuff ahead of someone else’s, and the implication that my work is more important than talking to them about the stuff happening in their world makes me feel like twenty shades of asshole. Which, it shouldn’t. I know that if I was giving a friend advice, I’d be telling them to set that boundary. I’d be telling them that if after weeks of talking it out, nothing’s changing, than continuing those conversations isn’t going to be helpful. That it’s never a bad thing to prioritise your life, and your goals.

Now I just need to get my overly anxious, people pleaser brain on board with that.

Ugh.

The Sunday Circle: A Reckoning

It’s… it’s been a while since I’ve done this, gentle reader.

The utterly kick-ass wonder, Peter M. Ball, has a weekly Q&A opp over at Man Vs Bear, asking 3 simple questions. I’ve been meaning to answer these weekly for a while now. No, really, there are drafts and everything.

So here’s me, sheepishly creeping back into the routine.

What are you working on this week?
Too freakin’ much. Nobody should be shocked at this point. I’m trying to get the review blog live, finally, after a kabillion irritating setbacks. It means figuring out how to set it out, and… yeah. Not my happy place.

I’m also trying to get back into a writing habit, because the move last month absolutely destroyed my focus, and my ability to get anything done. I need to get back on track with the music challenge, and Smart People Talking, too. I’m still trying to catch up on the reviews owing, because, again, moving house sucks heartily.

And I’m trying to wrap my head around how much writing I need to get done this year to keep up with all the longer form projects I’m involved in. You know that moment when you start thinking you’ve maybe bit off more than you can chew, but you decide to try and choke it down anyway because what’s the worst that could happen? 

Yeah. That’s me.

What is inspiring you at the moment?
The new project is a lot of fun, and getting to bounce ideas off someone is awesome. The idea of learning in a more hands-on way about the industry is equal parts brilliant and terrifying.

Being somewhere with minimal internet and zero TV means having to actually write or read, which is great for productivity. Or it will be, when I can get my brain up and running properly.

What part of your project are you trying to avoid?
Designing the review blog. Because Jesus-freakin-Christ, that’s the part I hate. Have you seen how shittily basic this blog is? For whatever reason, whenever I try and trudge my way through the design stuff, I just… my brain just does not compute wtf needs to be done to make it all suck less.

I want it to look good. Professionally casual, I suppose? It’s a bunch of people wanking lyrical about books, nothing academic or overly serious, but I don’t want it to look like some 13 year old’s dear diary, either. But easy af to navigate, and no stupid poppy-uppy mofo asking for people to subscribe or whatever before they’ve even gotten to look at the blog. Because those things are the devil’s work.

And I need to figure out how to (cheaply, because sudden unexpected move means all hail the poverty for a while) make sure that the authors are credited properly. One of the sites I freelance for has the owners name show up on the links, so it essentially credits her for everyone’s work until you click the link and read down. I 100% don’t want to do that. But I don’t know enough to not do that, and this is why this part of the project has been summarily ignored. Like, I need to have one person uploading, because everyone is busy af and it’s easier just to have one person scheduling things than everyone trying to. But I want everyone’s work immediately and clearly credited to them. And I have no idea how to explain that in a way that someone who knows how to fix the problem is understanding.

Honestly, we’re all speaking English, but we’re speaking vastly different languages right now. I hates it, precious.

Also? The writing. Mostly because I’m just a tad overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things I need to get done, and my brain is just kinda looking like Sam Neil when he first sees a dinosaur:

 

Fail. Fail Better.

At the beginning of the year, I set myself an ambitious, but not entirely unreasonable challenge: 2,000 words of writing every day for the year. Which sounds kinda cruisy until you do the math: that’s 730,000 words in a year.

…That’s a big number.

I kicked ass in January, and came close to hitting 1/7^th of my goal in the first month of the year. February? Not so much. Life became about the stress of the move, big time. If you’ve ever had minimal money and maximum need for accommodation in Brisbane (or anywhere with unreasonably high rent)… you know what it’s like.  2k a day became ‘get your work done and survive’.

It’s hard getting back into the swing of writing. Even with so small a break, it feels like the muscle memory has died off in the weeks I’ve been freefalling and focused elsewhere.

The voice of anxiety is booming that it’s doomed- how can I catch up? To be back on track means getting another 86k written this month. That’s a big ask with a sprained finger I’m meant to be resting.

Shall I give you a moment to get the dirty jokes out of your system?

I’m waiting…

We good to continue? Lovely. No, it wasn’t doing anything fun. It was hauling stuff around. And now every time I use it to hit a key (or turn on a light, or use my phone… or…) it reminds me, rather painfully, that I need to cut that shit right out this instant. I want to write, but I also kinda want the pain to stop, too.

So how do you get back on track when it feels like that goal lives on the impossible end of the spectrum? You learn to fail better. I managed about 13k last month. I doubt I’ll make 100k this month to compensate, and that’s okay, even though in this moment anything less than 100k feels like an epic kind of fail. I’m already at 14k- I’ve already beat last month’s word count in two days of work. Instead of saying ‘I must hit 100k’, let’s say 70k- about 10k more than my set monthly target. If I add that little bit extra each month, boom. I’m caught up by the end of the year. It still feels like a bit of a failure, because I’m rocking the anxiety girl chic right now, but it’s failing better than last month, at least.

It’s not always about the massive instant fix. Sometimes, slow and steady is the better option.

Goals and Life

Last month, life went fairly well. Rocked the fiction writing goals, made progress on a bunch of stories- things went so well I blasted past my original word count target by 30k-ish.

I rocked it like a hurricane.

This month? Not so much.

I’m frantically house hunting, which, if you’ve ever tried to find affordable, pet friendly, public transport accessible housing in Brisbane, you’ll know it’s the mental equivalent of stabbing yourself in the arm, over and over every single day, hoping that this time it won’t hurt as much. Funnily enough, that doesn’t help get things done.

At the same time, I’m packing, or trying to. It’s a slow process to try and find all the little bits that have gone awry over the last year, especially when you work from home and actually have to… y’know, get that work done. It’s even more fun to be trying during a heatwave, in a house without air con or fans, with three cats demanding regular attention.

In ye olde worldy days, when I was young and stupid, I asked writers- a lot- how they managed to make it all work. I mean, let’s be honest: life is a shit storm sometimes. How does anyone get anything done in that?

And almost every single writer trotted out that painful line ‘if you value it, you’ll do it’. Which, let’s be honest, is the sort of privileged, hunk of shit answer that sounds like it’s given to them along with the publishing contract in a cheesy ‘how to’ guide style format. I’m gonna be honest: as soon as anyone says it, I assume the biggest issue they’ve ever faced is a slightly sore toe. Maybe a vague sense of unease that lasted about five minutes.

I tend to roll my eyes and look for someone slightly more real and relatable to talk to.

You can value the hell out of something, and still not be able to give it the attention it needs or deserves. The truth is that sometimes, life is gonna kick you in the crotch, and you’re gonna need to rest instead of forcing your way through the pain to the other side. Sometimes, other things need to be of higher value in your life. Like not being homeless. Or not having to replace a bunch of stuff at the worst possible time. There are gonna be times when you write like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and there are gonna be times when every word feels like you’re dragging it kicking and screaming from a tar pit and trying to scrub it clean while it tries to rip your arms off. That’s pretty damn time consuming.

My goal this month was 52-ish thousand words. I’ve just passed 12k. And, honestly? That’s okay. That’s actually pretty damn phenomenal, given the circumstances. Instead of focusing on the lost 40k, I’m focusing on the found 12.

The more stress I throw at myself to get it done, to try and write 40k and pack and move and house hunt and…and…and… the more I’m going to struggle. The more I try to play catch up, the more I throw guilt into the mix, the more impossible it’ll feel, and the quicker I’ll give up. Guilt kills creativity.

So instead, I’m kicking back and relaxing. I’m saying it’s totally fine that there will be months where I get nothing much done. It happens. Life goes on. 12k is infinitely worthy of celebration in a month like this.

Hell, 10 words in a month like this? Still a number to be proud of. Surviving the month without getting a single word down would have been worthy of celebration.

Sometimes, where you’re at is enough. Sometimes, you need to put down the goals you’re beating yourself to death with, and accept that next month will be better.

Progress, not perfection, right?

Symbolism and Protest

There’s protests happening globally at the moment, arguing against the latest US President. We all know it, I’m not going to yammer on here about the politics of it all.

What I am gonna do is show you this:

Image courtesy cspan.com

If you’re a Marvel fan, you might have noticed a little something off towards the upper right corner. A Captain America shield.

If you take away the new iteration of Hydra!Cap, and look at the old school Steve Rogers, Captain America is a symbol of what America aims to be. He’s kind, he’s brave, he’s heroic- he believes in truth, justice, and liberty, and knows that he has to defend those rights. Not just for rich white guys, but for everyone. He does what is right, not what is easy, he respects other people and their beliefs (up until those beliefs cause harm to others, at least). In the words of MCU Steve: he hates bullies. And he’ll stand up to them every single time he encounters them because to not do so is, to his mind, as bad as siding with that bully.

If you’ve ever wondered whether stories have power, this pic is a bit of evidence for the ‘hell yes’ list. For a lot of people, that fictional shield is a rallying cry to step up and be better, to stand up for what’s right even when it hurts to do it. Even if you have to sacrifice to build your better world. That rallying cry transcends gender, religion, race- it’s an open armed call, rather than a way to exclude others or tell them they’re less important than a particular group.

How freakin’ brilliant is that?

 

Ringing in the new

The story goes that there’s magic in the stroke of midnight. It’s always true, because it’s always a fresh start, but it’s even more profoundly powerful in the moment one year dies and another begins. It’s a new beginning, of sorts, but mostly, it’s a reminder that you can decide how the coming day- or the coming year- is spent.

NYE is a ritual. Even if only through the power of alcohol and exploding things, we farewell the old, ring in the new, and chase away the demons of the past with enough blaring pop songs, rock classics, and gunpowder to startle even the heartiest of metaphorical evildoer.

Over the years, the story changed. That thing you do at midnight became the thing you’ll get joy from for the rest of the year. Kissing the one you love? Well, clearly, you’ll have a happy and loving relationship for another year. Surrounded by friends? Obviously, they’ll be there for you for the coming year.

Throughout their year, the pagans held yearly rituals, recommitting themselves to their loved ones, the land around them, their gods. And maybe this idea that we’re binding ourselves to a certain action or emotion for a year stems from that. Or maybe we’re all just hopeless romantics who want to be in the arms of the one we love as we ring in a new year filled with infinite potential.

We all have the power, daily, to make change. We’re all more than capable of deciding what we’ll stand for, and what we’ll accept from those around us. And deep down, we know that every day has the same potential as NYE in terms of recommitting ourselves to our goals, our loves, and our friends and family. But still, it’s nice to have a night of magic once in a while, no?

However you spend your end of year, I hope it’s everything you want it to be and more. Same for the coming year.

Try and stay out of trouble. 

Vale, General.

Carrie Fisher died today.

I’ve been able to make my peace with a lot of the deaths this year, but this one? This one fucking hurts. Carrie Fisher was the sort of kick ass woman I always wanted to meet, and the sort of brave human being I hope I can be. As a writer, she kicked a hell of a lot of ass. And maybe one day I’ll actually talk about that without spending 10k fangirling.

But as a human being? Holy hell, all the ass she kicked.

She was honest about her mental illness, rather than hiding it. She did so, so much to try and fight the stigma attached to mental illness. She stepped back when she wasn’t coping, and gave herself permission to treat her illness with compassion and kindness instead of trying to force her way through when she knew it wasn’t really possible. That takes a hell of a lot of courage. Pushing through the stigma and bullshit to maintain a career is damn near miraculous.

It can be really hard to find role models with mental illnesses, because more often than not, the media crucifies them for their ‘quirky behaviour’. When the world scrutinises the hell out of your every act, the easiest way to survive in the public eye is to hide any hint of illness from the world. And no one has the right to begrudge someone making the choice to survive instead of risk their mental health challenging the unfairness. She fought, and that makes her a big damn hero.

She was honest about her aging. When the spank-bank warriors rioted online about an actual human woman daring to age (and, y’know, apparently impact the ability for strangers to jack off to an image of her from decades ago), she gave exactly zero fucks. Seriously, go look at movies and count the older women playing dynamic, action-focused or leadership roles within the story. Go listen to actresses talking about how hard it is to get work after a certain age while men can grey and wrinkle without anyone caring overly much about it. Rocking her grey hair rather than hiding it while doing press? Kind of a big deal, y’all.

And her most iconic role, while mostly remembered for that fucking bikini, is such an amazing role model for girls and women. Leia fights on, even when everyone else runs away. Those heroes who get all the attention? They all ran the hell away. Luke runs away and hides on a freakin’ planet. Han runs away and goes back to smuggling. Chewie runs away with him. But they’re not the only runners. Ben runs away to join the enemy. Leia doesn’t run away. She loses everything, over and over, and she just keeps fucking fighting. She doesn’t wait for the heroes to get their asses back into the fray, she just gets it done without them.

But that’s not all that makes her an amazing role model.

When Rey returns after Han’s death, what does Leia do? This girl is a stranger to her, even if it’s clear Han cares for her at least a little. But Leia offers the girl comfort and company. The pair share their grief while the rest of the world celebrates the overall victory. She doesn’t begrudge the girl’s emotions, doesn’t get jealous or petty, or any of the other territorial shit that allegedly makes for interesting tension in stories around female interactions. She’s maternal, caring. She sees someone in pain, and even though she’s in so much pain herself, she tries to help ease Rey’s grief. Her love was just murdered by her son, and she’s offering support to someone else.

Leia as a General is respected, listened to. She’s not presented as trying to get the menfolk to listen and respect her- they already respect her. She’s proved her worth, and doesn’t need to keep trying to prove it in order to stay in power. She listens to her people, she acknowledges their ideas and their value as part of the team, rather than trying to do it all. And part of her strength is her compassion. She’s not closed off, not bitter and cold like so many other women in leadership roles in fiction. She cares about the safety of her people, even when she knows they’re likely going to die. She knows her people by name, and gives them the respect they’re due

You don’t respect her because she was a princess first? Look at all the fucks she gives.

You think her best days required a stupid bikini? She will choke you on the straps and jam metal and fabric down your throat, and go about her day.

You think she can’t win the war because she has lady bits? Still, not a solitary fuck available to give.

You think she’s too old to get shit done? She will stomp your throat into the dust and then get the hell back to work. Why? Because she’s not a damsel. She’s not a strong female character who falls apart as soon as the hero arrives, or who suddenly loses her ability to do her job because ooh, there’s a cute guy there! She’s focused, she’s driven, she’s passionate, and professional, and she’s capable regardless of what the men around her are doing.

And if you don’t think that means the world to women like me, you’re so, so wrong.

RIP, Carrie.

 

 

The Art of Gratitude

I met a book reviewer recently. We’re about level in terms of career success, which is great because meeting other reviewers is always fun.

This time, though, it was like a labradoodle meeting a Zen master. I was not the Zen master.

To him, it’s a job. He’s not a big reader, he struggles to find books he wants to read, and he’s holding the opportunity for as long as it takes for something better to come along.

Me? Not so much.

Book reviewing is, seriously, one of the best jobs ever. People hand me books and let me read them. I get to hug books, and read them, and learn more about writing and editing, and storytelling in general. I get to talk to people about why I love the books I love, and what issues there are. They let me talk to writers. It’s insane.

I get to talk about something I’m ridiculously passionate about. I’m living the dream. And every time it gets overwhelming, I get to say hey, you’re overwhelmed by the awesomeness of your job. Not everyone gets to have that.

He asked me why I loved reviewing so much. Part of it is the reading, and being able to call it work. And hey, free books*. And part of it is having the chance to talk about books. But there’s another reason, one I don’t mention often.

The Brisbane writing scene is such an amazing community. People are wonderful, and compassionate, and so quick to offer help and advice, and to cheer each other on. Australian writers in general have always been more than happy to talk writing with me- and with anyone who’ll ask. Every time I read someone’s work and talk about it, it feels like I’m saying thank you.

Authors like Charmaine Clancy, T. M. Clark, Anita Heiss, Peter M. Ball, Matthew J. Hellscream, and Michael Robotham? They’ve been such fantastic, gracious teachers to me. They’ve shaped my writing in ways I’ll probably never fully articulate, not just through their conversations with me, but through their writing.

And I… I get to hold up that writing and say hey, world, this might be something you like. You should check it out.

Best. Job. Ever.

 

* Yes, the whole ‘free books’ thing is a bone of contention. I get that. There’s a blurry line between getting the word out that you’ve written something, and undervaluing what you do. But that is a conversation for another day.