Last night I did a thing. Often I have ideas and then quickly talk myself out of them, especially if it’s a thing that I shy away from … especially praising myself in any way. *Gotta love that shitty self-esteem stuff* … BUT as my 40th birthday approaches and the last few years have seen many major things (both good and heartbreaking) happening in my life, I’ve really started to understand how short and special life itself is.
And, sometimes I even catch myself thinking how proud I am of how far I’ve come and wow, I might actually be good at something.
So the thing I did was set up a buymeacoffee page to help fund the time, equipment and books I review and fangirl about over on my YouTube channel Hyperactive Bookworm.
I did the technological thing, all by myself … *pats back enthusiastically* .. but then didn’t know how to test if it was all working.
A wonderful friend helped me test it. I agreed she was free to share the link if she wanted. I didn’t expect the huge words of praise for myself but it has certainly made my day … and made me brave enough to share it here.
If you are interested in helping me, I’d appreciate it, but there is no pressure. I love what I do and will endeavour to keep doing it
I don’t do pages everyday. And lately I’ve hardly done them at all. But I do love how I feel on the random mornings that I get the time and energy to do them.
My often excuse is the insomniac son I have … the reality is, I just get lazy or forgetful (despite the reminder that pops up every morning). Sometimes I fall back asleep on the couch and wait for the sun to actually rise before I get moving and usually by then it’s in a rush.
But, this morning I felt the energy and the motivation.
My scrawl at stupid am
So why am I blathering on about this? I’m so glad I asked.
While writing my pages this morning, l I realised something that has raised its head many times in the past but I’ve quickly pushed it down.
I love learning.
For many years I forgot just how much. I can remember when I was younger indulging in such amazing activities as reading encyclopaedias over the school holidays, collecting different dictionaries to see what words and meanings were changed in them, and how exciting it was to master new skills that were hard to learn.
But somewhere along the way I lost the love of learning. I could blame emotionally abusive ex’s, childhood trauma, a degree that made me feel more stupid than anything else but that hardly matters. What matters was that I couldn’t find that joy anymore. I hid away from things that were hard, terrified to show others that I didn’t already know this specific skill or hadn’t mastered that particular task. I was so scared that I would be seen as a moron for the learning process. Looking back, it makes me so sad for all the things I stopped myself enjoying.
But, it’s back. I’ve found it again, and we have happily reconciled.
It’s a very unexpected side effect of this writing journey and the amazing people I have found along this path. Some are on the sidelines cheering me on, passing me cups of water as I run this race of mine. Sure, sometimes I’m walking, sometimes skipping, and other times I’m sitting on a rock beside them catching my breath. Other times, these amazing people are there helping and teaching without judgement or expectation. They have returned to sit old rocks helping others get past the next hurdle.
I find myself learning new things constantly about writing. And not one of these things have been learnt alone or in a vacuum. Sometimes it’s from taking a class (I recently took a fantastic course on magic realism), sometimes it’s informal chats with fellow authors turned friends, other times it’s interviewing an author, or getting feedback, or reworking a manuscript with edits from alpha readers, publishers, or editors. I’ve even learnt while reading about someone else’s experiences, or reading another authors book they have bravely push out into the world. And I can’t even begin to numbe the amount of times I’ve realised something about my own method or WIP when helping out a fellow author asking for advice.
Learning is not something to be ashamed of and the process should be highlighted and celebrated just as much if not more than the end result.
I love finding this feeling again. And while I may bitch and moan about how long the editing process takes or how confused those craft books make me at times, I have never been so happy with my journey. I can’t wait to keep learning. And for the first time in such a long time, I’m looking forward to messing up and learning more from each mistake.
A disturbingly close approximation to my look on video today.
Today I spoke up, and said why yes I am an author. I even joined in, video and audio, *insert shocked horror face here* to an author chat and said hello. Did I feel like an entire pretender (Ooh ooh yes I’m the great pretender ooh ooh) Of course. Was I nervous and unprepared, oh hell yes. Did that make it easier, actually yeah it really did. My bravery (I’m still uncertain it’s actually the correct word, but we’ll work on that one) is an in the moment thing. Don’t give me enough time to worry about how much of an idiot I will most likely make of myself (thanks anxiety), that’s for ruminating on later. But, I did it.
And the bravery didn’t stop there. *shocked face once more*
Today I met up with an amazing reader, and even signed the books she bought with my fountain pen, with a confidence and a flourish that was all faked. But I admit, it did feel good. Did I take the ‘author in the wild’ photo I was planning/hoping to? Of course not. It’s easier for me to remember to take photo’s when I’m not the subject matter.
BUT … I was still brave today. And while I’m now socially drained, it was a good day.
Celebrating the small things is something I always preach. When those around me achieve any measure of success in any area of their lives I am the first to throw those pom pom’s in the air. For myself, I’m less enthusiastic and I’m working on that, reminding myself I deserve the same excitement as others.
So, as a reminder to you all, if you aren’t celebrating your own achievements, no matter how big or small, now is the time 😀
I may have mentioned this before. I tend to follow the shiny bouncy ball of life, but only once it’s smacked me in the face a few times. My stubbornness gets in my way, and even when it’s a decision I already teetered on the edge of, I demand the push before I fall up.
Only three days into the new year and I’ve been smacked left right and up the back of the head. Poetry and feelings. Two things I have love/hate and decidedly complicated relationships with.
I used to cry a lot. But after years of being told to suck it up, years of learning to school the icy shards of emotions from my face and reactions. And while the tears have been easy to tame, I have never stopped apologising for my excitement over what others deem insignificant. I still get ‘overly’ enthusiastic about the things I love, only to ruminate about them later and worry I expresses TOO much emotion. But when it comes to crying, I don’t. Or at least I hadn’t for a very long time. Not only had I come to think of tears as distasteful in myself (I love people who can cry) but almost impossible to reach.
Enter last year and my introduction to some of the most amazing authors and human beings I have ever been lucky enough to know. The LGBTQIA writing community I have found have been ridiculously supportive and boosting.
Last year, 5 books made me cry. I almost fell over the first time it happened. I remember it clearly. I was stirring a pot of pasta, ensuring it didn’t stick to the bottom of the pot, I’m not a terribly good or attentive kitchen person. But I was reading, holding the book in one hand while the other hand half mindedly stirred the pasta and water. I didn’t realise I was crying. I was reading and my chest grew hot and tight. Being constricted as though wrapped up by a boa. My cheek tickled. My brows furrowed and I lifted the hand stirring up to my cheeks. Before I could really take in the tears I yelped as hot water splashed on me and my book. Saving me from investigating the phenomenon. 4 more times it happened. And by the end of the year I felt a fear and an excitement over being able to. More than that, I felt indebted to these amazing authors who plucked at the chains wrapped around my emotions and let them be expressed.
Three days into the new year and the first book I’ve read has made me cry. The second book is a poetry book and I’ve felt winded as it talked about societies pressure to not feel. To not admit we are human with all the ranges of emotions. Bring on my burgeoning relationship with poetry.
As if these weren’t enough, just this morning I had a conversation with a fellow author whom I am beta reading for, below is what happened when she asked me for some specific details and feedback for the book.
My first reaction was horror. How can I be associated with sobbing? But that lasted a mere micro second because now I can’t take the smile off my face.
So here is to a new year of poetry and feelings. A year of rating books on the NINSAABO scale.
Here’s to not apologising for my emotions, the sadness, the fullness, the fear, and the excitement.
I had two conversations this week that really effected me, and I wanted to note them down. Neither topic is new for me, neither conversation lit a lightbulb but both made a big impact on this-week-Neen.
The first conversation gave me warm fuzzy feelings. It was online, with a fellow author. I won’t go verbatim but in the end I felt so seen and acknowledged. I write sapphic fiction, but not sapphic romance. One day I might but this presumption that sapphic (or lesbian) fiction is assumed to be romance is so prevalent and can be really frustrating and disheartening. Especially for an author starting out. Having a fellow author agree that it shouldn’t automatically be assumed as romance made me so happy. Perhaps with more voices I won’t always have to feel insignificant and irrelevant and often unable to promote my writing.
The second conversation happened this morning. My health has been semi-craptacular of late so off I went to get several vials of blood taken. The pathologist was so lovely and managed to get my introverted self happily talking. She asked what I do, as verbatim as I can remember: *clears throat* Me: I’m a writer, that’s what I go gooey about Pathologist: oh what do you write? M: horror and dark fantasy *insert wide eyes and slightly opened mouth* P: you don’t look like you write dark things, you’re so happy. M: and that’s how I stay happy, putting all the darkness into the words. P: That makes sense. I love that. Stay lovely and happy.
Since then I’ve wondered, what does a horror writer look like? What does any writer look like? Was she shocked I was a writer or the genre which I write? What does each specific genre author look like? I don’t have the answers, but I feel like a meme might be in my future.
When our son was younger I struggled with everyday things let alone the daunting idea of decorating and cooking all just for one night.
So it’s been years since I’ve fully embraced the Halloween energy. Before I had my son it was a full party; themed and decorated and special food galore. In the beginning it was all hard made decorations and improvisations, because Australia has only recently begun embracing the commercialisation of this holiday.
But I’ve never stopped loving the spooky. And our son, at age 4, has already inherited this love. I mean, the kid’s favourite sea creature is Cthulhu, and he’s already OBSESSED with Xenomorphs and knows the full lifecycle of them *sniffs* so proud.
I’m endeavouring to embark on some Halloween goodness. Even found an old box of decorations (though most of my handmade beauties have vanished over time and breakups). So hopefully at the end of the month I can do an updated post with some pretty pics. Or I’ll ignore this accountability with a shrug and … ooh look shiny other things :-p
For the last few weeks (months if I’m going to being entirely honest) I have been struggling. I have started posts and then trashed them. I’m making this one stick.
This week I was forced to face some hard truths.
1 – I am still in mourning from the passing of my dear friend and Mentor, Aarjaun. Since she passed away at the end of January I threw myself into everything, so long as I didn’t have to feel my own emotions, and so long as I didn’t have to stop and think too much. Anything can be justified if given half a chance. 2 – I’m allowed to mourn and still enjoy the wonderful things in my life. I can appreciate all the good things, all the amazing people I have in my life, both old and new. I can also allow myself to be sad, to miss my friend, and to be overwhelmed by the good as much as overwhelmed when things are bad. 3 – I am not the robot I have tried to be. The wall I’ve put up around my feelings now has fissures and it’s time to let it crumble. 4 – I have worth, whether I am writing and contributing or not. I am enough as me, and I am allowed to say no … to myself as well as to others.
These truths were brutal and hard to face, and while I’ve half faced them for a few weeks, it was with the hopes they would run and hide once again. But coping mechanisms only work in the short term it seems. I have always been an advocate for prioritising mental health, but I have not always been so good at following my own advice. Sound familiar? I want to be a better role model of this for my son. Not because I think I’m supposed to, but because I want him not to have to fight the stigma in our home. I want to be transparent because I believe transparency about mental health is one of the key ingredients of destigmatizing it.
Now, I’m working on ways to ensure that I’m actively trying to help myself with these things.
1 – Allow myself to feel the absence of Aarjaun. I miss baths, which I have been avoiding because of that very thing. I think I might go have a bath tonight. 2 – Let those wonderful people in my life know that the good things don’t take away the pain, nor does the pain minimise the good things … did you read that? Look at me telling the wonderful people already 🙂 3 – Instead of taking that deep breath and burying the feelings, adding another brick on the wall, I’m going to (try to) say the words, I am hurting. 4 – I recently made a writing schedule. It was forcing me to be too busy. So no, I will not be following that schedule, I will be amending it to allow for more quiet time, more me time.
If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading. If it helps you in anyway, I’m even more excited.
I haven’t blogged a lot lately, and mostly because I haven’t felt like I have enough ‘content’. My thoughts have begun with a lot of ‘What am I teaching you wonderful readers? I need to do more learning the craft so I can help.’ and it spiral from there. It’s been a stressful thought pattern.
Yesterday I was talking to a friend and fellow author and I just about burst into tears, As we spoke the conversation came around to story telling and how sometimes we forget that’s why we are doing this in the first place. Not to have all the technicalities right, not to know how to market, not to network. Yes, these things are important, but they are often overshadowing my thoughts and peaking my anxiety.
Then last night I had an interview with a publisher (Eerie River Publishing – go check them out) to highlight me as one of their authors for PRIDE month, and some of the questions were an oomph to the chest.
Ok, world. Yes, I get it. Time to remind myself of the roots and reasons.
I have at times forgotten why I write in the first place, so I’ve decided to make a list of the top reasons I write:
To tell stories To escape – for me and my readers To represent and minimise isolation To create the stories I couldn’t find growing up
While learning about writing will always be important to me, I’m not sure any of that knowledge will mean anything if I forget the reasons for why I write in the first place.
Today I was given another reminder of the importance of following your gut, your instincts, whatever it is that makes you balk or cringe back from something. That thing that you can’t pinpoint a justifiable finger to but you know, you simply know you are not comfortable.
As I’ve gotten older (dubiously wiser) I have found myself over and over again trusting that squirm in my guts.
Throughout my life I’ve been told to ignore my feelings; stop being hysterical, you are paranoid, you can’t even way why … and the list goes on, until I started to believe that these things were all just in my head and everyone else was right.
I think we are not nearly so different, so evolve away from our instincts if only we allow ourselves to listen to them. I’m not saying that following these instincts will have you avoid all the bad you might encounter in this world, but having followed mine more and more over the years, I have seen bad situations avoided.
I am so glad I have consciously followed my instincts this year, even when it might have been considered socially uncomfortable or harder to go against the stream.
This has been a huge mindset shift for me. It’s taken a lot of years but once I embraced it, the world opened up.
I didn’t know what it is exactly that has changed, I just know that in the last few months, my fear became the annoying buzz of a mosquito in a dark room instead of the roaring dinosaur it used to be. I found I was taking chances, putting more of my work out there and really embracing the learning of this wonderful writer’s craft.
Turns out, all these blocks I had in place came down to one thing … the misconception of perfectionism.
Fear of not being perfect at something stopped be from trying at all. I didn’t want to attempt something and realise I was BAD at it, worst of all let other people know that I was BAD at new things, any things. But like everything, to get good you have to start by being bad.
This isn’t an easy thing. If you struggle with the fear of criticism for your less than perfect wonderful self, this is a HUGE hill to climb.
I am sure there will be times where it rears its ugly head again. I’d like to think I have overcoming it once and for all, but that’s not usually how these things work. And that too is OK.
At the start of April a friend reached out, a friend who always signs up for NaNoWriMo with me most years and bails within the first week, and told me about escapril. A poetry daily challenge for April. I know as little as six months ago I would have balked at considering this challenge. Putting my writing out there every single day for a whole month … writing a poem every day to a prompt? No thanks. It’s one thing to do NaNoWriMo and input the word count you’ve done that day … but it’s an entirely different thing to put the actual words you’ve written out there.
Turns out, I’ve gotten a lot better at being bad.
And it turns out some of the poems aren’t too shabby. And each day that I manage to do the goal, I feel a little more confident in trying. A little more OK to be bad.
If you’re interested in checking out the prompted poetry of Escapril you can find them on my instagram account neenauthor.
The daily prompts for Escapril 2021
Do you struggle with perfectionism? Have you pushed yourself and found a way to accept being bad at something? I’d love to know
Neen Cohen 