beautiful monsters

Stories

I have a confession to make.

I never read Where the Wild Things Are when I was a child. I’ve never admitted this to anyone. Of course, I knew about the wild things. I’ve seen the toys, and the posters in friend’s houses, and the references in cute dyke movies… but I read the book for the first time this evening. And then I phoned my parents and demanded to know why I’d been so cruelly deprived. They could provide no excuses. It was blatant neglect. If I fail as a children’s writer, it’s all their fault!

Other stories

Damien Wilkins came to our class today. He’s so funny! I think I’ll have to apply for his course, if only because he makes me laugh. And I’ve heard rumours about their folio parties…

(Iona, I know you’re reading this, did I include Chemistry in the list of books you should read?)

Damien has written a picture book, which he read to us today. It’s so funny, and his sister has done the most gorgeous illustrations. A books she illustrated, The Immigrants, is a finalist in the Children’s Book Awards. Anyway, her agent sent Damien’s story to a publisher, and he shared the rejection letter with us. It was really interesting. I get excited when publishers attach a short scrawled note, but this was a really in depth letter, and very constructive. The kind of specific feedback writers crave. I hope he doesn’t take on all her suggestions though – I like it the way it is, and I’m sure they can find a publisher. I’m just not totally convinced about the moon…

Poetry

Went to a karaoke party on Saturday, way in the middle of nowhere – I didn’t know you could drive for so long in Wellington. Didn’t sing, not at the party, the karaoke didn’t extend to Charlotte Yates and other kiwi chicks with guitars, but we had fun singing in the car on the way home. Anyway, someone was talking about the way the news was read, and it reminded me of this poem by Dennis Glover, and I was going to recite it on the way home, but I forgot, so here it is now…

Here Is the News

When the BBC announced
The end of the world,
It was done without haste,
It was neutrally, gentlemanly done,
It was untinged with distaste,
It was almost as if the BBC had won.

And more about poetry

And about how I haven’t been writing any lately, and I’m angsting about it. In fact, I’m angsting about lots of things. I think too much. I want too much. Want want want. I want to finish some of my short stories. I want to write more poems. I want to finish my native plants course. I want to learn te reo. I want to write for Indy media. I want to do more work out at the marae. I want to finish my Supporting Families training. I want to learn cello. Want want want!

I’m trying to accept the fact that I can’t do everything. I may have been superhuman when I was nine, but evidently the magic powers have worn off. Dammit.

I’m angsting about blogging too. I never seem to have anything funny or clever to say. I’m worried that I’ll sort of dry up, and people will stop reading, and then what would I do?

I think I worry too much.

Bitter herbs

All the Sunday School families are getting together on Friday for a Passover dinner. A proper Seder, with Haroset and Matzos and everything. We each have something to bring, and I’m bringing the bitter herbs, to remind us of the pain and suffering of the Israelites when they were slaves. We eat them and remember people around the world who are suffering. And after the meal, we’re going to have a treasure hunt!

The soy milk wars

One of my flatmates has suddenly got this Big Thing about how we have to buy our own food, and write our names on it so people don’t use the Wrong Food by mistake. This is incredibly annoying for all sorts of reasons, but the worst part is the soymilk. We’ve had lots of people coming and going through the flat recently, and at times there have been eight or nine boxes of soymilk open in the fridge. There isn’t much room for anything else. I’m starting to worry that things are rotting in the back of the fridge but we can’t see them because there’s a great wall of soymilk.

Sex (and teachers)

Perhaps I’m not getting enough of it. Or perhaps it really is an interesting side effect of the drugs. The first anti-depressants I took had the opposite effect, and I was not impressed. Anyway, whatever it is, my libido has definitely increased.

A running theme throughout my life has been the crushes on teachers thing. One year in primary school, I didn’t just give an apple for the teacher… I gave her a cake, and a card, and a poem, and a christmas cracker, and a bunch of flowers, and…

I know I’m not alone in having crushes on teachers. I used to get all embarrassed about it and never tell anyone. And then I found out that the entire male population of the school, and some of the girls as well, had a crush on the same English teacher I was adulating.

I don’t know why teachers. I think it’s partly my underlying fear of real relationships with sub-consciously leads me to become attracted to anyone who is chronically unavailable. But it’s probably also due to the fact that so many of them are so damn cute, and enthusiastic, and sparkly, and wearing skimpy skirts. There was one memorable teacher who wore this thin white cotton T-shirt with a zip that went all the way down…

That’s the difference. I’ve always had masses of crushes, but I’m not used to being attracted to people in such a physical way (the zip down T-shirt was an exception). It kind of worries me. I feel like I’m being superficial all of a sudden, or something. I think it conflicts with the moral principles I’ve had ingrained from an early age. I feel kinda… guilty about it. I’m not doing it on purpose, honest!

It must be the drugs. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

XXX (Sex) XXX

I think the Eroticablogapalooza suggestion was my idea in the first place, and then someone else seemed to grab hold of the idea and run with it… But I’m not sure I was actually serious. I think I’d be too scared, and embarrassed, and a million other things.

But it did lead to the idea of having an anonymous blog, which I think would be really interesting. There are so many things you could experiment with. And I think it would be even cooler to have a communal blog, and give the password to lots of people so anyone could post their anonymous stuff on the bloganonymous. Whadyareckon?

Ya basta!

Not a battle cry. Just a gentle note to myself. Should stop now. Should be trying to write children’s stories. Bad Fi, slap slap (speaking of slapping, my teacher slapped me across the legs with a scarf or some such because I confessed to having reservations about the Kite Rider. Someone please read it and tell me what you think)!

Posted by Fionnaigh at April 7, 2003 11:00 AM