is awesome.
that is all.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
so anyway
so anyway. I have been absent for some time. Struggling with the new book, wondering how the Vagina project can become the Sister project, generally feeling insecure about my work - no surprises there. But I am excited about talking with Kate Holden ('In My Skin' and 'The Romantic') at Avid Reader on Tuesday night. I can see so many parallels with our work and I am quite excited and a little nervous about meeting her properly. I said a passing hi at the Text Publishing party but now I will get to have a proper face to face beer with her followed by a very public chat about writing sexual memoirs. For some reason the idea of this has made me feel nostalgic for writing about sex. I have been struggling with the sister stuff. I have to admit it is much easier for me to write about sex than for me to write about sisters. I have such a complicated relationship to the idea of family. Somehow writing fiction seems more revealing than writing memoir. This meeting with Kate makes me want to get back to the easy stuff, the bodily joy of skin on skin.
I dreamed about a vagina the other night, not my own, someone elses. The dream was quite graphic, a pubis,shaved so the fine hair was cropped to a little line. there was a strong smell, but not unpleasant. The hair was light brown with a reddish tinge. There was a taste and texture in the dream and I woke up wet as I am rarely wet. I was itchy in my skin.
I am inundated, busy with work and the NYWF coming up next friday. It will be my birthday. It has been 2 years since I finished that first draft of Affection. I feel like I have been running ever since.
Tomorrow I will sit and talk about writing about sex with Kate Holden. On Tuesday I will sit and talk about writing about sex in public. Now I am in the mood to read sex, write sex, have some, although that is something out of my control. Maybe Furious Vaginas will take up where it left off. Keep my sister stuff for my weekend novel scrawling. Keep my sex stuff for the web. Who knows. I make no promises.
I dreamed about a vagina the other night, not my own, someone elses. The dream was quite graphic, a pubis,shaved so the fine hair was cropped to a little line. there was a strong smell, but not unpleasant. The hair was light brown with a reddish tinge. There was a taste and texture in the dream and I woke up wet as I am rarely wet. I was itchy in my skin.
I am inundated, busy with work and the NYWF coming up next friday. It will be my birthday. It has been 2 years since I finished that first draft of Affection. I feel like I have been running ever since.
Tomorrow I will sit and talk about writing about sex with Kate Holden. On Tuesday I will sit and talk about writing about sex in public. Now I am in the mood to read sex, write sex, have some, although that is something out of my control. Maybe Furious Vaginas will take up where it left off. Keep my sister stuff for my weekend novel scrawling. Keep my sex stuff for the web. Who knows. I make no promises.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
name
she only remembers your name because you are absent. There is a lesson in this, about absence and the heart. It is a cliche but it can be used over and over and we will never tire of it. I am too constant in so many parts of my life. I am the thing to be taken forgranted or overlooked. And yet it is so hard to be strong and distant and uninvolved. Hard as beginning or sticking to an exercise programme or a diet. In a handful of days I have re-learned much. Be absent. Be distant. Remove yourself from the picture and they will start to notice you.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
playground scrap
So she leaned over and pulled her earings out of her ears. The sudden violence of the act astonished me. Our other friends had fled, and I barely liked her enough to stay, but that was my thing - protector of the poor; defender of the indefensible. Me by her side now and those girls too tall and mean for the both of us, belittling her accent. I had nothing against her accent, but she was a little annoying when you engaged her in conversation.
The sudden violent act was an unexpected outcome. We were used to bullying and teasing, some loss of property, a thick shove in the chest. This was a different thing. This was both surprising and bloody. Her ears dripped blood onto her school shirt, not much, but enough to bring the group of us to the attention of the bystanders. My sister included.
My sister who refused to glance in my direction if we were in company. My sister who would either deny our familial bond or shove me off the path with more force than the grade ten girls.
My sister who now stepped into the small circle of violence and she was small and tough and no one dared cross her and the grade ten girls stepped back.
Damage done. No way to take away the pain and the blood, and yet I will always remember the look on my sister's face. Unmasked anger. My defender. My protector, just for that minute.
The sudden violent act was an unexpected outcome. We were used to bullying and teasing, some loss of property, a thick shove in the chest. This was a different thing. This was both surprising and bloody. Her ears dripped blood onto her school shirt, not much, but enough to bring the group of us to the attention of the bystanders. My sister included.
My sister who refused to glance in my direction if we were in company. My sister who would either deny our familial bond or shove me off the path with more force than the grade ten girls.
My sister who now stepped into the small circle of violence and she was small and tough and no one dared cross her and the grade ten girls stepped back.
Damage done. No way to take away the pain and the blood, and yet I will always remember the look on my sister's face. Unmasked anger. My defender. My protector, just for that minute.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
hate and love
I am not sure what I want to say about sisters. I am not sure if sisters are important in the scheme of things. We move on in our lives and we think of each other rarely. There is no day to day care. We are barely in each others thoughts. Then one day when things are at a low, I know I should be seeing you, touching base with someone who understands how hard it has been right from the start. You share my sense of guilt. The overwhelming guilt. You share my frustration and my anger and my sadness which is thick and terrible all the ray back to the root.
I hate and I love. You hate and you love. There is very little between us in the end.
I hate and I love. You hate and you love. There is very little between us in the end.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The sisters in Tasmania
She saw now that the couple at the next table had left a single oyster untouched. She wanted it. Suddenly. She wanted to stand up and walk over to their abandoned plate and eat that last oyster. She wondered why they had left it. She calculated the cost of a plate of them. That oyster was the price of a bus fare. Sometimes at the end of the week she walked to work because she didn’t have the bus fare. Lucy licked her lips. Tasted salt.
She noticed the little cracks in the makeup, tiny little lines at the corner of her sister’s eyes. Lucy often felt that she was getting old, which meant her sister was getting even older. Somewhere under that makeup was skin as tired and patchy as her own. Her sister was thin now, but she was large once too. A fat girl squeezed into this tight new body. It was good to see Rachel looking so fit, but Lucy couldn’t help feeling that they were the same, despite their differences.
She smoothed her skirt down over her legs. For some reason, sitting here with her sister made her self conscious. People would be comparing them. They were obviously related, the same round face, the same short legs, the same accent, almost but not quite English. They had both overcompensated for their accents, stretching their vowel sounds, mimicking an Australian drawl.
“Well, cheers”
Lucy clicked her glass against Rachel’s and tried to smile as naturally as possible.
“Great to see you.”
“Yeah. Great.”
They sipped their drinks and stretched their smiles at each other until they could no longer hold them and Lucy looked back out at a sky that had darkened significantly.
“I knew Tassie would be cold but I didn’t really expect…” she indicated the squalling wind outside the window, the choppy bay, the first spots of rain on the wide expanse of glass.
“You should have brought an overcoat you know.”
“I don’t own one.”
“But you should have bought one. You’ll get sick.”
“I didn’t really think that…”
“You were always hopeless like that.”
“I’m just not used to - look, it’s still pretty warm up north at the moment.”
“Except this is Tasmania.”
“Yes. I suppose.”
They sipped their drinks in silence. Lucy glanced over at the plate with the oysters. She should just order some oysters. But that would be a waste. That last oyster stared up accusingly at her from the next table. She was almost close enough to reach out and pick it up off the plate. It bothered her that humans were so polite about these kinds of things. A bird would have pecked it up and moved on. Any other animal would have taken this opportunity. One lone oyster, some tobasco, some lemon juice.
Lucy sipped her martini and stared out the window in what she hoped would seem like a comfortable silence until her sister shifted and cleared her throat.
“You know, I got someone in last week to do the lawn. I usually do it myself but there are all these little flowerbeds now and it is difficult to navigate the ride-on?”
“Oh. Okay.” Lucy had never seen her sister’s lawn, never having been to her house. She didn’t know that the lawn would be big enough to need a ride-on mower and she didn’t particularly care.
She noticed the little cracks in the makeup, tiny little lines at the corner of her sister’s eyes. Lucy often felt that she was getting old, which meant her sister was getting even older. Somewhere under that makeup was skin as tired and patchy as her own. Her sister was thin now, but she was large once too. A fat girl squeezed into this tight new body. It was good to see Rachel looking so fit, but Lucy couldn’t help feeling that they were the same, despite their differences.
She smoothed her skirt down over her legs. For some reason, sitting here with her sister made her self conscious. People would be comparing them. They were obviously related, the same round face, the same short legs, the same accent, almost but not quite English. They had both overcompensated for their accents, stretching their vowel sounds, mimicking an Australian drawl.
“Well, cheers”
Lucy clicked her glass against Rachel’s and tried to smile as naturally as possible.
“Great to see you.”
“Yeah. Great.”
They sipped their drinks and stretched their smiles at each other until they could no longer hold them and Lucy looked back out at a sky that had darkened significantly.
“I knew Tassie would be cold but I didn’t really expect…” she indicated the squalling wind outside the window, the choppy bay, the first spots of rain on the wide expanse of glass.
“You should have brought an overcoat you know.”
“I don’t own one.”
“But you should have bought one. You’ll get sick.”
“I didn’t really think that…”
“You were always hopeless like that.”
“I’m just not used to - look, it’s still pretty warm up north at the moment.”
“Except this is Tasmania.”
“Yes. I suppose.”
They sipped their drinks in silence. Lucy glanced over at the plate with the oysters. She should just order some oysters. But that would be a waste. That last oyster stared up accusingly at her from the next table. She was almost close enough to reach out and pick it up off the plate. It bothered her that humans were so polite about these kinds of things. A bird would have pecked it up and moved on. Any other animal would have taken this opportunity. One lone oyster, some tobasco, some lemon juice.
Lucy sipped her martini and stared out the window in what she hoped would seem like a comfortable silence until her sister shifted and cleared her throat.
“You know, I got someone in last week to do the lawn. I usually do it myself but there are all these little flowerbeds now and it is difficult to navigate the ride-on?”
“Oh. Okay.” Lucy had never seen her sister’s lawn, never having been to her house. She didn’t know that the lawn would be big enough to need a ride-on mower and she didn’t particularly care.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
love
The love comes at a cost. Sisters love under the gaze of others. We love because if we are kind to each other we are praised by the generation before us. How sweet to your sister you are, how kind. Untethered, it would be one beast against another, a battle for food, space, dominance and the love of our parents. This is what sisterhood teaches us. One of us wins and one of us looses. Wild dogs scuffling. Lions snarling over a kill.
She reaches into the crib and pinches the nose of the sleeping infant. The wild cry startles her and she steps away. She is in a fairy dress, all innocent glitter. she steps forward when the adults come to check. She strokes the babies forehead. Poor little. Poor little. I think she must be sick.
All we need in life is food and shelter and a sister to teach us how to play to win.
She reaches into the crib and pinches the nose of the sleeping infant. The wild cry startles her and she steps away. She is in a fairy dress, all innocent glitter. she steps forward when the adults come to check. She strokes the babies forehead. Poor little. Poor little. I think she must be sick.
All we need in life is food and shelter and a sister to teach us how to play to win.
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