Stars Explained

I saw an author on Twitter the other day very upset that she had received a three star review.  My initial reaction was that three stars isn't all that bad of a rating.  In fact, in my system, three is a pretty good rating

 

5 Stars ***** - Outstanding!  I want to own a hardback copy of this book.  I will read everything else the author has written and I will re read this book throughout the years.  It will have a pride of place on my book shelves and I will tell everyone I meet about it.  It touched my heart and stays with me long after I have finished it.

 

4 Stars **** - Great!  I really enjoyed this story, the chracters, the place and/or the time.  I will probably keep a copy of the book on my shelves.  I will recommend it to friends if I know it is something they would enjoy.  I will read a few other things an author has written because I might

 

3 Stars *** - Good!  This is an enjoyable read, perhaps funny, perhaps intriguing.  Maybe I didn't like a character, or the story dragged, or the prose was sloppy, or the plot had some holes in it.  But I liked it enough to give it away to someone else.  I might read other titles by this author.

 

2 Stars - **  Didn't Enjoy. -  Probably finished but found it a struggle.   Few things came to together and this book didn't touch me in any way.  Probably won't read other titles by this author. 

 

1 Star * - Hated!  Probably didn't finish.  Probably threw this across the room.  Probably ranted about how this book got published.  Probably threw this book into the recycle bin.

 

I am reading my 60th book of 2012 and having done a wee bit of uber scientific data analysis, I can honestly say it is way more difficult to gt a 1 or 2 out of me than a 5 or 4.  Maybe I just know how to pick my books.  Or maybe there are just more good books than bad books out there.  Or maybe I'm an old softie.  Whatever, my analysis shows a nearly perfect statistically accurate bell curve.

 

Please do not be offended if you get three stars.  And if you get 1 star you might want to consider that just because I didn't like it someone else probably will.

 

NB:  I use Goodreads to keep track of everything I read.  If you're not already my friend on Goodread, please be my friend!

Real Profiles of Incredible Women

Flipping through a couple glossy magazine this week I was struck by how inadequate I felt upon reading the profiles of a couple of women.  The magazine was asking these women about their beauty, fashion, decorating and entertaining tips for the holidays.

The first thing that struck me was "Crap, is it the holidays already again?"  The second thing that went pinging around the cavernous space inside my head was, "I should have a special beauty regime for the holidays?" 

Clearly, I am not the target audience for this glossy magazine.

Whilst I have no doubt that these women in the profiles are incredible women, I didn't get a sense of who they were, where they came from, what they know.  OK, so "that wasn't the point of the article", I hear you say.  Fair point.  Well presented.

This got me to thinking.  I am surrounded by incredible women.  No, seriously.  Absolutely, literally surrounded by incredible women.  Not just where they are today but where they came from, what they've done, where they are going, what they dream about, what they fear.  There's more to these women than their shoes (although some do have shoe collections to kill for), handbags, and thick, glossy hair.  I am particularly envious of the thick, glossy hair but let's not go there.  They aren't just wives, mothers, daughters, sisters.  They are individuals, incredible in their own right.

We pass these women on the streets and in the supermarket.  We sit next to them on the tube.  We greet them at the school gates.  We used to work with them.  We went to school with them.  They were our very best friend when we were 9.  They might still be our best friend or we might have lost touch with them.  These women can pour a mean glass of wine and take biscuits out of a package at the speed of light.

My point is that incredible women are all around us.  Sometimes we just forget how incredible they are.  We forget that the road that each and everyone of us has travelled to get to where we are has been one amazing adventure after another.  Sometimes we soared.  Sometimes we stumbled.

When I was in the throes of my depression, I found that the circle of incredible women around me was vast.  They took care of my children.  They helped my husband.  They brought decent coffee to replace the lousy excuse for caffeine I was being served in the psychiatric clinic.  They bought me clothes.  They propped me and my family up and held us aloft until we could stand upright again and enjoy their company.

Sometimes I find women can be so competitive, so catty, so critical, so unkind to each other. When this happens I find it is easier to imagine the bad day they must be having, the disappointment they must feel, the loveless marriage they must have, or ultimately the vast unhappiness they feel. Fortunately, most of the women in my life, and certainly the women who matter to me, aren't like this. And if they do have an odd moment where life gets us down, we can dish out a hug with a large gin and tonic on the side while we bring ourselves back to our imperfect lives in this imperfect world.

These women make me laugh until I pee my pants. They make me cry like a baby. They make me feel good about myself. They make me feel incredible. I want you all to meet a few of them.

Over the next year (maybe more) I am going to introduce you to my circle of incredible women.  They are real.  They are flawed.  I couldn't be who I am today without each one of them making a sometimes big, sometimes small loving contribution to my wild and wickedly amazing life.

I am going to call them Real Profiles of Incredible Women.  A new profile will be published every week. They might not be pretty.  They certainly won't be perfect.  But they will be real.  And trust me, they are incredible.  I hope you enjoy them!

The First Last Kiss by Ali Harris

Those who read my book reviews regularly know that in between my heavy, mind boggling, brain frying fiction, I have to throw in a couple easy reads.  They are like palate cleansers in between courses when eating a rich, extravagant (read ludicrously expensive) meal.  These books aren't any less enjoyable necessarily but they don't tend to stick with me after I've read them.

I met the author, Ali Harris, at an event hosted by Simon and Schuster, and read her first book, Miracle on Regent Street, first.  Because that's the kinda girl I am.  First things first.  I wasn't looking forward to reading her second novel after the first simply because I had really liked Ali but hadn't really liked her first book and I didn't want to write something not great about her second book.

 

I knew, however, that my integrity as a book reviewer meant I had to take the bad with the good. 

 

The book uses a unique device of heading each chapter in one of three different ways:

1. Time of day on one particular day
2. A type of kiss
3. A moment in the past identified by a marker from a DVD or video tape, eg FF or REW or PLAY

Chapter types 1 and 2 tend to be short, very short, but help set the scene for the type 3 chapters.  This approach captured my imagination straight away.  The characters then captured my heart.

We meet Molly when she is young, lonely, trying to find herself and her place in the world.  Not an entirely likable character, Molly grows and learns to love herself and love others.  Who amongst us hasn't been there?

Ryan is the perfect Essex boy who spots the lovable Molly underneath all her false goth bravado and slowly chips away at that chip on her shoulder and the ice in her heart.

 

Casey is Molly's flawed BFF and I recognised an old friend of mine straight away in her character.  the novel is peppered with exquisitely drawn parents, in-laws and co-workers who all season our own love lives.

 

But this isn't a simple girl hates boy, girl loves boy, happily ever after story.  About halfway through the story takes a left turn and heads you down a path I never saw coming.

 

I'm not afraid to admit it.  I sobbed.  The pages of my book are crinkled where my tears fell.  At times I couldn't read for my blurry eyes.  But I wouldn't put the book down.  My husband was alarmed when upon returning home finding me in the same place he had left me hours before only now surrounded with piles of used tissues and the tears still flowing down my cheeks.

 

OK, I'm a sap for a good story.  And a good cry.

 

I finished this book over a week ago and it is still inside my head.  My husband kissed me the other day and I found myself thinking about hanging on to that moment, that tenderness, that feeling, forever.

 

Read this book and you will never kiss or be kissed again in quite the same way.  It wins 5 stars from me. 

 

NOTE:  Publication date for this book is January 2013 so you can't give it as a Christmas gift.  Feel free to preorder!

MumsNet BlogFest

This weekend I attended the MumsNet BlogFest at Millbank Tower.  Having attended several events in London in the past 10 days, I must confess to being slightly weary of meeting new people and doing the whole chit chat network thingymajiggy.  Plus, I've been to so many "conferences" in my past incarnation as an IT Professional that I just wasn't sure I was up for another event where we all jostle for the a quick cup of bad coffee which we try to drink balancing a dozen other things in our hands whilst trying to shake hands with people you pretend to be excited about but can't remember their names 2 minutes after you've walked away.

But as stated in previous posts, I am at a crossroads/fork/meltdown in my life and am exploring options in every corner of the capital and beyond.

What is MumsNet? And what is BlogFest? I had no idea which is why I attended. I signed up for MumsNet a few months back but to be honest, I have been a very passive user.  I get emails and when I have the time and/or inclination, I read them but I would be lying if I gave the impression that I have invested the appropriate amount of time in exploring and extracting all the value I might be able to find.  I was hoping that BlogFest would show me how to get more from MumsNet and how to get more from my blog.

The trouble is I'm not sure I want to get more from my current blog.  My blog started as a training tool when I worked in the IT industry and quite inextricably found myself in charge of the corporate intranet with no skills beyond being able to spell intranet. It soon morphed into a way to keep friends and family involved and informed about our family adventures.  Now I might, just might, want to earn some money from it.  Or maybe not.

 

The morning started superbly with an Opening Keynote by Miriam Gonzalez Durantez who is an EU policy advisor, solicitor, mother, oh, and before I forget, the wife of the UK Deputy Prime Minister, Nick Clegg. She was stunning, not just to look at with her shiny black hair and beautiful white jacket.  She was stunning to listen to.  The wisest words of the day came from her when she said "Woman's rights are human rights." and "Helping the next generation have choices is our responsibility."  I could have listened to her all day.  She was intelligently inspiring.

 

The next session was all about the blogging and finding your voice.  It featured some Blog Royalty including Zoe Q Williams ( journalist for The Guardian), Zoe Strimpel (author, journalist and blogger), the very funny Rachel Cusk (another Guardian journalist and author), and the pee your pants every time she speaks funny, Jenny Lawson (author and blogger extraordinaire).  I found little information that I didn't already know, having written a blog for the last 6 years, but I did find affirmation in the general consensus that I was doing things right, even if hundreds of thousands of people weren't reading my blog.  My big takeaway from this was keep doing what I am doing.  It is authentic.  It is real.  It is me.  It is my passion.  It keeps me sane.  OK, that last point is debatable.

 

I thought there would be a problem with queues for the loo.  I mean there is always a queue for the ladies room, even at events that are predominately male in attendance.  Just so you all can sleep at night, I want you to know I didn't have to queue once for the loo.  Phew!  Glad I got that out of my system.  Literally!

 

After a quick loo and coffee break (with the best cupcakes ever provided by Beverley Hills Bakery), there were several breakout sessions to choose from and I attended the photography session, mostly because I am shit at remembering to include images with my posts, but also because I don't seem to have any images which seem appropriate.  The session was presented by Carrie Barclay and Darren Baldwin.  I picked up some super duper tips about using a 3x3 grid to frame my photos, changing point of view, and some useful apps to download.  My biggest takeaway from this session was not to fear editing a photo to make it better.  I usually avoid this as it feels unauthentic but I think I might be able to forgive myself if I just crop a bit here and there or wash away a power line and enhance the colours.  I mean, it's not like I'm airbrushing 30 pounds of anyone or giving them a flawless complexion when they are well past 60. 

 

Then we had lunch and a lovely lunch it was.  Just for the record, the mushroom risotto was scrummy and I'd like to say thank you to the anonymous ones who prepared it.  It was delish!

 

The afternoon started with more breakout sessions.  I choose the Advanced SEO  session after a bit of soul searching.  Was I a beginner?  Was I going to get lost in the mumbo jumbo of technology acronym soup if I went to the advanced session?  Did I know as much as I think I know and be bored to tears, not to mention frustrated, in the beginner session?  I opted to stretch myself and became frustrated in the advanced session.  We seemed to go seriously off piste with some very individual specific questions and the presenter was unable to make it even halfway through his slide deck.  Although as he whizzed through his slide deck, I'm not sure I would have felt like I had any better grasp of the subject matter than I did when we began.   I think the big takeaway for me was if I'm writing about things people are looking for, they will find it.  If I'm not then no one will.  Duh!

 

I then stumbled and fell with my one wrong choice of attending the Blog Beautiful session.  If I had read this properly I would have found that this was a session for bloggers writing about fashion and beauty products.  Oops, nothing could be further from my blog.  And here I was thinking it was going to be about blog layout and what makes a blog beautiful.  Silly me.  This session featured Sali Hughes (another Guardian journalist who also has her own web page although oddly the blog link on her website doesn't actually go anywhere.  Her videos look informative.) The panel inlcuded Avril Keys who blog about what to wear at the school gate.  Not my cup of tea as I'm just not that fussed about what people think of me at the school gate hence being caught out in my slippers from time to time.  but if this is a priority for you, then this might be the place to go.  Not sure how it fairs for plus size women though.  Also included was Alyson Walsh who writes a blog of fashion for the over 50 demographic.  A cursory of look at the blog though featured home interiors and quite a few young, skinny models so I'm confused but I will return to give it a better seeing to.  Finally on the panel was Louise Woollam who has an extremely funny blog even though it is about beauty products.  Seriously, I read it for pure entertainment value.  Other than that, I confirmed that I wear clothes that are comfortable and just enough makeup to avoid scaring the shit out of people but not enough to have to remove it with more than a baby wipe.

 

Let's just say I did get TWO samples of Boob Goo (which might not be the correct name but it's what I'm calling it) from Mama Mio.  Now this stuff promises to get rid of all the wrinkles from the chin down to my below my boobs.  It does not promise to lift my knee sagging boobs which I must say is a vast disappointment but I am willing to continue to use the product simply because it smells divine.  My take away from this session is that there are a lot of blog about beauty and fashion and this area is best left to the women who are passionate about this subject.  I am not one of them.  Oh, and whilst many deny there is any conflict between bloggers and print journalists in this area, many feel there is.  I'm going to leave it at that.

 

There was then another coffee break and opportunity to spread delicious cupcakes all over my face again but I chose to retreat to a quiet area to do some thought catching and avoid that whole social awkwardness that causes my face to twitch when I constantly smile.  Can you imagine the self control it took to walk away from the cupcakes.  Let's not go there.

 

We were heading into the home stretch with the Keynote Panel which had all the promise of a duck egg blue box from Tiffany's.  Regrettably, upon opening it there was a gigantic turd right in the centre of the box.  Let me explain.

 

The panel included Zoe Margolis, whose blog about sex was at one time considered the 24th most powerful blog, although I notice she hasn't written a post there since September and only 2 blog posts for all of 2012 so maybe this has run its course or just isn't has titillating since she was outed by the Sunday Times.  She stood out with her amazing long, dark, black curly hair, her amazing rack bubbling out of the top of her top (Zoe, if you read this, you've got great boobs), and her acerbic observations and witty advice.  You can bear witness to her success from her web page which is far more up to date and professional, and far from being "just" a blog, although not nearly as entertaining and thought provoking as she was on the panel (or as her original blog was).  My takeaway from Zoe was that massive success is possible using blogging as a springboard.

 

Also on the panel was Tim Dowling, the testosterone contributor of the day.  There had been a few men lurking about but Tim took to stage with all the aplumb of a consummate professional.  He is yet another Guardian journalist and writes about family life.  I'm not sure how I feel about all these journalists pretending to be bloggers just because they write about family life.  To me a journalist writes for a paper and gets paid by the paper (doesn't matter if it is print or online - that line is increasingly blurred with every passing day).  A blogger is someone who doesn't get paid except by any tiny morsel of revenue generated by their blog.  This morself is probably so small that they have another job or source of support (husband, partner, family inheritence, benefits).  Regardless, a news outlet which is also a corporate machine does not support them.  I fell in love with Tim when he identified his litmus test for a good post as making his wife laugh.  A jolly good chap all round, then.

 

Eliza Gray is the pseudonym for a woman writing about being over 50.  It's a pretty good pseudonym because without knowing the name of her blog, I coudln't find her on google.  When I found her blog, I found she wasn't writing about anything much different to what I (almost 50) have been writing about for the last 50 years, our life with all its ups and downs including dog destruction woes.

 

The last member of the panel doesn't bear mentioning and due to her insults to everything www.mumsnet.com BlogFest and I are about, I refuse to increase her visibility by even printing her name here.  Let's just suffice to say that she was a bitter, twisted, sad, mean wench of a woman.  My takeaway from her was to make sure that I never ever become anything like her.

 

And as if to prove everything that I do want to be like the Closing Keynote speaker took to the stage to a rousing round of applause and hoots.  I think I even heard a few whistles.  Caitlin Moran took to the stage in a burst of cut off jeans with black tights and doc martens paired with a trusty lumberjack shirt and a mane of black hair with her signature blonde stripes.  She has a husky, raspy, sexy face and from the start she made us laugh, at her, at ourselves, at blogging, at life.  I have to confess that when my book group read her book, How To Be a Woman, last year, I refused.  I mean, I've been a woman for the last 48ish years.  I don't need someone 10 years younger than me telling me how to perfect what I've already perfected.  I will be the first to admit that I might, just might, be wrong about this.  I'm going to go read the book and get back to you on this.  But my takeaway from her keynote was, and pay attention because this is the most important bit of the day, BE YOURSELF.  Be free to be who you are.  Express yourself.  She left me energised and ready to take on the world of the blogosphere with renewed energy and focus.  Which really is what the day was all about!

Favourite Bits:  the sound of babies cooing during the sessions and the seriously stuffed swag bag (with some seriously awesome stuff!!!!!).

 

Improvements Needed:  there was no feedback form either paper or online.  I have tons of suggestions for making this even better for next year:  QR codes on the name tags, additional sessions (eg getting started (ie blogging for beginners), monetizing your blog, blog usability), bags at the beginning for things like the newspaper you handed out in the morning.

 

Can hardly wait for next year!

Miracle on Regent Street by Ali Harris

My brain needed some reading candy after the grind of The Quincunx and this lovely little book was just the ticket. 

Evie Taylor is stuck in life working the stockroom of a fading gem of a department store, Hardy's, after her life is devastated when her boyfriend, Jamie, leaves her.  She is drab and invisible.  But when the future of Hardy's is threatened with the takeover by the sleek competition, she assembles a merry band of elves from the store's other downtrodden misfits to transform it into a vintage wonderland.  she does all this whilst being courted by two very deserving men.  Which one is going to win the girl and will the store be transformed in time to escape a hostile takeover?

Like a bag of candy floss, the story was very sweet in places, even corny.  I jarred a bit at the stolen line from Pretty Woman when Joel, the suave, debonair, and impossibly perfect American, orders the entire Claridge's breakfast menu when he doesn't know what she wants for breakfast.  It would have been ok if the movie had been referenced, but it wasn't.

But there isn't a more perfect love story to get you in the mood for Christmas.  I loved all the references to the way London is transformed at Christmas time and I wished for a real store similar to Hardy's so I could go there and do all my Christmas shopping.  I particularly enjoyed the critical remark of Regent Street being decorated like one big Disney advert.

I really liked all the characters who worked in the store, even if they were a bit cliched.  My favourite characters were the Polish cleaners and their accent.  Even the names the author chose for the characters were perfectly ludicrous. I found myself speaking their parts out loud.

There was some timing issues like how Evie was able to get to work at 7 am when she was helping her sister, Delilah, get them ready for school.  I don't know about you, but my children get up for school at that time.  There is no way they would be up before 6 am.  I also found the selfish, self-centeredness and self absorbed side of Evie hard to swallow when she cared so much for everyone at the store.  That was of course all explained at the end but it did feel a little too neat and tidy of a sweep under the rug of such brutal treatment of her sister.

Also, the throwaway remark about her sister being diagnosed with depression but still doing a Christmas dinner was caustic to someone who suffers from depression and knows that heating up a pizza is hard work with in the throes of such a debilitating mental illness.

But do NOT let any of that stop you from reading this novel if what you are looking for is something, sweet, short and light with a happy ending all tied up nicely with a bow.  Especially over the upcoming holidays.  It would make a perfect stocking stuffer for that special woman in your life! 

The Quincunx by Charles Palliser

I am hoping to write a very short review of this very long book.  I wrote a post about Social Reading about a month ago. When I enthusiastically volunteered myself for this endeavour, it is fair to say, I wasn't entirely certain what I was getting myself into.  And I most certainly didn't know that the book was 1200 pages long (give or take a few pages).

 

Reading a book this long at a pace set by others didn't really work for me.  Although, if I hadn't committed to reading it as part of Social Reading, I honestly would have never finished it.  I'm not entirely sure that would have been a bad thing.  As it is, I have spent an awful lot of time reading a book I didn't thoroughly enjoy.

 

I have clearly been guilty of what Mr Palliser refers to in his Afterword as under reading.  I was quickly overwhelmed by about who was who given everyone's multiple identities, and who did what, given that there were hundreds of plausible culprits of hundreds of different crimes, not to mention the hundreds of characters.  I tried to keep track in a notebook but after 500 or so pages couldn't be bothered any longer.  I was so far behind in my reading than everyone else I abandoned this and just let it wash over me.

 

Despite the fact that Mr Palliser seems really rather pleased just a bit too much with his own cleverness and his readers dim wittedness, I did rather enjoy the place and time.  The evocation of the smells of the poverty stricken areas of London were so wonderful, I could feel my stomach turning.The novels trolls through every occupation and class of society of Victorian London and provides intricate details of all the sights and sounds.  

 

I was relieved to learn that the author had edited vast portions of his original draft to make the book "more readable".  I can't imagine how I would have lifted this book to read it if he hadn't.

 

The trouble with that level of detail was that plot suffered and to a certain extent so did the characters.  In my mind's eye, I have no clear vision of what anybody looked like although I certainly can picture where they were in exquisite detail.

 

Disappointingly, I felt that, other than a few loyal tweeters and visitor's to Scott's blog, I was largely alone.  When I remarked on parts of the book or had questions, particularly on Twitter, it didn't seem like there was much of a community reading along with me.  Although those who have kept in touch seem as relieved as I am that it is over.

 

The finished book looks beaten and battered having travelled with me up to Scotland and back.  I am pleased to say that I have finished it but will not be recommending it to anyone else.  It just simply didn't move me.  I am hoping it will make its last journey with me to the Firestation bookswap.

 

Now for something a bit lighter.  My brain needs a rest.

Simon & Schuster Blogging Event

Last week I was invited to a blogger event hosted by the publishing house of Simon & Schuster in London with my jazz hand friend, Melanie Gow, artist, author, even co-ordinator, and creative genius behind Glow Magazine.

Historically, publishers haven't paid much attention to the blogosphere.  It would appear this is set to change as they realise the influence over the power of suggestion.  You see, many readers don't set much stock by what the "official" book critics published in the newspapers have to say about books when book groups and people sitting on a beach go to select a book.  And there's money in these markets.  Lots of money.  Publishers have struggled to find out what criteria led these groups to selecting books.  Guess what?  The answer lies in what we formidable readers have known all along.  We take recommendations from those people like us who live to read in those spare moments when normal life of family, day job and laundry aren't getting the way.  OK, some days laundry will have to wait if we've found ourselves lost in a really good tale.

These people have taken their book reviews to their blogs and write about them.  And people like you, my stalwart readers, sometimes say, hey, that sounds like something I might like to read.  And word of mouth spreads like wild fire and you have a surprise hit on your hands.  No big PR budget was spent.  No big launch party was attended. No muckety mucks mucking it up.  Just pure and simple joy in reading was had by one and all.

Simon and Schuster, in all their wisdom, has realised this.  they have also realised that we bloggers do this only because we like to read.  We don't make any money from it and we tend to have day jobs or children or both, so our budget for books can be rather limited.

For a blogger to be offered stacks and stacks of free books along with a glass of wine and some rather good cheese was reason enough to make my way into London and deal with the traffic, congestion charge, and parking.

And boy was it worth it!!!!

First off, we got to meet 4 great authors who told us all about the reasons we should read their books (after they had signed them, of course) and then we got to stuff beautiful canvas bags full of other books published by Simon & Schuster.

 

Ali Harris was talking about her second novel, The First Last Kiss, and I was able to pick up a copy of her first novel, Miracle on Regent Street.

 

Wendy Wallace was very excited with the publication of her debut novel, The Painted Bridge, a Victorian novel which also features a bit of early photography.

 

Robert Ryan was the veteran in the bunch having published numerous novels before largely set during World War 2.  With the publication of Dead Man's Land, he goes back in time to the first World War but interestingly has included a link to Sherlock Holmes.

 

And Dean Crawford talked about the science featured in his third novel, Apocalypse, which follows on from his two previous novels, Covenant and Immortal.  Funny thing is I didn't manage to pick up a copy of Apocalypse as they got snatched up in the speed of lightning but I did manage to grab the first two.

 

All of this oughta keep me busy reading all winter long!  Just wish I didn't have to do other things like sleep and eat.  Where to start?  Where to start?

Spirited Bodies Part 2

During the first workshop, Lucy at Spirited Bodies announced that the Daily Mail (a UK national paper) would be doing a feature on the event for their Sunday magazine, You.  They were wondering if there were any models who would be willing to be interviewed.  I put my head down. 

Esther caught me at the second workshop and said she had noticed that I was a blogger and as such perhaps I wouldn't mind being interviewed by the Daily Mail.  If I choose so, I could remain anonymous although obviously, they wanted some people to be identified.  My initial reaction was that I didn't mind being interviewed as long as it was anonymous.

As the workshop finished, I had decided that there wasn't really a downside to being identified by name in the article so I had agreed.  Spirited Bodies was very grateful.

The day before the event I sat at my desk doing the things which I do at my desk (which resembles writing but involves quite a bit of internet surfing) and the phone rang from a number I didn't recognise.  I don't normally answer those calls.  But I was feeling frisky.

The caller identified herself as a journalist from the paper and very politely proceeded to ask me questions for the next 30 minutes or so.  Most of the questions were around my motivation for agreeing to pose nude.  I waffled on for a bit hoping those reasons would sound clearer when I said them out loud than when I said them to myself.  I was slightly comforted by the news that the journalist would also be posing nude so she didn't want to derail the story too much and make it all seedy.

When I hung up the phone, I felt my heart start to palpitate.  I started to sweat.  I felt committed.  No longer would I be able to use a lousy sore throat as an excuse to throw this opportunity into the gutter.  Now I had to go.  I was soooooo nervous I thought I would vomit.

The entire evening I struggled to sit still.  Surreptitiously, I tried out poses sitting on the sofa hoping that my husband wouldn't notice that his wife was developing a passion for dramatic seating, standing, kneeling, and sprawling positions for watching television.

I woke up early Saturday morning, showered, and stared at myself naked in the mirror.  normally I avoid this sight at all costs.  But I couldn't avoid it anymore.  I did my hair but not too much.  I did a bit of makeup.  But not too much.  I dressed in something easy to take off, stuffed my dressing gown in my bag and set off for London with a large cup of coffee.

I arrived in plenty of time and watched the models arrive one by one.  It would seem nude modelling isn't something you do with friends although there were a few couples together.  We all recognised a couple familiar faces from the workshops in the crowd so could chat idly waiting for our big moment.

After what seemed like forever, we were told it was time to get changed.  As discreetly as possible we all stripped off and donned our dressing gowns.  It felt odd to be getting undressed in front of strangers but no one seemed to be caring so I tried to keep my eyes down and preserve my dignity until the very last moment.

 

We then all walked into the room, approached the stage, dropped our coverings, stepped on to the platform and struck a pose.  And that was that.  I was modelling nude for a group of over 70 artists.

 

You couldn't really tell who was drawing you.  Vanity took over and I wanted to make sure that I posed in a way that the artist would find interesting and would be compelled to draw me.  Me!  Me!

 

The room was silent but for the scratching of pens, pencils, brushes, charcoal on paper.  Models moved about on the stage and changed position.  Artists' gazes shifted from one model to another; from one group of models to another.  Before I knew what happened the first half of the day was over.

 

We were afforded a short break for lunch.  We nibbled on lentil salad whilst milling about in our dressing gowns as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  Some models left and new models arrived.  Then we did it all over again.

 

You could feel the anticipation of the end of the day approaching as the efforts of the artists become a bit more frenetic as the scurried about trying to finish a few pieces to hang on the walls.

 

As I got dressed I was somewhat stunned by what I had just done and a wee bit apprehensive about the art I was going to view.  What would I think of myself when I recognised my body?  What if I didn't recognise my body?  What if no one found my body interesting enough or attractive enough to draw?

 

The models and artists met up in the great hall.  I felt overwhelming pride when I spotted myself in a the pieces of art.  I had some artists tell me that my body, yes, my body, was beautiful.  I was astonished at how beautiful I felt despite my bumps and rolls and bulges and droops and sags. 

 

I was a piece of art.  I was several pieces of art!  Beautiful wonderful art.

 

I got into my car.  I took a deep breath.  I put my head into my hands and had a good cry.  I felt so emotional at having had strangers tell me how beautiful I was when every other way I turn tells me that I am not beautiful.  let's face it, women my size struggle to even buy clothing.

 

And then I had a good laugh.  I laughed at the adventures still ahead of me.  And hopefully, many of those adventures will include the opportunity to do some more nude modelling.  I've added it to my long list of job titles.  And watch out for the feature in You magazine sometime in December!

Spirited Bodies Part 1

My husband thinks maybe I have a brain tumour.  You know, one of those that causes someone to start doing crazy, out of character things and nobody says anything and then one day that person dies and everyone says afterwards, "Yeah, I thought she was acting strangely."

Trust me, I don't have a brain tumour.  Well, at least I don't think I have a brain tumour.

 

But I am adrift.  Adrift in the sea of life, reflecting on the last 20 years and wondering about the next 20 years.  My eyesight is clouded with fear, excitement, curiosity, anxiety, and fear.  Mostly fear.

 

I'm not like Oprah.  I don't know many things for sure.  I know the sun will rise in the east and set in the west but apart from that I can only be sure that someday I will die.  Given current life expectancies I also am fairly certain that my life is well over halfway finished.

 

That sobering thought causes me to squeal "But I haven't done everything I want to do."

 

It is with the determination of that statement that I have decided to take some risks in life, not something I have ever been entirely comfortable with, and do somethings I never even knew I wanted to do but know I have to do once I hear about them.

 

When I read about an event sponsored by an organisation called Spirited Bodies, I wanted to be a part of it. 

 

I love art.  Art has the power to make me laugh and move me to tears.  I an stare in wonder at a drawing or a painting for hours.  I'm not just looking at the picture but appraising the talent of the artist who saw what they saw and was able to put that down on a canvas for all to see in a way that I never could.  I mean, I still draw stick figures.  My eight year old daughter has more artistic talent in her pinkie finger than I have ever had in my entire body.  Artists amaze me.

 

The opportunity to be a part of art was irresistible. The opportunity to become that art was mesmerising.

 

It was with this ideal that I volunteered to pose nude for the event with London Drawing.  Spirited bodies would provide the nude models and London Drawing would provide the artists.

 

Initially I attended an introductory session with Esther and Lucy, the two wonder women behind Spirited Bodies.  Along with a dozen nude modelling virgins, the process and boundaries were explained to us.  You could have cut the apprehension with a knife.  But these two women made it seem very safe and almost clinical.

 

I decided to attend the next two workshops where hints and tips of posing nude were to be given.  Initially I thought well, how hard can it be to pose nude?  I mean, you take of your clothes and stand there, right?  But the introductory session introduced the concept of holding a pose.  For 30 minutes.....uh oh!

 

That evening I went home and tried to stand still.  My husband kept asking if I wanted to go get an MRI scan done.  I just kept standing in the middle of the lounge in all my glory thinking that my right big toe was killing me and my right arm was never going to stay aloft at that angle for 5 minutes.  I must be doing this wrong.

 

I attended the first workshop at Battersea library.  My stomach was in knots but as I had absolutely no intention of getting my kit off, I told myself this was ridiculous.  I had brought my dressing gown (robe) as instructed but just so I could say I had followed instructions to the letter.

 

Esther and Lucy encouraged us all to get some paper and pick out some drawing tools.  I choose a pencil, eraser and some charcoal, although what exactly I was planning to do with these implements remained unclear (see reference to stick figures above).  We had settled into our chairs in a circle and Esther, who had changed into a sarong wrapped loosely around her body, explained that we would all draw each other whilst we each took turns modelling.  She expanded that it was entirely our choice as to whether we posed fully, partially and not dressed.

 

And with that she dropped the sarong to the floor and stood before us in all her glory.  Lucy instructed that we had 5 minutes to draw Esther.  5 minutes?  To draw Esther?  A day wouldn't be enough for me to draw anything at all.  I stared at my blank sheet of paper, then back up at Esther's elbow, then back down at the paper, then up at Esther's ankle.  I gripped my pencil and started with her heel, then moved to her hip, then tried her head.  Next thing I knew, I was out of time and Esther had her sarong back on. 

 

"How did that feel?" Esther asked.  I stared at the mess on my paper.  And thought, "Not so well." but then I realised I was so wrapped up in my own process of drawing that I had completely forgotten that there was a nude woman standing in front of me.  Pretty soon everyone wanted a go.  One woman who had kept her clothes on for her first go had decided that she wanted to try again but this time nude.  She later said she felt more comfortable the second time around.  You quickly realise that it's not about whether the model has clothes or not but that at the end of the process, there is a work of art, good or bad, but art.

 

The second workshop was much like the first although I had figured out quite a few poses that I could hold for some time without my limbs going numb.  I gained some more confidence and tried out some poses with other models.  Driving home that evening I wondered if I would feel as confident at the main event as I did in the workshops.

 

Posing alone or in groups of 2 or 3 in front of a dozen other models who would be in the same position as you was relatively a walk in the park.  The thought of posing with 30-40 other models on a multi-tiered platform in front of 7-80 artists was like an Olympic marathon.  Would I be able to do it when the time came?  Or was I going to chicken out at the last minute and run for the hills?  I had 2 days to talk myself out of it and I felt a sore throat coming on.

 

Stay Tuned.

The Magic Box

Abigail has written a poem (with the assistance of her school).  The highlighted bits are her words.....I love her imagination and it makes me giggle everytime I read it.

The Magic Box

I will put in the box
the swish of a silk sari on a summer night,
fire from the nostrils of a Chinese dragon,
the tip of a tongue touching a tooth.

I will put in the box
a doll eating biscuits,
a sip of the bluest water from Lake Lucerne,
a leaping spark from an electric fish.

I will put in the box
a million wishes spoken in Gujarti,
the last joke of an ancient uncle,
and the first day at school.

I will put in the box
a fifth season and a black son,
a lego man in a plane
and a pilot in a lego car.

My box is fastened from diamonds, muscial notes and swan feathers
with Rapunzel plaits on the lid and secrets in the corners.
Its hinges are the toe joints
of pandas.

I shall surf in my box
on the great high-rolling breakers of the wild Atlantic,
Then wash ashore on a yellow beach
the colour of the sun.,

Social Reading

I am taking part in a fantastically fun social phenomenon called "Social Reading".  Our social reading experience is led by the indomitable Scott Pack, the voice behind the blog, Me and My Big Mouth, the brains behind The Friday Project, the power behind the Bookswap, and the man behind the creative genius of Rhian Winsalde (his wife).

 

Social Reading is like a book group only better.  Individuals from anywhere all read the same book at roughly the same pace and use twitter and other social media, like Scott's blog, to discuss and comment.  This is the first time I have participated.

 

The book was chosen via a very scientific method of online voting.  Anyone could nominate any book, although it appears that the best books are those great big books that are just too scary to take on alone.  This time The Quincunx by Charles Palliser has been chosen.

 

This book weighs in at 1221 pages if you include the author's afterword and the incredibly lengthy list of characters.  I would normally feel daunted by this task but because I am undertaking it with the help of countless strangers I feel somewhat reassured.

 

This weekend's task was to read Book I of 75 pages.  The first chapter, a battle between Law and Equity, took my breath away and sucked me right in.  I struggled to find the motivation to do anything other than read.  I wondered if the children could just feed themselves toast all day but realised this was too big of an ask when they told me the bread was moldy.  I sat up in bed until the wee hours of this morning and must confess to moving on to Book II where once again the first chapter (Chapter 7), a discussion between Wealth, Power and Arrogance, sucked me into the vortex again.  Now the 1221 pages don't look like such a big task at all.

 

It's not too late to join us.  Although there has been a run on books at Amazon, if you can find a copy, join us.  You may follow the discussion on twitter using the hashtag #Quincunx and/or Scott's blog.  If you can't follow along this time, the hashtag #SocialReading will keep you informed of future undertakings.

 

In the meantime, I've got a book to read.

Dyslexia

My daughter was diagnosed with severe dyslexia last week.  She has also been diagnosed with severe dyscalculia.

Now I know lots of famous people have dyslexia (and probably dyscalculia) and lots of not famous people are afflicted as well.  But that doesn't help my daughter.

It might seem late for us to realise that she has dyslexia.  In fact, way back when Abigail was in Reception, age 4, I had my suspicions.  By age 5, I knew.  But the eductional professionals insisted that it was way too early to tell.  So we waited. Last year, we had a preliminary confirmation of the dyslexia but the degree of the impairment was unknown. 

In the middle of last year, Abigail had been seeing an Addiontal Education Needs teacher and was getting loads of support from the school.  We saw a massive improvement in her reading ability and small gains in her maths.  But let me put this in perspective for you.

Where Abigail could not read at all at the beginning of last year, she was able to sound out 3, 4, and some 5 letter words.  But quite often she guessed and she got it wrong.  Reading took a long time. She was frustrated because there is no one on this planet who tries harder than Abigail.

Then it started to impact everything else.

So we called in a professional. 

Dyslexia is a language processing neurological abnormality.  Her brain can't process language, either when you are speaking to her, partiuclarly quickly, or reading, or writing.  Even when she is trying to speak to others, she struggles with getting the words out of her mouth.

Then the panic and anxiety sets in.  She becomes tense and hostile.  Then she becomes frustrated.  Then she becomes distraught.  Finally, she begins to think she is stupid and dumb.  When, in fact, she is neither.  She is incredibly bright and clever and funny and friendly and polite and wonderful in so many ways.

Just not the way school requires her to be.  As I parent, there is nothing worse than watching your child go through this.

Dsycalculia is the same processing abnormality except that it applies to all mathematical concepts.  So for example, she has no idea what adding 4 and 1 together should be.  She has to use a number grid and count everything out.

Sure there are worse things in life.  She doesn't have cancer.  She can walk.  She isn't going to die in the foreseeable future. 

But that doesn't mean that my heart isn't breaking in a million pieces as I try to process this and plan what to do about her future as she may need a specialist school.

The diagnosis does go a long way to explaining some characteristics we've noticed.  Abigail enjoys playing with younger children.  They speak more slowly and more simply.  She can process that.  Abigail has a wild and wooly imagination.  She can get  lost in the world inside her head for hours.  She often gets "carried away", as she says.  I call it distraction.

So, I have dealt with this the only way I know how.  I am researching on the internet.  I am in contact with various support organisations.  I have ordered and have already begun to read stacks of books.  I've bought countless apps for her iPad.  We will have a plan.  I don't know what that plan is yet.  But we will get there.

But first I must figure out a way to explain this all to Abigail.  And, for me, this is proving the most difficult.  She knows she struggles.  But I can't quite get my head around what and how to tell her.

In the meantime, if anyone has any sage advice, I am open and willing to listen to any and all experiences.

Secrets of the Tides by Hannah Richell

Again, I have posted my review of this book on newbooksmag.

This book didn't really warrant me to say much more although I have to say, my opinion is in the minority.  It did win the Richard and Judy Book of the Year Award afterall. 

I do believe that this would be a great read for a book group.  The character development, each character's grief and guilt, as well as the setting against the ebbing and flowing of the tide against the Dorset coastline provide just a few of the topics that could be discussed.

For me, however, I am on to bigger and, hopefully, better things!

The Submission by Amy Waldman

I wrote a review of this book for newbooksmag which you can read here.

I was limited to 150-200 words which I found quite difficult.  My first draft of the review was over 900 words so I set to editing, which is not something I tend to be very good at. 

After re-reading what I have written there, I feel that my recommendation of this book doesn't come across strongly enough.  So I've decided to urge you, my blog audience, to go have a read of this book. 

Even now, weeks after I have finished it, I find myself haunted by the theme and the, in particular, the ending.  What does it mean?  I don't want to spoil it and give it away so I will wait patiently for at least one of you to get the book, devour it, and then let me know what they think the ending means.

You will be moved.  I promise.

PS  If you are a member of a book group, this would make a fabulous choice.  There is so much to discuss!

Strangest Online Buying Experience Ever

For Christmas last year, my mother-in-law, gave my husband and I a gift certificate for www.scottishgourmetfoods.co.uk  Given how much we love Scotland and everything Scottish, she was on to a winner.  Like so many gift vouchers, I had put it that safe place which meant it was in a place I would never ever find again until the day after it expired. 

But, no, I tell you, these people were so kind and generous that they wisely did not put an expiration date on the voucher and last week I was ecstatic to find the safe place whilst under taking some autumn cleaning and there was the voucher.  I thought I could find us some tasty goodies for the autumn.

I promptly sat down and set to do some serious shopping.  Alas, this wasn't exactly an easy thing to do.  Keeping in mind that I am somewhat of an expect in website usability, I recognised immediately that the site broke every rule.  The website is difficult to read and long lists make shopping somewhat of a treasure hunt.  Most annoying I had to specify an exact date for delivery but had no guidelines of possibilities.  For example, I didn't know if I could specify tomorrow and next month.  I picked a day and went with it crossing my fingers this would work.

Not to be easily dissuaded, I persevered and managed to get my hamper with all those delicious contents ordered.  Lo and behold, when it came time to check out, the website simply accepted the gift voucher.  Mmmmm, I thought, that's a little strange because with shipping and handling added on, I exceeded the value of the voucher by £4.06.  At the end of the order process I was asked to give a rating out of 4 of the website.  There was text next to each rating and 4 was identified as dismal.  I chose dismal as I honestly felt that this website experience was not up to the standard that it should be.  They asked for my feedback.  I provided it.  And I carried on

Buried within the text of the email order confirmation I received was a number here to ring to pay the balance.  Being that it was late in the evening I wasn't going to be able to ring that number and put it in a safe place.  Needless to say, I forgot to ring them straightaway.

This morning I received a voicemail on my mobile indicating they wanted their exact £4.  Fair enough.  I rang them back.

I was told that the woman on the phone was on the other line and could she ring me back.  Of course, she could.  I understand how small, family-owned businesses work.

10 minutes later I received a phone call, apparently, I was later to discover, from the owner himself, to enquire that if I found the website "dismal" and had taken the pain to enter that word myself perhaps I didn't actually want to purchase any products from them and they would refund my "mother's" money. 

I was confused.  I still wanted the products.  I was only providing an honest opinion to a question they had asked me in their own words.  I hadn't used the word dismal.  They had.  And just because their website is pants doesn't mean their products are.

I tried to explain this to the man but he hung up on me.  Without taking payment for the excess charges.

Are you kidding me?  No, really.  Are you kidding me?

I was speechless.  And I had no idea if I was going to receive my Scottish Gift Hamper or not.

I did what I always do in these situations.  I called my husband.  I explained the chain of events.  He couldn't believe it.  So he rang the owner, who this time did admit that he hadn't realised that wording was on the website.  My husband took pains to ensure payment of our £4.06 was made and I think we are going to get our hamper.  But I'm not sure.

If you are a website designer, or even if you are not, go check out http://www.scottishgourmetfood.co.uk/

Or send an email with feedback to info@scottishgourmetfood.co.uk

I was merely trying to help.  That'll teach me.

The Evolution of Inanimate Objects by Harry Karinsky

My preference for fiction over non-fiction is well documented.  I dare you to try to find a review of non-fiction on this blog.  Good luck with that.

I mean why muddy up a really good story with a whole bunch of factual details and all the associated footnote and bibliography references and indices?  Facts quite frankly get in my way of my reading.  And my imagination.

 

Despite an author’s descriptions of a fictional character’s physical traits, we all see that character differently in our mind’s eye whereas with a factual, real life person, you typically have a photograph, usually several throughout their lifetime, so you know precisely what they look like.  Unless they are very historical, like Genghis Khan. Or Julius Caesar.  Even then, there are a few drawings or coins from which a physical depiction can be influenced.

Whereas, with a fictional character, I am allowed to wander a bit more.  One of my pet peeves is when the cover of a book has a picture, or worse a photograph, of the main character.  The mortal sin is books which have a cover of a photograph from the film which has subsequently been made.  I am all excited that the author of the original publication got a book deal but it spoils the fun for me.  If I haven’t read the book by the time the film comes out, I won’t read the book.  Unless I have to under threat.  Of death.

For me, a photo or drawing is someone else’s mind taking over from mine and that defeats the purpose of fiction.

I will concede I have read a few biographies and enjoyed them.  The most recent biographies I have read include the following:

1.       The biography of Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson was fantastic, sometimes brutal, sometimes adoring; not unlike how those around Steve Jobs probably felt in his presence.   This biography was imminently readable and despite its heft, I breezed through it to the expense of my children and housework.

2.       Rob Lowe’s biography was full of name dropping stories and inconsequential, barely entertaining anecdotes.  Well, honestly what did I expect?  Let’s face it; I just bought it for the photograph on the dust jacket.

3.       I found Helen Rappaport’s biography of Queen Victoria’s year before and years after Prince Albert’s death, Magnificent Obsession, to be fascinating but dense with details.  I had to give myself regular breaks in between chapters with other reading material to sustain myself.

4.       I was less impressed with Hugo Vickers biography of the last days of Wallis Simpson, Behind Closed Doors.  I think I just found it all a bit too sad and dirty with the two sides of the story so wildly different and little third party objective substantiation.  I enjoyed Mr. Vickers’ own personal brushes with Mrs. Simpson but tired quickly.

5.       Elizabeth The Queen Mother, also by Hugo Vickers was thoroughly enjoyable but again very dense with thousands of references to thousands of archived documents.  I found myself dipping in and out just to clear my head occasionally.

So, I tend to head towards fiction:  crime, thrillers, historical, with a bit of chick lit lightly peppered about.

But what about a blend of the non-fiction and fiction category to really through me off the scent?  Now this sounds like a bit of fun!

The Evolution of Inanimate Objects by Harry Karinsky is just that:  a whole bunch of fun.  A family firmly planted in the roots of British history, the Darwin family includes not only the esteemed Charles, but his father, brothers, sons who all made significant contributions to all different fields of study and society.

The novel focuses on the premise that Charles and Emma Darwin had not 10 but 11 children, the last being Thomas.  Of course, Thomas doesn’t really exist and every correspondence is truly the work of the author’s mind.  However, I had to keep multiple sources to make sure.

This isn’t a long book and would be quite easy to read in a single sitting except that the fusion of fiction and non-fiction draws you into the dark world of Wikipedia.  I found myself learning all about the intricacies of Charles Darwin’s life and research methods, his personality and notably the history of mental illness in his family of genius.

The Darwin-Wedgewood (Darwin’s wife, Emma, was his first cousin from the pottery family) family was rife with eccentricities but very accomplished and were most certainly thought leaders of their day.  However, they had more than a predisposition towards mental instability.  Charles Darwin’s repeated illnesses had roots in hypochondria which could have easily been brought on by depression.  The detail to which Darwin’s research was conducted and documented could easily be classified as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

When Thomas’ research applies the same level of rigour to cutlery as his father applied to animal species, one starts to laugh at the absurdity but then begins to feel pity at a young man trying to live up to the monumental expectations of a father like Charles Darwin.  What else was left for Thomas to discover?

The explanation of the evolution of a dessert fork to a pastry fork and the accompanying drawing is a hysterical and satirical companion to the drawings Darwin made during his voyage on the Beagle.  The painfully accurate detailed observations and measurements of the fork tine widths were not dissimilar to those made by his father to prove the uniqueness of species.  The wholly melancholy point is that for Thomas the differences were inconsequential, whereas for his father, they defined a system of scientific categorisation still used today.

Thomas’s inability to live up to what he felt were his father’s expectations and his inability to distinguish himself and gain the scientific community’s respect led to his detainment in a mental institution in Canada to where Thomas had fled the pressures of academic Cambridge.  There his short, tortured life is brought to an end by tuberculosis.

The book is an extraordinary feat of originality.  It takes what could have been a dense, dull biography of Charles Darwin and encourages the reader to do their own research.  I was lost for days in the search for the fact within the tale of the fiction.  Rather than teach me, this book has allowed be to learn.  But not just about the Darwin family and scientific classification methods.  I have learned about the pain of seeking a parent’s approval and how difficult it can be for a child to establish an identity.

A highly recommended read!