Guest Blog: The Jeans Genie vs The Genes Genie

Guest Blog by Helen Barbour of The Reluctant Perfectionist, a blog about life as a writer with obsessive-compulsive disorder. Helen attended my Blogging for Beginners and Improvers Workshop last November.  

 

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Guest Blogger: Helen Barbour

 

Let me start with a confession: I hate shopping. A genetic mix-up has left me with a love of action movies, but no interest whatsoever in buying clothes or shoes.

 

There is a special sub-category to my loathing: shopping for jeans. Thanks to another genetic anomaly, I have giraffe legs. The standard long in most shops is no match for an inside leg of 34”. Finding jeans that fit has never been easy. Now that I am ‘of a certain age’, it has become almost impossible.

 

 A much younger friend responded to my grumbles by recommending Top Shop, on the basis that their long was 34”.

 

I knew that Top Shop was for woman half my age, but I was desperate.

 

They certainly seemed to have a wide selection of styles, many in 34” length: skinny, slim, straight, tapered, boyfriend… I circled the displays half a dozen times, trying to find the cut I wanted. On each circuit, I discovered a new permutation of style, length and colour. Yet all of them looked much the same: painfully narrow, with a lack of fabric around the midriff.

 

I collared a young assistant. ‘I know I’m too old for this shop…’

 

‘Ah bless,’ she said.

 

‘…but a friend recommended you [it’s not my fault, I know I shouldn’t be here]. Do you – by any chance – have high‑waisted, long, boot-leg cut jeans.’ I said this very slowly, to enable her to take in the details of such a bizarre request.

 

She frowned. I might as well have been asking where the Higgs Boson Particle was.

 

‘The thing is,’ I blustered on, ‘I need a high-waist to hide my middle-aged spread.’

 

‘Ah bless,’ she said.

 

From Kissmequick on Tumblr

At this point, a vision flashed into my head of all the 20-something girls I’d seen with muffin tops ten times bigger than my pot belly spilling over the top of their jeans. They had no qualms about letting it all hang out – why should I? I suspect because it’s easier not to have qualms in your 20s. In your late 40s, a little more decorum is called for.

 

‘Mmm,’ she frowned again. ‘It’s a shame, our denim expert’s off today. She knows everything about our jeans.’

 

A denim expert? What next, a tee shirt tsar? A glove guru?

 

I tried on half a dozen pairs, anyway.

 

The worst were the skinny jeans. Not only did they cut off my blood flow, they also transformed my long, slim, straight legs into the bowed struts of a chicken wishbone.

 

Next time, I’ll head for the safe, middle‑aged embrace of M & S. I’d rather settle for jeans an inch too short, to safeguard my circulation – and keep my belly (button) to myself.

 

 

Visit Helen's blog The Reluctant Perfectionist

 

Do You Get Writer's Guilt?

 

It's ridiculous but I can't get it out of my head. Yesterday the gas man came over to do a routine check up on our boiler. I was hoping for a chatty man because I'd been home alone plotting a novel for over a week and was starting to hunger for human interaction. The gas man, however, was a quiet man.

 

I sat with my cork board slowly pinning post-it notes to it while he fiddled about with the gas reader. He declined my offer of a cup of tea.

 

As he finished off he said, 'Are you doing a course?'

'No, I'm plotting a novel,' I said. ' I'm a writer.'

The inevitable question came, 'What do you write?'

'Well, I've just written a romantic comedy.'

'Ah, rom coms,' he said knowingly, and then he uttered the words that would niggle at me for the rest of the day, 'a life of leisure then.'

 

I know I tried to justify myself. I said I did other jobs too. And as he slipped through the door I muttered incoherently that writing a hundred thousand words was not my idea of leisure. But it was too late. I was left feeling like I'd been smacked in the face, laughed at, belittled. I was a silly little girl, writing silly little stories, who spent her days relaxing while the rest of the world worked hard in the 'real' world.  

 

My mind kept going back to it, redrafting what I should have said. But he wouldn't have cared either way and why should he? I shouldn't care either, so, why does it bother me so much?

 

This morning, I decided it must be guilt. I'm one of those people that think if it doesn't hurt, you're probably not doing enough. I've always had a job, since I was a teenager. All the writing I ever did was done early in the morning before work, or in the evening. I was forever wishing I had more time. I felt like I was investing all my energy into some pointless job and giving the remains of myself to what I really wanted to do in life.

But I was disciplined because I wanted to be a writer so much, and I managed to finish a full-length novel, which I never did anything with, and later, after working on a blog for a long time, Shop Girl Diaries, which was published.

 

It's thanks to my husband's support that I now write full-time. It was him that suggested I take a year to just write. In that time I've often felt useless for not being able to contribute financially. At my lowest moments, Destiny's Child's song 'Independent Women', has played in my head, reminding me I didn't even buy my own notebook, let alone my own diamonds. But mostly, I've felt happy! Because what bliss it is to wake up to a whole day to write. For me, it's a dream come true.

 

I'm no longer a frustrated writer, which is not to say some days aren't hard going. But I love what I do. Since I've been writing full-time I've finished a new novel and at last got an agent. It is my job even if it doesn't feel like one.  

 

I suppose I felt guilty when Mr Gasman said I was living a life of leisure because I was enjoying myself, happy at my work. And what on earth is wrong with that?   

 

 

Public Speaking with Progressive Women

Candy Piercy, Emily Benet, Emma Ward, Judy Oliver and Dame Tessa Jowell

'On the panel we have four women who have been very successful in their fields,' our host said.

 

And if it had been a film I'd have cut to a shot of my bank account.

 

Hmm... 

At least I'm in credit. Just. But neither an amount you'd associate with 'very successful'. I had just finished a Make it Happen With Social Media workshop at the Progressive Women Leadership Conference. Well sod the money, I had managed to make a lot of things happen.

 

I was on a panel with Candy Piercy, a leadership and political trainer and Judy Oliver, who had just run a 'Set Up Your Own Business' workshop. Oh... and did I mention Dame Tessa Jowell?

 

It was all Emma Ward's fault, a member of Progressive Women, who had come to my Blogging for Beginners and Improvers Workshop a few months ago. At the end of it she'd told me she'd really enjoyed it and would I do a workshop for a charity event she was organising later in the year. Without knowing any more details, I said YES.

 

I'm getting good at saying YES. I like where YES takes me.

 

Once upon a time I was a shyer girl than I am today. But when Shop Girl Diaries was published I learnt that it's not enough to get your book published, you also need to sell it, and to do that you have to say goodbye to your comfort zone. Since then I've done quite a bit of public speaking.

 

Someone asked a question. There was hesitation from the panel. Something about partners taking half the responsibility for... for what? Chores? Kids? No one went to answer so I opened my mouth and words tumbled out. In my head a voice cried, where the hell are you going with this? And more importantly, what was the question?

 

When you step outside your comfort zone of course you can screw up. But as the modified saying goes, show me a woman who has never made a mistake and I'll show you a woman who hasn't achieved very much, or tried anything new, or... you get the drift.

 

After that initial muddled answer, I calmed down and focused. Public Speaking gets easier the more you do it. I still get nervous, but it excites me too. I love the rush, the feeling of overcoming the fear and afterwards knowing that I've grown a little bit more.

 

Another question came. Concentrate. Advice on leadership? Success?

 

'Get out of your comfort zone,' I said, feeling wonderfully uncomfortable.

 

I'm a writer. I like to sit in a quiet corner and make stuff up. But I also want to have a successful career. When I get that niggling fear in the pit of my stomach I remind myself of this message: 'Your life shrinks or expands in relation to your courage.'

 

I want to thank Emma, and all the members of Progressive Women not only for inviting me to an inspiring event but for giving me the opportunity to tackle the old nerves once again.

 

That evening I was buzzing. Life seemed so full of possibilities. I wanted to do more workshops, more talks... and as if in answer to my wish, another door opened. That same night I found out I will be talking about Writing in the Digital Age at Stoke Newington Literary Festival on Sunday 9th June.

 

My policy is this: Say YES now, worry later.

 

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I'll be running two social media workshop in July:  

Blogging for Beginners and Improvers and Make it Happen with Twitter.

Check out my Workshop Page for more details.

Colombia: Mission Accomplished

The time has arrived for me to try to sum up what an incredible time we've just had in Colombia and persuade you to pack your bags and head off there soon.

 

I'm sitting here daydreaming about the country that ranks third in the world in biodiversity. It has every possible landscape, from glittering Caribbean beaches to lush green hills, deserts, and of course, the staggering Andes mountain range. It's a beautiful place with friendly people, delicious food, diverse music... so if the first thing you think of when I say Colombia is cocaine, then I urge you to think again.

 

To those who never fail to make idiotic drug-related jokes around me when I mention my husband is Colombian, please accept a firm but necessary slap on the cheek and let me redirect you to a suitable airline which will sort out a route to the country that has stolen a piece of my heart.

 

OPERATION COLOMBIA

 

Our Mission in 5 Steps:

 

Step 1 - Makeover

 

Mum showing off new nails!

Colombians are a glamorous people (none more so than my elegant mother-in-law) and looking good there is inexpensive. On arrival in the capital of Bogotá my Mum, Auntie and I headed straight for one of the many beauty salons for a makeover. A manicure and a blow dry will cost you as little as five pounds, and you'll feel so pleased with the result that you'll obviously tip all the lovely people involved.

I convinced my Mum (easily) and my Auntie (more resistant) to dye their hair and we all had our hands and feet done. It felt brilliant and my Auntie, who arrived grey, and left dyed and highlighted, looked at least ten years younger. Right now, I must share the feelings of the many Colombians living overseas... Seriously, how will I surive without the pampering?

Step 2 - Meat the Family

 

While on our travels, my family met a diverse range of relatives many of which we joined in the eating of meat presented in baskets, on plates and even wrapped up in plantain leaves. Other recurring delights were 'plátano' (sweet plantain) 'patacón' (fried plantain) 'frijoles' (beans) and I must mention the traditional Bogotano soup 'ajiaco', which my husband's grandmother insisted on cooking even though she was in great pain at the time and should have been in hospital being treated for a stomach infection - Thank you!

 

Step 3 -  Say Goodbye to your Comfort Zone

Sancho Panza and Don Quijote

My Dad and Uncle soon earned the nicknames Don Quijote and Sancho Panza respectively, though neither of them had ever ridden a horse or a donkey in their lives. The opportunity to change that came when we reached Valle de Corcora in the Quindío department, where wax palms, the symbol of Colombia, soar up into the skies.
 

 

Neither my Mum nor my Auntie could remember the last time they'd ridden a horse, or were entirely sure they ever had either. I'm proud of all of them for stepping out of their comfort zones! It was a picturesque journey through the valley and there was no trouble as the horses were on automatic and knew exactly where they were headed.

Of course, that wasn't the only time comfort zones were left behind! Did I tell you about the time we were on a raft sailing down a river and a thunder storm broke out?

Rafting down El Rio La Vieja, Quindio 

Step 4 - Shopping Made in Colombia

 

By all means go to Colombia with a half empty suitcase, but don't expect to fill it with clothes as clothes are far more expensive there than in Europe and North America. We mostly shopped at artisanal markets stocked with beautiful handicrafts.

 

These Coffee Pickers wouldn't last long!

We also bought lots of coffee after an interactive tour on a coffee farm, where we donned typical coffee picker outfits and demonstrated to the guide our lack of talent for the job in hand. Sad Fact: Coffee pickers earn less than ten pounds a day, and a third of that is subtracted for their lunch. Support them by buying fair trade Colombian coffee!

 

At one point we were followed by a man selling hats... is it obvious?

 

 Step 5 - Grow as tall as a Wax Palm Tree

 

There were tears at the airport. My in-laws had been the most generous and enthusiastic hosts and we all felt sad to be leaving them. In my last post I said the mission was to bond with our Colombian family and create happy memories, and in that the sense our mission was definitely accomplished.

 

But I think we went far beyond our mission and in our own different ways, personally and collectively, we've all grown through our experience. In fact a little bird tells me my parents have caught the travel bug and are considering visiting my cousin in Nepal next year... Don Quijote on an elephant? Well, I'm sure Cervantes mentioned it somewhere...

Operation Colombia (with ALL the family)

I've just handed in an edited draft of Spray Painted Bananas to my agent and I'm now leaving the country so she can't hand it back!

Destination: Colombia
Mission: To bond with Colombian family and make happy memories.
Participants: Just me. And my Mum. Dad. Auntie. Uncle. Oh and husband, although he's on another flight which will take him on the scenic route. Bad luck husband.

Profile and Travel History:

MUM: A keen walker, she is often found on the Camino de Santiago, Spain. She likes to recall her trip to Morrocco in the 70s. I like to tease her about it.

Hopes: To see a Capybara
Fears:  She has packed all the wrong clothes
 
DAD:  A keen walker, with exceptionally long legs, he is also often on the Camino de Santiago, where he is known to have once lost a shoe. He visited China on business during the 90s, bringing back gifts of faux designer t-shirts, and there is photographic evidence that he has also been to Mexico.  

Hopes: To see Cartagena de Las Indias
Fear: Altitude sickness


Mum, Dad, Auntie on the Camino de Santiago - photo by Uncle

 

AUNTIE: Another regular on the Camino de Santiago. She recently travelled to Nepal to visit her daughter where she did paragliding (RESPECT), rode an elephant and slept in a rat infested hostel. On her return, she discovered she had contracted the travel bug.

Hopes: To Ride a Horse
Fears:  Riding a Horse

 



Adventurous Uncle and Auntie in Nepal

UNCLE: Ditto Camino de Santiago. He always boasts the best equipment for every climate and is the most likely to have researched our upcoming destination. He also journeyed to Nepal to visit said daughter, did paragliding (RESPECT), rode an elephant and slept in a rat infested hostel.

Hopes: To see glorious countryside
Fears: Mosquitoes and getting kidnapped.

 



Amazing Backpacking Days with Rachel Surtees!

As for me, this will be my third trip to Colombia. The first time I went as a backpacker, the second time to meet my future parents-in-law and now as confirmed daughter-in-law bringing four member of the family! What could possibly go wrong?

Hopes: That everyone has a great time!
Fears: Being unable to say 'no' to street hawkers, my Dad talking proudly about the conquistadors... and anyone falling off a horse!  


 

Guest Blog: One Week in Hampshire

 by Isabel Rogers

 

“It’s a lifestyle and humour blog,” Emily said. I couldn’t survive my lifestyle without a good dollop of humour, so here’s a flavour of a typical week.

 

We have pets. Specifically: two sheep, six hens, two cats and an injured rook who might as well be a pet, the amount of time she hangs around under the bird feeder. I also have a husband and two children who occasionally need feeding, but I’m wary of classing them as pets. Only this morning a thrush decided to smack into the window and lay stunned for so long I thought she wanted to join us, to recuperate in a cardboard box lined with straw and be fed jam sandwiches by a well-meaning three-year-old

 

Last week we wormed the hens. This involves donning rubber gloves and mask (I fancied myself as Hotlips about to assist Hawkeye in M*A*S*H) and mixing some powder with olive oil so it sticks to their feed. For a whole week. That done, one of them was still looking poorly so I brought her into the house: it’s no fun being ill if you have to stand outside in subzero windchill.

Eschewing the vet, who will wring a hen’s neck as soon as you turn up rather than charge you for a cure that’s more then they’re worth, I diagnosed from my Hen Bible. Happy to report she is much perkier and will soon rejoin her sisters outside. Now the medicine is kicking in I no longer have to clear up hen diarrhoea (sorry) sixteen times a day. Until Release Date we have cat vs. chicken traffic control measures.

Ah - the cats. You may not know, but we were recently colonised by builders for ten months. Their HQ was in the utility room, right by the cat flap. My shy (terrified) cats were too scared to dart past them, so took to pooing upstairs on the landing carpet when we weren’t looking. Every day. Even when we left another door open for them. I’m now trying to re-house-train ancient cats, after scrubbing the carpet with a foaming disinfectant in the hope it would smell less like a litter tray (actually, now more like a morgue, but you can’t have everything).

 

The endless winter doesn’t help. I caved recently and bought a load of seasoned logs, after my husband had spent three freezing weekends sawing wood that won’t burn because it’s soaked up all this sodding weather. It says something about our children that my husband would rather saw wood and get hypothermia than spend the weekend playing with them inside.

 

Oh, and I’m also trying to finish my novel. It contains elements of farce. Can’t imagine where I get the material.

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Isabel Rogers used to work in the City, then lived for a decade in the Scottish Highlands before being tempted back south. She is nearing the end of her second novel (the first got an agent, was unbearably exciting for a moment and then … nothing). Her poetry has been published in various literary magazines. She blogs at isabelrogers.org and is on Twitter as @Isabelwriter.

Isabel attended my Blog Workshop in October.

Guest Blog: The Truth in Fiction

by Wendy Shillam

 

 

Pic from Halloween Mart

 

I've just seen a group of monks dancing with teenage girls in Oxford Street.  

 

Fictitious rubbish I hear you say.  But no, it's the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die truth.  If I tell you they were Hare Krishna monks, you might be more convinced.

 

My online novella, The Author’s Song, is a story about a musician. It's pure fiction.  In any chapter I could have her win the lottery, be elected prime minister or meet a god and find herself spirited to the top of Mount Olympus.  But none of those things are going to happen.  She will keep her feet firmly on terra firma.  I have devised a whole series of completely realistic trials for her.  And I know exactly how she will react to each one.

 

This is the truth in fiction.  This is, in my view, the rigour and the fun of it – a thing that both the reader and the writer must share.

 

When Tolstoy finally threw Anna Karenina under the wheels of a train, we, as readers had to believe that she was capable of suicide. A train appears as a violent and threatening image right at the beginning of the book. Tolstoy spent the whole book working her character, so that when the final act is committed, we believe in that act, we have sympathy for her and thus we are even more horror-struck.

 

I use my instinct to decide whether something is realistic enough. When I write fiction, it isn't true, but it might be. That intuition is, I suspect, partly memory, and partly my take on how the world works. But my own schema, like yours, is coloured by prejudice.  We all believe that what's gone before will happen again.  This is dangerous ground for the novelist; it can lead to cliché.  But challenge a reader’s expectations too often and the story will be unbelievable. In fiction surprises need to be used sparingly like adjectives or hot chilli sauce.

 

My writing group sometimes comment on very small details. They say things like, a woman like that would never wear flatties, or he would surely offer to pay for the drinks.  I quite like it when they do make those sorts of observations because I know that they have developed some empathy for the character. If I test my readers too often with weird events, too much coincidence or strings of incongruity, they won't believe me when the unexpected does occur.

 

The monks I saw in Oxford Street were dressed from head to toe in orange; they played tambourines and carried banners emblazoned with the words of their Krishna chant.  As I pushed past I noticed that one of them, the boy who was dancing the most happily, had a wooden leg.

You can probably guess which part of that last sentence was made up.  But, could it be the start of a good story?

 

 

Since attending Emily’s blogging course Wendy Shillam has started writing an online novella www.authorssong.com and an urban gardening blog, www.rooftopvegplot.com.