Under Her Hair

I recently posted a picture of myself on facebook. It was a gorgeous picture and I was very proud of the way I looked in it, which is exactly why I posted it. The photo was taken on a date with my husband. Of course, it being a date I wore my favourite dress, which happens to look fabulous on me, thanks to a lovely friend who helped me pick it out. And I took particular care with my make up.

I got lots of lovely, encouraging comments and I thought to myself, “Is that why I posted it? So that people will tell me how gorgeous I look?” If I am honest with myself— of course that it why I posted it. I was proud of the way I looked in that photo and I wanted everyone to see it, to know that I can look beautiful.

Like most women I struggle with my appearance. I’m dissatisfied what I see in the mirror most of the time. I poke my tongue out at my reflection, scrunch up my nose and sigh dramatically to myself, “This is as good as it’s going to get.”

One of my particular problems is that I have a condition called alopecia, which has rendered me ‘hairless.’ I have no hair on my head, except annoying little white ones, no eyebrows, no eyelashes, no hair on my arms or legs (this one I’m not that annoyed about). I have felt quite inadequate in the looks department for a long time.

Lately, I’m beginning to realise that I am not the only one. For some reason we seem hardwired to want what we do not have.

I’m slowly coming to appreciate my two very distinctive looks. I can wear a scarf which is so much cooler, now that Cairns is starting to become somewhat unbearably hot. Or, I can wear my gorgeous wig that I finally had the courage to get and now wear comfortably. I still look like I’m on chemo at times but that’s not so worrying to me anymore. I’m incredibly grateful for wonderful friends who have encouraged me in my makeover and have been so excited for me as I’ve slowly made the transition from looking like I have a life-threatening disease to trying out make-up, getting tattoos and now a wig.

Having alopecia is not something that I am ashamed of and it’s not something that I bring up as I introduce myself to people. “Hi, my name is Linsey and I have alopecia,” is not the usual way of introducing ones self. Though sometimes I wish I would have the courage to do so. Usually it can be a bit of an awkwardly broached subject with people I haven’t known my whole life.

I don't quite have the guts to go out in public without anything on my head yet, maybe one day. That is something that I've also decided is okay. We are not all hard wired the same way, just as we do not all look the same (thank goodness).

As I posted the photo of me in my lovely wig on facebook part of me wanted to declare to the world that while I may look gorgeous in the photo, it’s not what I look like all the time and I am okay with that.

Beauty, as they say is in the eye of the beholder and I am so blessed to have a crowd of people around me who tell me that I look beautiful whether I wear a wig or not.

If you want to know more about alopecia there's a good description of it in wikipedia.

When What You Love To Do Is So Hard

You know, when you love something, really love it and you think, because I love doing this so much, I’m going to be great at it. Well, that’s me and writing. I love to write, to sit down and let my pen glide over the paper and see my thoughts materialise on the page. It’s kind of magical.

Part of me, a big part has always thought, “This is the one thing that I could excel at.”

And I began to write and I thought here I am, I’m finally doing it and the first thing that I write is going to be brilliant and everyone is going to see what a genius I am and I’m going to be published straight away and my book is going to change people’s lives and everyone is going to love me.

Well, the truth is I can’t spell and my grammar is horrible, my punctuation is even worse. I don’t know where to put it or which one to use. And the whole science to writing something is really hard for me to grasp. Things like pace and structure, story arc and tension all meld together in one confusing tangled mess. And you know what? There’s an art form to writing, there are rules and people have to like what you write for it to be published. And it has to make sense to more than just me.

I found out that it’s quite easy to write, it’s incredibly hard to write well and to write something that captures peoples attention and imagination, well that’s infinitely more difficult.

What do I do now?

Well, I guess, for me writing is sort of like being a mum. It’s the hardest job in the world but I have these two little people who I love and I’m passionate about and I want to protect. I get up every morning and pray that I’ll make good decisions and pray that I can show them that I love them in ways they’ll understand, pray for patience and gentleness and wisdom. It’s not something that I discard just because it’s hard.

So it is with writing. I will continue to write, hopefully getting better the more I do it. Learning more and more each time I read a book, each time I talk to someone about writing, each time I do a course. And maybe, one day I’ll write something that is good and that inspires people, maybe one person.

I think for me I need to write. I have all these notebooks that I’ve written in through the years, I have journals, letters, e-mails, this blog, stories that I’m writing. It’s something I just can’t stop doing.

Even if I never get published, which I am told should not be the end goal of a writer anyway, I’ll continue to do it because if nothing else it helps me to sort out all the lose threads that seem to get tangled up in my life. When I write things down, my thoughts get clearer and I can see better what is happening and what has happened.

I am a writer.

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

I see you.

But do you see me?

And do I really see you?

Or do I see the you, you want me to see?

And do you see the me that I want you to see?

I want you to see me.

I’m begging you to see me.

But I fear that my fear is putting on a mask

And that you only see the me that I’m afraid/wanting you see.

Walking in the rain

I went for a walk this morning as the sun was rising up into the sky, glowing as it does and the clouds touched with pearl shine. This little corner of the world lends itself brilliantly to early morning walks. The birds already up since before daybreak singing everything into existence as if it is the first day of creation and the dogs eager to announce to the world when some innocent walker strays to close to their territory.

I decided to explore a street I’d never been up before keeping a weary eye on the grey clouds that were clustering over the dark mountains. When I’d gone too far to turn back and still not sure how long it would take me to walk home, the heavens opened and the rain began to fall. It was a soft veil of rain that landed gently and didn’t disturb. Still, after two minutes I was soaked and my hand protectively covering my phone. I squelched on in my crocs trying to decide if I should just remove them or keep squeaking along.

I love walking in the rain. In Rumginae there was really no choice to the matter. If you got caught in the rain it would be of such a drenching down pour that you’d be soaked through in a matter of seconds and not be able to see much in front of you to even attempt a run for cover. Walking was the best option.

I’d love to walk through Paris in the rain. Apparently, that is the epitome of walking in the rain. Though, I think walking in Paris, rain or not would be amazing.

In Cairns there’s really no reason to hurry along and try to get to cover, the rain is not a chilling one. I was told, when we first arrived that true Cairns people never carry umbrellas. Apparently, there are quite a few not true Cairns people living in this area because as I rounded the corner to the local supermarket I could see them all huddled under the roof waiting it out.

I was starting to get rather nervous about the time, needing to get back to my family and all, and the fact that I really had no idea where I was. I looked up into the clearing sky and there in front of me was a full double rainbow, the colours all brilliance and luminous, the sun shining through the rain. Every time I see a rainbow I breathe out relief. That promise symbol splashed full out in the open for everyone to see.

It was a good day for a walk, it makes me eager to discover that next reminder, cause I know there will be one.

Books are Better than Movies

Everyone knows that books are better than movies, especially movies of books.

I had to chuckle when that very statement was conveyed so eloquently in a movie about a book, Tomorrow When the War Began. I read the book and it was better, of course. 

One of the major reasons for this, I think, is because the emotion that a writer can convey in a book is so much deeper than an actor can show in a movie. A writer can show what is in different characters heads. A writer can convey thoughts and emotions at the same time and of course with a lot more time and space to do it in. It must be incredibly tricky to try and convey the depths of emotion through speech, facial expression and of course music. There is really only so much that can be achieved in a movie and it’s enough, if there is just the movie.

Of course there are horrifically written books out there as well but I'm talking specifically about movies of books.

I watched The Hunger Games before I read the books and I watched The Lord of the Rings trilogy before I read the books. I loved the movies they were fantastic, in fact it was watching the movies that inspired me to read the books. And it was fine for The Lord of the Rings because I watched all three movies before I read the books. However, I only watched The Hunger Games and then proceeded to devour all three books, because I couldn’t put them down and then I watched the second movie and I was so incredibly disappointed. The emotion was flat as a tack. It may have had to do with the actors or the script writers, whatever but man I’m not sure I even want to watch the last two movies.

When I was in primary school one of the older student was conducting a science experiment. She gave me a section of a book to read and then took my pulse as I read the book. I felt so incredibly embarrassed and exposed, because the section she gave me to read wasn’t a chase scene; it wasn’t a nail biting fight or emotionally wrenching death scene, it was the romantic part of the book. I can’t remember exactly what it was about but I do remember hoping beyond hope that my pulse would stay steady; gritting my teeth and trying to remain unmoved by the writing.

It really is such an incredible experience to be pulled into a book so much that you’re emotionally drawn in. I know it can happen in movies, I’ve cried in movies before but I think with a book, it can go deeper.

And I think to be able to write like that must take experience. A writer must have to know first hand what it’s like or have experienced similar emotions to what they are communicating; grief, heartache, love etc. to be able to even attempt to put emotions into words.

I read once that writers must be able to tap into their raw emotions and put them on paper or else the writing falls flat. Writers must be bold and honest even to the point of vulnerability in sharing their inner most feelings to be able to connect emotionally with readers. Phew, talk about a long D&M and sometimes with millions of readers.

I am beginning to realise how much courage it takes to write from your heart; the deep part of it that’s sometimes hard to listen to and share it with the world.

Reflector

Apparently I’m a reflector. 

This is probably quite an obvious statement to those who know me but I’ve never really thought that much about it to plonk myself into a category. I don’t really like the idea of putting people into categories, so maybe I should say I have quite a lot of reflector tendencies.

In his new job Matt’s been looking at different training and learning styles. He’s a logical learner and I’m a reflector. I like to think about things, mull over them, blog about them. I change my mind about a dozen times before I make a decision and I cannot stand being hurried into anything.

Over the weekend I was at a shopping centre and one of those sales people who have stalls in the middle of the walkways stopped me. I hate any form of confrontation or disappointing people in anyway, so I stopped and he went through his spiel. I listened attentively and nodded in all the right places. And then, he wanted me to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a product he’d showed me for approximately two minutes.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I said, to his obvious disappointment. It was, incredibly, his birthday that day as well.

And it wasn’t just my way of getting out of buying his thing but I was genuinely starting to feel claustrophobic by his insistence that I needed to buy what he was selling right then and there.

I’m finding out that I’m the same with my writing. I have actually written a full-length children’s novel of which I am quite proud. Now, I have to let it sit and mull over what I’ve written. Have I actually said what I wanted to say? What was it exactly that I was wanting to communicate when I started to write this story? It’s not that I think every story has to have a moral to it. I love stories that you read and enjoy and think it’s wonderful without it having any deep and meaningful holding it all up. But having said that I am quite sure one of the reasons I write is to add to the discussion about life.

So I’m in my reflector stage at the moment. Also, I cut a huge section out of my story and in that section there was a pretty key revelation about one of my characters and now I’m trying to figure out how to put that revelation back into the story without it feeling contrived. I feel that like that poet when he was asked what he did all day, he answered, “I took a comma out and then put it back in again.”

It’s The Little Things

Well, I finally watched Frozen, it’s taken a while. But having two very young boys and a husband who doesn’t particularly go for the Disney musicals made it pretty far down on the list of movies to watch. Matt was away and I needed a break, so I decided to rent it and see what all the fuss is about. And, I have to say it was good. I enjoyed it. Heaps funny, great songs. Wasn’t Elsa amazing belting out, ‘Let it go’? Though, I have to say, my favourite song was Olaf’s, ‘Ode to summer’ (which is not the actual song title, I don’t know what it is). And the movie had a nice feel good ending and fantastic animation.

I wasn’t too taken with the story though and I thought something could have been worked on a bit more to make it stronger. Some of the minor characters (Sven) took over from the main ones (Elsa) and there were definitely unresolved plot points.

I read a blog post recently about those little details in writing that can be overlooked and not tied up. Like the character who picks up their ice-coffee and then gets carried away with an animated, hands waving about conversation but no mention of putting the cup down first. Or the picture book I read recently, where the characters were outside and then on the next page there’s an inside scene and we’re not sure how everyone got indoors. Matt was reading one of my stories and pointed out that my main character was busting for the loo in one scene but I never resolved that issue. She got caught up in a conversation and then walked back out the door again without seeing to her pressing need. So I added a sentence. Little details.

I don’t want to bag out Frozen or anything, because I did enjoy watching it and I even let my five year-old watch it. His main concern was; “Why did Elsa have special powers?” And this was one of the things I had a problem with; there was no explanation for this particular major part of the whole story, except that she was born with it. Why? Don’t know, it’s a bit of a mystery. Maybe Disney put it into the too hard basket but I think it could have been fleshed out a bit.

My three-year old only wanted to know, what was up with the scary ice-monster?

My questions are; why was there no resolution to the fact that Kristoff had seen Ana being cured when she was a little girl? That was a pretty major introductory scene for all of the main characters. They could have put in a little scene where there was light bulb moment, at least, but nothing.

And then how could the king and queen allow their daughters to live in such isolation from each other and everyone else?  What parent could ever sentence their daughters to such misunderstanding and confusion as well as fear?

And then poor Hans, the guy gets put in charge of the castle in a rather unconventional way. Why does Ana give control of her entire kingdom to a stranger? Where are her trusted advisors? The Prime minister perhaps? Hmmmm

Anyway, back to Hans, there is no lead into the fact that he’s a villain. Except for a throw away line about him have twelve older brother’s there is not hint of anything sinister in him. He’s doing a great job of protecting the kingdom, giving food and clothes to all the citizens who are freezing. He risks his life to go save Ana and bring in Elsa, in a very valiant way, I have to say and then all of a sudden, he’s like this mean, nasty guy who’s trying to kill people. Sorry, not convinced on that that one.

All this is to say that I don't usually take Disney movies so seriously :) And I’m not sure I’d be able to do much better but I'll certainly take a whack at it. I know that re-reading my stories and having other people read my stories always makes me realise the little details that I’ve passed and need to work on more. But it’s nice to know that I’m starting to learn more about story writing.