What started me off was this article by the author Alexandra Adornetto – Why Teenage Boys Suck More Than Vampires – in which she argues that Edward Cullen is the ideal man because real-life, fangless teenage boys are so “dumb, vain and confused”. The only saving grace (as I’m finding is generally the case when The Age prints a horribly one-sided, mean article) were the comments afterwards, standing up for non-cookie-cutter boys. There was also this very good, creative response from author Lili Wilkinson, and another very good riposte by author William Kostakis.

But I had to admit to myself that, when I was a teenage girl, I considered most of the boys I knew to be…well, not dumb, not vain, or confused, but pretty rubbish. I couldn’t understand why they were never on the same page as me – they were more interested in hanging out with their mates, or talking about sport or music, than gazing adoringly into my eyes. What was wrong with them?? This, I thought, was a sign of their total lack of maturity. I wanted to date Johnny Castle from Dirty Dancing. I’m sorry to say that the only difference between my teenage self and Alexandra Adornetto is that she got a column in a national newspaper. Looking back, I wish I’d been more like the teenage boys I considered so immature. I wish I’d seen that my girlfriends were more fun to hang out with, or that interests would last far longer than my latest crush.

Ah, hindsight.

The theme of the week continued when my son’s kinder announced a Footie Day. They wanted to know which team we’d be representing. Football is huge in Melbourne. If you don’t have a team, you’re eyed with suspicion. We don’t have a team. We have not given my son the tools he’ll need to be a cookie-cutter Melbourne sports fan. I found myself thinking: should we? Will he turn round to us in a few years and curse us? Will he get left out at school? Will he give two hoots? It’s so hard to tell when they’re young – you want to let them become their own person, make their own choices, but you’re the biggest influence on their lives. Take last weekend – my son suddenly piped out of nowhere about our friend’s baby, who is breastfed: “Why does she drink from her mum?” I told him that’s where the baby’s milk was and that it was really good for her. Half an hour later we were on the train and I noticed he was holding his new plastic lizard up to his breast. He smiled up at me: “Lizard’s having milk.” It was kind of beautiful and enlightened, the lizard part being the only slightly weird factor.

There was one more event that fit with the theme. He awoke from a rare afternoon nap, sighed deeply and said gravely: “Mum… I think I’m going to try salad.” I thought to myself: Son, you are a wonderfully unique boy who breastfeeds his lizards, can’t play football and wants to try salad. Good luck out there. (I’m right behind you.)

But if I were not, I’d be heading to this place:

Because on Monday 28th June at 5.45pm, the fabulous bookshop Tales On Moon Lane are hosting a teen fiction event at Dulwich Library. Check out the line-up:

Luisa Plaja, author of Split By A Kiss, Extreme Kissing, and Swapped By A Kiss (and some other top secret books – Luisa is prolific, in fact she’s my personal Queen of Teen).

Keris Stainton, author of the recently published Della Says: OMG (which has had all manner of superb reviews) and such a fabulous blogger that I’d call her my inspiration for starting Doing The Compossible a few years ago.

Simmone Howell, author of Everything Beautiful and Notes From The Teenage Underground, who is so effortlessly cool and talented and is a fellow resident of Melbourne (though didn’t require the rigorous medical or madness-inducing forms that I had to suffer to get here…).

Sarra Manning, author of Nobody’s Girl and Let’s Get Lost and more besides, and if Wikipedia is telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth she also went to the same uni and did the same degree as me…hmm, maybe I should have gone to a few more lectures after all…

I’ve been lucky enough to meet 75% of this line-up already (one of the perks of the job…we need perks, they don’t pay us much y’know) and give you my personal solid-gold 5-year warranty guarantee that this event is going to be enormous fun and an inspiration. Or your money back. (The event is free but places are limited so call Tales on Moon Lane on 0207 274 5759, email them on info@talesonmoonlane.co.uk or pop into the shop or Dulwich Library.)

Today I want to say: you don’t have to try very hard to find joy. This is the shot that sums it up. There is joy in my son’s face as he blows out the third and final candle, and there is the thrill of seeing him happy in my face, but what I really want to say (to myself, mainly, as you may have figured this out yonks ago) is: look at the cake. It’s from a supermarket and has plastic dinosaurs stuck in it and took me thirty seconds to prepare with a stressed-out factor of nil. That’s not my usual style. I have a reputation for creating complicated novelty cakes from scratch – pirates, mermaids, castles, dinosaurs, guitars – and that reputation includes yelling at people (my children) during baking and construction: “Don’t come anywhere near me or speak to me or touch me or even think about me while I’m doing this, it’s VERY IMPORTANT”. Cakes are just the start of how stressed out I am able to get about parenting, so this photo is my big fat chocolate-covered reminder that love is all you need.

]]> http://emilygale.co.uk/2010/06/the-sweetest-thing/feed/ 12 http://emilygale.co.uk/2010/06/making-sense-of-it/ http://emilygale.co.uk/2010/06/making-sense-of-it/#comments Tue, 08 Jun 2010 01:03:04 +0000 em http://emilygale.co.uk/?p=245 When you are trying to get a book published, people will give you lots of advice. Just like the advice folk well-meaningly giftwrap in powder blue or pink when you have a baby, the trick is to learn which bits suit you and to toss the rest. But even when you think you know what’s what, some old rule you used to live by can come back to bite you. The one that recently bit me was one I’ve always sworn by, possibly as a hangover from being an editor, when all I longed for was a hard-working author who didn’t make ridiculous demands: be nice.

Oh, I have been nice. I’ve been so damn nice I could throw up a little. I have stopped myself from making a fuss, repeating the mantra: all your life you wanted to be published, just act grateful! It’s difficult to find that balance between nice and doormat when you’re an author who has clawed her way in. Recently I discovered that I did not get it right. I should have kept on, not given up. Because of my dreaded alter-ego, Ms Nicey McNicerson, I’ve only just seen the light on a particular project, with the result that a book I was proud of is now a book I want my name removed from.

So my revised rule is this: be nice, but don’t be a mug. It’s not as profound as some might put it.

A writing career doesn’t always make sense. Authors feel a pressure to seem overcome with joy once their first book is published, even if privately things aren’t going so well. It’s PR, darling. But the fact is that sometimes you can work your bedsocks off (it’s very brr in Melbourne at the moment) on a novel and get a brisk and unexpected ‘no’, and other times you can scribble something hurriedly and get a fantastic reward. You can’t make sense of that any more than you can capture and bottle that luck element that goes into your first book deal. The reward has to be in the journey.

A few months ago I entered a haiku competition on Melbourne Gastronome. My haiku, hastily scribbled during an advert break, won me a night’s accommodation at The Outpost Retreat in Noojee. Because I wrote it so quickly, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I didn’t deserve it. You’re supposed to sweat, aren’t you? As it turned out, I really needed that break – in the end it didn’t matter whether the haiku made me deserving or whether something else did. So we piled into the car, my partner, my kids and our manny, and headed east with a large quantity of Mentos for my car-sick-prone daughter. We had a fabulous wintery meal (rolled beef stuffed with veal mince on a bed of sweet potato mash topped with a portobello mushroom and a Yorkshire Pudding, followed by pistachio and almond torte with pistachio ice cream, hubba hubba). But the highlight was watching my 3 year old’s face (and wild driving technique) as he had his first go at the steering wheel on a dirt track, sitting on his father’s lap. Such joy cannot be planned. The freezing-cold early-morning stroll the children insisted on was pretty good, too (we made sure it didn’t last too long by giving them light jackets and no gloves).

And after that little pick-me-up, it’s back to the drawing board…fortunately, that’s my favourite place to be.

I think it’s pretty obvious what I was aiming for with this artistic shot…um, and that is the similarity between writing a book and hanging out your laundry. If you don’t grasp it, I can’t help you. It’s something you either get or you don’t.

As with most things I think about, talk about or blog about these days, my first port of call was to google it. “Washing line”, I typed in. I was hoping for a nice article that instantly justified my random pegging of books. There was Wikipedia, calling out to me with its seedy reputation for loose facts. I clicked on it expecting to find something pretty straightforward like: a piece of cord stretched from one point to the other upon which clothes are hung out to dry. See also: clothes line. The End. But actually there’s a rather in depth article about how controversial washing lines are these days: “A variety of interests are invloved [sic] in the controversy about clothes lines, including: global warming, individual rights, the economy, private property, class, aesthetics, health, energy, national security and nostalgia.”

Who knew what a bold political statement I was making with my simple shot? Not even me.

Come back soon to see more photographic gems, and to find out which shot replaces those berries.

Today was my ‘create the perfect photo to replace the generic berries’ day. I had visions of books hanging from autumnal trees, against a perfect May-in-Melbourne sky. I’m not quite sure what I thought that would say about me, other than “I like trees, Autumn is my favourite season, I write books.” But it was a start.

Unfortunately the weather and my chronic photography skills conspired against me, as did my kitten who kept running underneath the house (so excited to be let outside – he’s not quite old enough for longer stints), forcing me to pull away from cracking shots to call “Harry! Harry!” in my crazy-cat-lady voice. It’s very high-pitched and a little bit creepy, that voice.

Also, the books kept falling out of the trees. That’s why they ended up in the strawberry plant. Here’s a sample shot – but will it make it onto the homepage for good? Nail-biting stuff. What I wanted the photo to say was: I am quite organic and arty and profound. The truth is: The bloody books wouldn’t stay in the trees so I stuck them in a strawberry plant…that my dad grew for me, and which has been half-eaten by possums, leading me to get possum poo on my ugg boots while I was performing this haughty-cultural act.

A guesthouse near Brussels, by The Style Files

When I spring-cleaned my website I searched through a hundred different Wordpress Themes for one I could live with. It was difficult. I wanted something to grab me and say “This is so you!” but nothing did. I worried that this was not because of the Wordpress themes but because of boring, lacking identity me. I looked at other authors’ sites – when I got to Simmone Howell’s I thought: ‘Why can’t I just be her?’ but then I remembered that I’ve just finished reading Swapped By A Kiss, by Luisa Plaja, which argues very entertainingly that becoming someone else is a pretty lame idea overall.

This theme was the closest. I was thinking about fresh starts and wide open futures and keeping things simple. But I felt nervous putting it up – it might say those things to me, but what else could it mean, what would readers conclude about me based on the look of my site?

I thought: they will think I’m really into berries. Maybe they will think they’ve stumbled on Emily Gale: horticulturalist. (Mind you, I did once produce THIS.) But the bookish themes didn’t work for me either. They showed pictures of someone else’s books – that was worse than berries. (Also, one of my most faithful readers breaks out in hives when he sees stock images.)

Bath made of books by Vanessa Mancini

So the berries are going, and I’ve been looking for inspiration for what image I can create myself. Looking at Book Shelf Porn has been an enjoyable process in a kind of masochistic way, and I briefly toyed with making something like this…

…until I remembered how badly it always goes when I try to do something artistic. The Drawers of Doom spring to mind. One idea I had seems feasible and I’m going to try it out tomorrow. Therefore, when you return you will either see a really cool new image, or the same damn berries with a blog post entitled WHY DO I EVER THINK I CAN DO THESE THINGS WHY WHY WHY?? I’ll try to make that as entertaining as possible.

In the meantime, these thoughts of identity are very timely considering the debates I’ve been sticking my beak in recently. It started with Meg Rosoff, who argued that the Queen of Teen competition website is characterised by patronising language (eg. it asks of its shortlistees: Bags or shoes?); it continued with Keren David, who reasoned that the answer to that bag or shoes question could be rather more enlightening than the question itself; and it finished with Lili Wilkinson, who said that it’s what’s on the inside of these pink books that counts and that she’s more worried about the slew of black or red books, with their “abusive vampire boyfriends”.

Mostly the debate was interesting and thought-provoking, but a couple of times it was offensive and ignorant. The offensive comments touched a nerve, one author declaring that “pink books” are all a load of tripe, written by “[insert smart-arse description of people like me]” (I’m not going to quote him again because a little pink fairy dies painfully every time someone does.) It’s daft to be offended by a half-baked but impressive-sounding quip, but I don’t want to be judged on a marketing decision any more than I want to be judged on a Wordpress theme. It’s just the wrapping.

If you follow me on Twitter or we’re Facebook friends (or maybe one of those rare and magical real-life friend thingummies – yes, you at the back there in the trenchcoat and dark glasses), you’ll have heard me banging on about how strange it has been to have my book and I in different hemispheres. It may be a relief for you to know that there will be no more of that. Girl, Aloud and I are now in the same neighbourhood.

Music Downloads | Free Reunited ringtone at EZ-Tracks.com

I celebrated this fact on 29th April at wonderful Readings in Hawthorn, where all it took to shift a few books was the promise of pink cupcakes, wine, and the opportunity to watch me squirm at a microphone. If I find my tear-drenched speech notes I might transcribe them here at some point. Or make a youtube clip. Or I might just forget to do that and watch Glee instead.

You never know how a launch is going to turn out (says she who has only had one launch). The weeks beforehand were pretty hellish…for my partner. Every night I’d lie awake, wondering out loud (shaking him violently to make sure he was listening) why on earth I’d thought it’d be a good idea to organise an event that involves public speaking. I loathe public speaking. The nerves became laughable on the actual day. If you’ve ever given birth or been on a long-haul flight – two of the scariest undertakings known to humankind – you’ll understand me when I confide that the nerves had a kind of colonic irrigation effect. I walked to Readings 3kg lighter.

But like most things I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about, it turned out fine. After all – as a friend reminded me – the people there wanted me to do well…most of them, anyway, and those who actively wished I’d fall over or vomit on my shoes hid their disappointment valiantly. Best of all, Girl, Aloud is on the Readings bestseller charts for teen books (April). After two years in Oz, I think I’ve earned the right to say: I’m stoked.

8 signed books (3 Brits, 3 Aussies, 2 confusing half-breeds…the Aussie who lives in Britland and the Brit who lives in Aussieland), and a few extras from the gorgeous gift shop Mac Pelican – a mug (never used!), some notepaper, a notebook, and the scrummiest post-it notes ever. Nice, innit? I thought I’d let you see it before it goes to Mac Pelican tomorrow to get done-up-all-pretty. Someone is going to have a very easy win: they show up at Readings, Hawthorn, at around 6ish, they put their name in a hat (note to self, get suitable hat), their name is drawn out of said hat, and BINGO! it’s theirs (they don’t necessarily need to shout BINGO! but it will not be frowned upon should they feel moved to do so). What could be simpler?

Granted, this is a little difficult if you live in the wrong state / hemisphere. But I hear the great big flying machines in the sky are working again so…well it IS a good prize…

And now I’m off to choose which extract to read – I’ve narrowed it down to “the net curtain bit”, “the very nervous horse bit” or “the Kylie drinks it bit”.

Josie, aged six, is a very particular little girl – as in, very particular about things going her way. She’s determined, occasionally bossy, loves competition, has left almost all of her babyness behind her but still has the odd tantrum when her high expectations are dashed (by anything from bad weather to her happy but troublesome little sister, Lily). But the great thing about Josie is that she never runs out of Big Ideas.

It's Josie's birthday and she couldn't be happier...until something threatens to ruin her party.

Josie's annoying next door neighbour sets her a challenge - can her little sister do better tricks than his dog? Josie is determined to win. But will Lily play along?