The second thing I get asked most about being a writer is, “Where do I get my inspiration from?” The first, in case you’re wondering, is, “Would you like to someday do my life story? It would make a great book!” 🙄 As interesting as I find people and as fascinated as I am, pouring months of work into something you could do better yourself isn’t a great idea. You know how things felt. You can describe and project emotion of moments far better than I can. You were there. But, ya know, thanks for the offer 😉
Inspiration for books, short stories, and blog posts comes from everywhere. It is no easy thing to describe, but as I was asked about inspiration again today, I thought I would try.
The truth is, as well as everywhere, it also seems to come out of nowhere! You can be driving along, and BAM! In comes a name, line, or scenario, and you have to pull over to get it down before it leaves your mind forever. I used to have notebooks everywhere, but now the “notes” that are handily equipped with every phone have calmed down my littering of funky covered carriers of paper. I still use notebooks constantly, but my addiction has been tamed. Ideas aren’t even scribbled in order, just random blank pages. Every now and again, I comb through them all to see if anything is of use.
The trouble is that most ideas aren’t books. In theory, of course, every idea could be. But each book you write is a real commitment. You have to live in that world, with those characters for months, sometimes years. You need to live and breathe in that world. If the idea doesn’t have a lot of substance, you quickly get out of your depth, writers block hits, and you start to lose confidence as a writer.
News stories are a great source for inspiration . Not the big ones, rarely those, but the human interest stories further down. Such as a man marrying a robot he built (used that one) or a study that shows something unexpected. Famously, it was a news story that inspired Room by Emma Donoghue, Here lies Daniel Tate, Bear Necessity, and recent smash-hit bestseller, Yellowface. News stories trigger ideas and ways to adapt a story as a base and invite you to make them your own.
Sometimes, a picture can trigger the thought process. Most writers have somewhere hidden amongst their papers and on their phone, a swipe file. This is a collection of images they are drawn to, find interesting, display emotion in an unconventional way, or capture a moment. They may be landscapes, random portraits, or even pics of family and friends. They never share this file. It is way too precious. The swipe file, in many ways, is like a vault, a lifeline for that plot twist or setting they can not get to.
Visiting museums and art galleries, watching documentaries, reading about history, song lyrics, or even learning about family history and going through old photos can all spark a flurry of the brainwaves and start an imaginary brainstorm in your head. Quite often, ideas get added to quite quickly, and the race to find a pen and paper gets increasingly vital. Until that release comes and you’ve made a note, you basically act like a crazy person. I have been on walks several times and found myself repeating words on a loop until I find a yellow-striped pencil.
So, I hope that gives you a little insight into the writers world, and I have shed some light on that question of inspiration. You now understand more about why writers are self-confessed oddballs and nutters. We are all blessed/cursed with eternal impending attacks of inspiration. But look on the bright side. It might make us look a little crazy sometimes, but at least it keeps life interesting. 🤪
Whenever I tell someone I am interested in reading psychology, they automatically think of Freud and dreams. But psychology is so much more than an attraction to your mother. It’s how we think and behave, and anyone who has an interest in writing will find these insights invaluable. Psychology is everywhere, and how it is used for manipulation is more than evident in politics, advertising, social media, and our day to day lives, from the way we dress and present ourselves to how we interact with others. If you go for a job interview, you present a version of yourself to the company. We all do it, and manipulation brings us to the subject of this post, the sociology experiment that has turned into a television phenomenon, The Traitors.
The Traitors originated in the Netherlands and was the brainchild of Marc Pos. His inspiration came from a true story of a 17th-century vessel that crashed into an island. Mutiny followed, and the people stranded all ended up killing each other. No one knew who was in favour of the mutiny and who was against. Marc thought creating a world where people couldn’t trust each other and placing them in a bubble would be an interesting premise. Originally, the show was a documentary with the setting on a ship (paying homage to the tale), but that idea proved difficult and was quickly abandoned.
Marc pitched the show for six years, without any interest, but when it did eventually air in Holland, within 11 months, The Traitors was sold to eleven countries. By the end of that year, it rose to twenty.
So, what makes the show so appealing? In an interview with Variety, Marc says, “The concept captures the zeitgeist of society today. We’re living in a world where social media is more and more present. What can we trust? Who can we trust?’
The premise of the show is 22 players of various ages, gender, and backgrounds compete in a series of missions. The more missions they complete successfully, the more they add to the prize pot, which can rise up to £120,000.
However, hidden amongst the players are the ‘Traitors’. The Traitors meet in secret and decide who to eliminate from their fellow players known as the ‘Faithful’. The aim for the Traitors is to stay undetected. The aim for the faithful is to banish all of the traitors before the game ends.
Viewers are treated to the unique perspective of knowing each player’s role and observe the mind-games and manipulation within the game, delighting in every revelation and drama that unfolds. It is a masterclass in studying human behaviour, and in truth, the game begins far before any traitors are chosen.
Within seven seconds, assumptions are formed. First impressions amongst the contestants form alliances and trust circles, based on stereotypes and in-group bias. Players favour others who are similar to them. An example of this is Menah and Dan in the present series. They formed a close friendship merely as they are both ‘scousers’. Older players are seen as gentle, more trustworthy, parental figures, whilst the youngest players are seen as naive, innocent , and impressionable. A stereotype that worked massively in Harry’s favour in UK series two.
More stereotypically good-looking players are automatically seen as trusting people and more nice. Blonde hair also seems to be a big advantage when earning people’s trust. Stereotypically, blondes are seen as innocent, less intelligent (blonde jokes are a great example of this, and the phrase “dumb blonde”), especially in women. As a result, there have only been two banishments of blondes in the first half of each series of Traitors UK.
Leanne, a contestant in the current series, has used this as part of her strategy. Dressed in “hot pink” as part of her first impression to the other players, Leanne is hiding her more conventionally male-dominated job as a soldier in favour of a more female-driven occupation of a nail technician. She has even gone to the lengths of consciously not performing as well as she normally would in physical tasks so as not to be seen as physically strong and give her deception away.
Even the challenges themselves are a test to play with the mind of contestants. They have to be big mentally and physically. The psychology behind it is in Marc’s words ” The hand that helps you climb the mountain, can kill you the next night.”
It says a lot about perception in today’s society that Leanne’s strategy seems to be working.
Fellow contestant Charlotte has adopted a Welsh accent as she believes it comes across as more trustworthy. Players are extremely aware that stereotypes are a key factor in gameplay. Many such as teachers and diplomats are far more open with their professions.
Some players are overconfident. They boast of their ability to “read people,” and it is these contestants that tend to make wrong decisions based on stereotypes and misconception alone. Herd mentality, following the majority regardless of personal views, has led to further wrong decisions and banishments of fellow faithfuls. This trait has been used as a tactic by traitors to gain favour. I think like you, I’m like you. Strong leaders or personalities show how to interpret actions as ‘traitoresque’, focusing on solitary examples to target and single people out, hoping to remove them from the game.
The ability to view others as objects that can be deceived to pursue goals, with no consideration for feelings, is a traitor strength. In order to succeed within the game, they must undertake a Machiavellian personality and have narcissistic traits. It is embracing the darkest, most unattractive parts of human nature. It can become so cutthroat and lethal that players are constantly reminded it is a game. The audience relishes on the most brutal of actions by contestants.
With The Traitors now credited with becoming the biggest entertainment show in two years in the UK, and the French version providing the highest TV ratings in two decades, the interest and exploration of human behaviour and psychology is proving just as dynamic and stimulating as the show itself. It has fuelled philosophical discussion of which you would be, a traitor with power or a detecting faithful. Could you lie? How driven are you by money, and how easily could you betray others? Psychology has never been more fun!
It had been a hard couple of years for Nick and Julie. Hospital treatments and appointments had cleared their savings. They had taken out a second mortgage on their home to tide them over, but in cold December, they were now only just surviving.
Due to Julie’s illness, she had to cease work. Nick was now her carer, and with no solution to their financial hardship in sight, there was no money to spare. Thankfully, Julie was more mobile now and less tired. But for their two daughters, who had coped so well taking care of their mum and helping out in the house, this Christmas, they would have so little. The guilt upon Nick and Julie was immense. Having no presents to place under the tree, they decided to show the girls instead how much they wish they could do more. So they wrote them a letter.
Dear Tabitha and Maisie,
We are so sorry that we can not give you the Christmas you deserve. Even in the build-up, we have not been able to take you to the Tunnel of Lights, the Christmas market brimming with smells of cinnamon and nutmeg and handmade crafts. We have not been able to visit relatives as the petrol would cost us dear. You have both been amazing. We are so proud of you.
We are sorry we can not go shopping for a new tree or decorations, and we are having pasta for dinner instead of turkey with all the trimmings. We would have loved to have given you feasting days and trips to the cinema, but money is so tight.
You have both been so brave. Making cards and gifts for Mum. We know how badly you want that iPad and phone, and if it was up to us, you would want for nothing.
We will try to still make tomorrow special somehow. You bring us so much joy we wish we could do the same for you. Life must feel so unfair right now, and we know you must be upset and angry, but as parents, we will try to do better.
There are many Christmasses in our lives yet to come, and with mum getting better, soon Dad can return to work, so next year we can give you so much more.
Try and stay smiling our beautiful daughters. Think of this as your IOU. We will make up for this Christmas you have our word. But we just wanted you to know how proud we are of you. How much we love you, and an empty tree is no reflection of any lack of love and affection or how good you have been.
Santa is so busy, and sometimes he has to miss places. Parents are told in advance so we can pick up the slack, and unfortunately, this year, we were told but did not have the ability to save. Santa loves you. We love you. We are so sorry this is happening after the year we have had. Remember, it is no reflection on you. It is our fault.
We love you.
Mum and Dad xx
The parents gave their letter to their daughters, and on Christmas Eve night, instead of waiting for Santa to come, together they sat on Tabitha’s bed and wrote a reply.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Last Christmas with Santa, when we whispered in his ear, we made a wish. We whispered as we did not want you to hear and feel bad. We both talked about it beforehand and thought if we both wished for the same thing, we had more chance of it coming true. We wished for more time with you. Both of you work so hard, but we hardly ever saw you. We’re sorry Mum had to get poorly for it to happen. We both feel guilty about that.
This year, we have talked more, hugged, and we have felt closer to you. Now we are together all the time. It’s been exactly what we wanted.
We never liked the Christmas market. We went for you as we know you love it. It’s always busy, and we don’t have any interest in the stuff on the stalls. And although we love seeing our cousins, it’s mostly grownups talking, so we haven’t been sad about the relatives either. The tunnel of lights is great, but we have been every year. We really liked walking around, finding homes lit up with Christmas lights. We never knew what was around the corner. It was fun!
Don’t worry about the turkey, spaghetti bolognese is our favourite, this will be the first meal centred around us. It actually feels like a treat! And with the cinema, we have seen Christmas films snuggled up under a blanket on the sofa, all of us together. We loved the Christmas film nights. Laughing at Elf and Home alone, Miracle on 34th Street, being together without screaming kids has actually been better.
Watching the films, each message said the same thing, Christmas is not about stuff. It’s about being together, families. We love our tree, it’s familiar and holds many happy memories for us. We like the decorations as they are. One’s we made in school, and grandma’s old tinsel. We don’t want any new ones, they don’t mean anything.
We really loved the advent calendars you made for us this year, Dad’s with the cheesy jokes behind every window that made us groan, and Mum’s with photos each day we forgot even existed! They were so much better than the chocolate ones we normally get, which have boring pictures, we like the chocolate but we forgot about them soon after we opened them.
Mum and Dad, we never needed the iPad and phone. We wanted them but we don’t need them. We just needed you. Thank you for being there with us. Making paper chains, and snowflakes, and foraging in the forest. This has been a magical time. And we will always remember this Christmas as one of the best!
We know how much you love us and how proud you are, you tell us every day.
Santa does not need to come as we had a big ask last year, and he came through. We got our wish. We love you xxxx
Merry Christmas, we can’t wait for tomorrow!
Lots of love,
Tabitha and Maisie xxxxxx
The girls placed their letter in an old Hello Kitty envelope from a stationery set Tabitha was given from a few Christmas’s before, and slid it under their parents’ door. Nick and Julie discovered it on Christmas morning.
As they read their daughters’ words, their eyes filled with tears as the stress and worry over providing their children with what they believed to be the perfect Christmas melted away. The IOU changed from things to something only they could give them. More love and more time together, making memories and cherishing moments as they came. Without knowing it, the family had given each other the best gift that Christmas, and that Christmas Day they laughed, played, and had a day they remembered even when the girls became mothers themselves. And it didn’t cost a penny.
My guilty pleasure around Christmas is festive romantic comedies. I think especially at Christmas there is so much to think about; present buying, decorations, writing cards, community events, finances, meeting with friends… the list seems endless! So to have something on that’s light and cheerful and non-taxing on the brain is very welcome.
It seems I’m not alone. Every film channel and streaming service is bombarded with cheese and titled puns as soon as we get close to December.
Very recently, I came across a film I hadn’t heard of (not unusual in these types of films) on Netflix called Single all the Way. It was written by Jennifer Coolidge (better known as Stifler’s Mom), and she also had a supporting role. The film was great. The two leads were men, both incredibly likeable characters. It was funny, witty, heartwarming, and although there was no big crisis, it kept you interested as it was such an enjoyable watch.
It inspired me to talk about it afterwards. I realised I couldn’t think of one other gay light- hearted romantic comedy. I am a big film fan, there are plenty of love stories (usually indie arty films), and side tales, but romantic comedies where two people of the same sex are the centre and focus of the film I came up with nothing.
Single all the Way had that warming feel, the hot sexy rival, the mother, the interfering family, but no clichés. No one was an asshole. The rival was a good guy, the mum and family were lovable, there were no bad vibes or questionable behaviour anywhere!
The film felt natural. The kiss when the male leads got together was passionate and realistic. It was a feel-good christmassy film. It was only afterwards that I realised how unusual it was. Why aren’t more films like this made? The choice of chrimbo rom coms is so vast, can this really be the only one? I hope not. If you know of another, let me know. Nethertheless, bravo Jennifer Coolidge for getting this out there and assembling such a fantastic cast.
So, if you are like me and enjoy a romantic festive light-hearted tale to escape the stress and chaos of December, check it out. The more that watch it, the more gay romantic comedies will be made as demand and audiences will grow. We always need more love at Christmas 🙂❤️ 🎄.
It was a beautiful day. As Jess trod the familiar path, she felt the tension inside her release. Jess forgot how therapeutic walking could be. Nature was a bathed vision, the breathtaking views, a bright golden glow staring down at her from a sky of clear blue. Although her home was surrounded by fields inviting her in, it had been so long since Jess had walked without purpose or reason.
Life had been hard for Jess lately. There had been no traumatic event, no stressful situation to consume her thoughts, Jess was simply lost. She spent her days watching Netflix. Long-running shows she had already seen several times before, waiting for her neglectful husband to return from work, spending money she didn’t have on outfits no one would ever see.
But now her wardrobe was bursting, and the only relationship she had in her life was with a delivery driver, and she didn’t even know his name. As Jess walked, she wondered how she had become this person who merely existed. She used to be outgoing, the name on top of every party list and night out. But now her friends were all settled, seemingly happy and content to spend time at home living their idyllic life, whilst Jess spent the end of each day wishing she had done more with her time.
Jess thought of her husband. How alive with passion and comfort their nights and days had once been. But now the flame had gone, and they hardly looked at one another, let alone spoke. She would inform him each evening she was going upstairs, hoping he would follow, and she wouldn’t be greeted by an empty bed. It always seemed bigger, the space acting as a cruel reminder of the void between them. Jess wanted him to wrap his arms around her, stroke her hair, call her beautiful, give her worth… but he never came.
They had fought before she left. A mundane argument that escalated quickly about the absence of milk. He wondered out loud what she did all day. She felt shame and guilt at his question, and not being able to justify her procrastination, Jess had gotten angry.
The fields illuminated with the sun’s rays displayed wheatfields of saffron yellow. Jess noted her fortune of timing, another week or so, and the view would be changed. She sidestepped a snail lazily crawling, challenged by towering hedgerows depriving it of nature’s full beauty.
Jess walked, and there stood a solitary simple dandeilion on the verge, gleaming and golden. Jess admired it’s beauty and on a whim, she carefully picked it, making sure it remained unbroken.
For the first time since a little girl, she closed her eyes and made a wish. She whispered, ‘I wish for a better life.’
A soft, continuous blow escaped her pursed lips, and a gentle breeze lifted her hair teasingly from her shoulders. The seeds fluttered like shimmering stars, swirling around her face and hair. For one fleeting moment in time, Jess was enchantingly condescent, radiant in the natural light. A nostalgic warmth came over her, and as she continued her walk, every step was lighter than was trod before.
When Jess returned home, she was greeted by her husband in the kitchen, holding a small bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers.
“I’m sorry, I saw these, and I thought of you.”
Jess couldn’t remember the last time he bought her flowers. She accepted them with grace, smiling, before flinging her arms around his broad shoulders. For the first time in months, they shared a long, intimate kiss. They exchanged declarations of love, then he took her hand and led her to bed. There were four pints of semi-skimmed milk chilling in the fridge.
A few days later, Jess was on Instagram scrolling through projected human perfection and filtered lives when a reel caught her attention.
Some people want it to happen, some wish it could happen, others make it happen.
‘I want to be others!’ thought Jess.
Do something today that your future self will thank you for.
Jess looked at the chocolate hobnob she was holding and the cup of tea resting on her mounded stomach. Inspired, she got up and put the remaining biscuits in the bin and the packet back in the cupboard. She tipped her tea down the sink and filled a bottle with water. Already in joggers, Jess turned YouTube on the TV, and searched for Workouts for Beginners.
Although it was hard work, Jess persevered to the end. Smiling and feeling driven and accomplished, Jess showered and changed into jeans and a white shirt. She walked to the village shop and filled her basket with fresh vegetables, chicken, and fish. Every day following, Jess tried a new video until she found Joe. Easy on the eye, Joe also made her laugh and was down to earth as he instructed her through each workout. He introduced her to hiit, high intensity exercises in short bursts of time. Knowing she only had to endure a minute, but the effects would continue working her body suited her impatient mindset. Slowly, the routines became easier, she worked harder, time went fast, and she began to enjoy it.
Weeks and months passed, and Jess’s days now included workouts with Joe, daily walks, and healthier eating. Jess started to notice her clothes were getting loose, so for the first time in months she went clothes shopping. She found some jeans and daringly took a size smaller than her usual to the dressing room. To her astonishment, they too were a little loose, so she went down another size. The button and zip fastened easily, and Jess felt like a new woman.
The next day, Jess found her old camera and began taking it with her on her walks. Reigniting a forgotten passion, she found she still had an eye for interesting angles and making the most of the light. She started a profile on social media featuring her artistic creations and slowly began building a following online. It also opened a whole new community for Jess to engage with, and she found local groups of like-minded photographers to meet each month.
Jess began to receive compliments, at first, from routine dog walkers and runners she met during the day, but then she happened to bump into her old neighbour.
“Oh my gosh, Jess, look at you! We’re going out! Friday, no excuses!”
Jess was buzzing with excitement. It had been so long since she had been on a proper night out. In preparation she got a new haircut and bought a new dress. Against her instincts that her friend might cancel, she chose an expensive figure-hugging short black dress that showed off her new figure. That Friday, she and her friend went to a local cocktail bar, and Jess was approached several times for her number.
Feeling confident, albeit a little hungover the next morning, Jess decided she wanted more. She didn’t want to keep spending her days waiting for her husband to come home. She opened Google and began searching for jobs.
A week later, she was invited for an interview. Jess borrowed a slimming body-con dress from her friend, who was now a similar dress size, and after practising techniques with her now more attentive husband, she presented herself as competent, smart, and likeable. Two days later, she got the call. She could start on Monday.
A year later, Jess was walking a familiar path. The sun’s beams shone down plentifully, and a small dandelion stood prominently from the hedgerow. Jess thought about her wish and smiled. I wish for a better life.
Jess realised that she herself had instigated and controlled the change. She had made her life better. The only magic she needed was always there, deep within her. She just had to believe it.
People are always surprised to hear I am not a fan of Halloween. After all, I wear predominantly black, I am a massive fan of The Crow, Candyman and The Nightmare before Christmas, I have a naughty side that’s a little dark and my wardrobe is stacked to the brim with cosplay. But to be honest, I never saw the point of it.
Celebrating fantasy, the aisles are full of cheap looking tatty crap, and unlike Christmas, it’s decorating your house for one night. I hate cleaning up. Why would I do that to myself?
It always seemed like an American thing and merely an excuse to be big and loud and influence the whole world to become diabetic. But I am a curious creature and nothing if not open-minded, so I decided to delve deeper into it.
Last year, the UK spent one billion pounds on Halloween, which blew my mind. It definitely explains why the shops go all out. It’s big business! The US, of course, spent a lot more in 2023. The Yanks spent a colossal $12.2 billion with over $100 average spend – this, in a cost of living crisis! It is the second biggest commercial festival over there, losing out only to Christmas, so it’s definitely a reason to look into this further.
So, what I want to know:
Has Halloween got any deeper meaning, or is it just an excuse for kids to get tons of sweets and adults to get horny and drunk at parties?
Why are people so passionate about it? They go crazy with costumes and decorations for one night! Why?
And lastly, where on earth do Witches come into it? They are always associated with Halloween. What’s that about?
To my surprise, when I started my research, I found out it wasn’t an American thing at all. Halloween originated a lot closer to home, here in the UK. It began from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, marking the end of harvest season and the beginning of winter. The Celtics believed it was at this time that the wall between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, and the souls of the dead would visit their homes. They protected themselves by lighting bonfires, wearing masks, and offering food and drink.
It originally wasn’t on October 31st, Samhain was celebrated on the first day of November. But after the Romans took over, the Catholics converted the Celtics, and the two belief systems merged.
In AD 609, the Catholic Church placed All Saints Day on November 1st, and so the date was moved to the day before. All Souls Day came on November 2nd, during which rich people gave the poor soul cakes (a bit like a small fruitcake). This replaced the Celtic tradition of leaving food and drink out for spirits.
For hundreds of years until the 1930s, the English kept the tradition and went ‘a souling’ which the Americans then adapted into the ‘trick or treating’ we know today. Amazingly, in the US, a quarter of the sweets sold every year are for the night of Halloween alone.
Crazily, even pumpkin carving isn’t American! The Irish and Scottish carved faces into turnips to warn off evil spirits. When they came over to the USA, they used the celebration as a way to strengthen communities and found pumpkins were easier to carve.
So that answered one question. But why do people get so into it? People count down, and some wait all year, but why? This is an appealing question for me as I love psychology. Bring on the studies!
Visualising death apparently leads to gratitude. This is a nice reason, but it sounds a bit general.
Looking further, I found dressing up and trick or treating enhances a social ritual, a unity, and it is this kind of social connection that makes children more kinder, happier, and healthier. Facing fears in a controlled environment normalises them, and the endorphins and adrenaline from being scared can lead to accomplishment and bonding. This applies to all ages, and I admit I did experience that recently. I did an escape room with two friends, based in a witches cottage with plenty of jump scares, and I must agree that afterwards, we did feel more bonded.
A strange statistic I found was 40% of people were more likely to help a person in need inside a graveyard than on a street. Graveyards can be scary at night, so empathy to someone else’s fear aligned with your own is an interesting thought. It opens up a whole realm of scenarios, like whether you would help someone on fire, or in a tornado, or a falling bridge? How much would you risk and face a fear to protect and help a stranger?
Dressing up is an escapism, a break from a mundane job or school. For this reason, quite often, people suffering from anxiety and mental health issues list Halloween as their favourite holiday. For them, it’s a chance to disappear and become someone else.
That to me explains the appeal for so many, but what about the last question? How have witches become so tied to Halloween?
Off we go back to the beginning, the Celtics. They believed people transformed into cats for bad deeds and cursed by black magic. That is where the association of black cats comes in.
Witches, however, the Celtics were a fan of. They went to them for wisdom and medicine. But when the Catholic church took over, the image changed. The helpful witch was now a devil- worshipping hag, and then in the 1400s came the Witch trials, which only made things worse. But this isn’t specific to Halloween.
Apparently, the link became established and grew when young women sought out fortune tellers to find out names of their future husbands. Halloween was believed to be the best time, and it was witches they seeked out and visited for this purpose. So, it’s down to a load of frisky women seeking a ring that Witches are so iconicly linked.
Witches themselves (some still practice and identify as one today) have never stopped celebrating Samhain Eve (31 Oct). They view it as the death of Summer and Winter’s birth. They use it as a time to remember those we lost. Like the Celtics, they believe the boundary is so thin between living and dead on this night and an opportunity to connect with loved ones. They have a big bonfire and leave out empty chairs to welcome them and place apples on the roadside for lost spirits.
I love the Witches ritual. It really speaks to the origin of the festival and makes it rather beautiful. A long way from the ugly green scraggly wart nosed hag image of Halloween. With all my questions answered, I must admit there’s a lot more to the holiday than I first believed. Each answer I found surprised me. I never thought about the angle of mental health or the depth of history involved.
So am I converted?
Ummm..not quite. But I feel way more positive about it than before and have new respect for it. Who knows, I may even put out a pumpkin this year, …or a turnip. Might even carve it myself…can’t be that hard can it?
Last night I went to the cinema and saw Joker: Folie a Deux. As soon as the trailers started showing for this film, I got excited. A massive Batman fan (I’ve touched every Batmobile and driven the 1960s one- not relevant but if I get a chance to bring it up I will as its so fickin cool!), I loved the first and the unique take they took on the caped crusader’s ultimate nemesis. I have been really surprised over the bad press for this film, but luckily, I never listen to critics. One persons opinion will always be just that. One person’s opinion. So off I went.
Every now and again, a film will come along and really affect you. When I came out of there, I was exhausted after spending over two hours deep in the mind of Arthur Fleck. The world around me didn’t feel real. What Todd Phillips did was turn the fantasy of Gotham into a reality. Joker was always a psychotic madman – unpredictable and ruthless – that makes him so much fun to watch. Todd Phillips made him human.
The performance by Joaquin Phoenix is extraordinary. He won the Oscar for the first film, and no scene was wasted. Just by moving, the character of Arthur evolved. In the beginning scenes, Arthur walked slow, cowered, and hunched over, shoulder blades so prominent, a sign of the heavy load he carried with him keeping the lure of the Joker within. Beaten by life, Fleck was a victim. It was a childhood story about a clown his mother told him that Fleck used as a coping mechanism for all the hardships he endured. In the film, Fleck is surrounded by monsters. Whether they wore a guards uniform, were inmates with him in Arkham, part of the media circus surrounding him, in form of memories of his mother and childhood, or Joker fans who saw what they wanted to see and of course the hardest to deal with of them all, his alter-ego, the murderer waiting, lurking within.
The character study and story were so cleverly written and intricatly weaved together. Apart from a few small scenes, it was Arthur’s world you were within. Music expressed emotion and inner thoughts so much so that any dialogue could. For example, falling in love with a girl that made him feel something he never did before. Understood, and more importantly, not alone. By the end of the film, just like Arthur, you do not know if Harley was in it for fame and fantasy or if she genuinely cared. She lured him in, inamoured with the fantasy of Joker.
Acting on the darkest thoughts we all have in times of being the subject of rejection, malice, and mockery. That’s the seduction of Joker, embracing your dark side and giving in to impulsive urges no matter the consequences. It’s a way of being free.
Considering the depth of character study and artistic vision of this film, it’s not unusual that it has received negative attention. It’s not a ‘fun’ film or a typical comic book film. The writers and directors’ vision offers a fresh take on the character and deeper into Arthur Fleck’s mental state even more so than the first.
But not everyone hated it. Fans have taken to social media to show their support. One fan said they might be one of ten people who liked it. In years to come, it will be viewed as a masterpiece. Maybe they’re right. Maybe the world isn’t ready for this movie yet.
Some films are like that. If you have been put off by the bad press, don’t. Individuals’ taste should not dictate any choice you make. I personally found the film a powerful work of art that takes you deeper and darker into the character than you can ever imagine. In a way, the film has become much like its main character, misunderstood, unappreciated, and waiting for its time to come.
The world is a stage, and when it comes for Joker: Folie a Deux to take its bow, I hope it flashes that famous devilish smile. And laugh. Just like the psychotic clown would. In style.
For the past five and a half weeks, I have been partaking in a health detox diet. I didn’t need to lose weight, but every now and again, we get stuck in bad habits and need to refresh. I have never done a diet this long before, or ever detoxed (I like my drink), so it was going to be interesting, as I am a sugar and carb queen! Exercise wise, I have always been pretty good. I work out 5-6 mornings a week, and thanks to living in a rural area, I walk quite a bit. But I love pizza! And chips, pasties, doughnuts, cake, chocolate, and I have a great fondness for a glass of red and a cold pint. I got to the point where I found I was indulging way too frequently (let’s face it, it’s easy to do when things taste that good). I was feeling sluggish and a bit meh.
So, whilst chatting to a friend, he talked about how he switched to one meal a day and survived on just lemon water for the rest of the time and never felt better. He doesn’t need to lose weight either. His job is physical, and he runs quite a bit, so I thought I’d try it. Now, I don’t like lemon water (why, would you?), but I knew I could use this as a base of an idea and form something I could stick to.
So, I gave myself just over five weeks- so it led right up to my birthday (a week of celebrating – booze, and naughty stuff is a given 😈 No use restricting myself then, no fun at all). I decided on one meal a day, cut milk in coffee (can’t stomach black tea), no alcohol, no added sugars, and cut right down on carbs and dairy.
My day looked like this: Morning-2 cups of black coffee, 1 tea, 1 smoothie. Afternoon-Meal, cup of tea, evening – just black coffee and tea, and fruit in between.
So, how has it gone?
The coffee was the easiest change. In college, neither myself nor my flatmates ever had milk, so that was simple. Morning – again simple, but the one meal a day took some getting used to. But it’s strange how the body adjusts. I found if I ate too late (about 6ish), I could hardly eat anything, so it had to be about 1:30/2ish. The meals were vegetables, grilled chicken, fish, soup, nice and healthy nosh followed by berries. After a while, I didn’t look for anything else to eat. Kinda.
Living in Cornwall, bakeries are everywhere. The smell of pasties tormented me, as well as fish and chips. I socialise with friends quite a bit, and going to a cafe and restaurant was challenging. Going to the pub was even worse! There are remarkably very few options if you don’t drink and don’t want added sugar. Lemonade, coke, fruit juice, J20, or water are all that’s on the menu.
I actually went clubbing one night. Oh my gosh, drunk people are loud! You don’t realise just how loud, and as well as the much less impressive chat up lines, people are constantly being challenged with balance – their surroundings, other people, keeping hold of their drink and frankly just air can tip them over. It was interesting.
Fed up of lack of options, in one pub, I ordered a black americano, much to my friends disgust. The smell filled the room, a girl sipping from a cup and saucer while others downed jagerbombs at the bar drew a lot of attention.
But it’s cheap to eat more healthy, right? Wrong! Nights out not drinking – yes, massively. No cocktails are definitely kinder to the wallet. But the cost of berries, extra fruit, and choosing the heathiest smoothie with no added sugars at all and added vitamins has not come cheap. So there’s not much difference in the shopping bill.
My friends all noticed I lost weight, I had to reassure them it would no doubt all come back once the detox was over. My clothes got baggier by a few inches, but I have noticed my body is more toned, and I have more energy. I religiously walked five miles a day and did extra walks on top. At no point did I cheat, I am incredibly fixed once I decide on something, so I knew I would stick it out.
So what now? Quite a lot of the diet I have decided to stick to. Now I’m used to one meal a day, I will continue that, and the 5 mile walk albeit less religiously, the black coffee is staying, but I’m a drinker! But I will do it a lot less often and down the number of times I enjoy the lesser healthy food of pizza, pasties, and doughnuts. It might make me appreciate them more. I have turned into the people who say it’s a ‘treat’, much to my dismay.
I would recommend detoxing, as you feel better, and it encourages you to re-evaluate your diet. But long-term? No way! Tomorrow is my last day, and to celebrate the day after, I am being taken out to lunch to the home of the most extraordinarly large cakes in the county. As with everything, moderation is key, and I will very happily be also tucking into a nice bowl of chips. Can’t wait!
Let’s talk boobs. Women’s bodies are amazing things, but they go through a lot of changes. Mine has been through more than most. So, you may be surprised that I have never been for a professional bra measurement. I know! So bad! To be honest, I thought I could wing it! But I’m not alone. Over 80% of women are wearing the wrong bra size and are completely unaware.
We are meant to get measured every twelve to eighteen months, but like many women, I tend to judge by comfort. If the band feels tight, I go up a size. If the girls are popping out, I go up a cup. But it’s surprising how much impact wearing the wrong carrier for our prized assets can have on our bodies.
We get breast pain. If the bra is too small, it can dig in. If it is too big, our breasts have too much room and bounce around, causing tenderness and aching. Running is terrifying. Our breasts look like two hamsters in a bin bag! Back pain is a big one and very common. We’re not supported properly, and larger breasts take the toll. Not properly supported leads to shoulder and neck pain thanks to ill-fitting straps. Skin abrasions and chaffing (attractive 🙄) follow after constant rubbing into your skin. Bras sit on top of your ribcage. If you are wearing one too constricting, it leaves marks and causes pain.
One of the most common effects of wearing the wrong size is premature sagging. There’s too much room for the support your chest actually needs. Good news for plastic surgeons but crap for us. Bad posture is a problem(basically looking like a hunchback walking). And overlapping inside a tight-fitting top is kind of embarrassing. You’re conscious of always repositioning them while walking or interacting with people.
Lots of us avoid appointments by searching on Google. In fact, an average of 7,300 people do so every month. I must admit I tried this first, but when I tried measuring, it came up with 31.5 inches, which didn’t seem right, so I thought it was time. I needed help!
Marks and Spencer offers a free bra-fitting service, I have learned that each consultant has rigorous training before they are let anywhere near a customer. This seemed like the best bet, and very quickly, I booked my appointment.
So what happens at these appointments? I walked in and met Delightful Debs. She clarified what kind of bras I was interested in, I said I think I’m wearing the wrong size, and she laughed and said, “That’s really common.” Her friendly manner and respectful nature really put me at ease.
I wore a non-padded bra to the appointment, and Debs measured just below the breasts (bottom band), it turns out I am what they call a half (strange thing to say to a tall person) – between sizes- typical, always awkward! I had measured right 31.5″, but they add a couple inches on for fit (no mention of this on Google). which would make me 34.5. She said I was between 34 and 36. Before I went to the appointment, I was wearing a 36DD. So I thought okay, not too far off, proper responsible me! Then she measured around the fuller part of the breasts and said I was a D maybe getting away with a C, so we would try both. I thought, “Oh my gosh, my boobs have shrunk!”
Delightful Debs asked what styles I liked, I said I wear a lot of black, and I like pretty but not floral. She hit the shop floor and came back with an array of bras.
The first was a white lace, 34D. I took off the bra I was wearing and faced the wall for modesty as instructed. Debs asked me to put my arms through the straps and place my breasts inside the cups. She then asked if I was okay for her to pull the bra to hook the straps. Every step Debs did this, making sure I was comfortable. She adjusted the straps, and she told me you should be able to fit two fingers where they lie in the shoulders.
I turned around, and Delightful Debs explained what she was looking for. The gore (middle of the bra) should be dead centre, the breast tissue be fully in, no gaping or overlap, and the band should sit in the centre across the back. Bras that are too big, ride up on the back almost instantly. The weight of the breasts pushes it up. I liked the tips Debs gave as it made it obvious what I should look for to know I needed measuring and the reason behind.
For the first time, I was invited to look in the mirror. I could not believe it. My breasts were smaller than before (meh) but were in proportion with the rest of me. The bra was white, lacy, and beautifully feminine. It looked stunning. Delightful Debs had smashed it first time! It was very apparent that I was in the hands of a professional!
The white was non-padded, so the next bra was the same size, but a more lingerie one, black, padded. It was lovely. I tried it on, and it fitted just as well. You might think, well, that’s it, Dynamo Debs has shown her skills and smashed it! But no, Debs is thorough. She advised trying a 36D, which, as she said, rode up the back and a C, which had an overlap. I was definitely 34D.
Now, you might think come the sales, that’s the catch, right? But Debs was not on the hard sell. She passed me the two bras that fitted and showed me where they were on the shop floor so if I wished to look at different colors, I could. Then she thanked me for being so lovely and a joy to serve as a customer. It was relaxed, and there was no pressure to buy. I tried a few on by myself and followed Debs instruction with straps, I was there a while. It was fun.
Later, i saw Debs again in passing. She smiled and asked how I was getting on. It was relaxed and really made me kick myself for not doing this earlier. In 15 minutes, my boobs were transformed. I stand better, my clothes look better, and I’m really comfortable. I am no longer taking off my bra in an evening with a sigh of relief.
So, if you are one of those 80%, get yourself checked. It doesn’t cost anything. You’re well looked after, and it makes a huge difference. But there is one downside – what do I do with all my lovely bras? Well, I say downside, now I have to buy lots of new pretty bras and lingerie 😉 Oh no! I better go shopping!
Every writer has goals. Being an independent author, this is especially important as writing takes a lot of self-motivation. Independents are fighting an uphill battle.We don’t get press unless we aggressively chase it, we have to offer countless promotions which cost us everytime just to get our name out there, you have to really believe in yourself. It’s incredibly hard and competitive, so for your positive mindset, you need those goals.
There are personal and professional. My professional goals are a lot shorter as the personal goals have been the main driving force since day one. This checklist is your record of achievement, something just for you where if you had to stop at any point and it all went pear-shaped, you can hold your head high knowing on your level you did it!
Very rarely, these goals are money orientated or involve fame. And very recently, something extraordinary happened to me. I achieved my list. Thanks to a hefty mix of luck and hard work, I got there. In five years. Which is insane. I have worked my ass off, weekends, and evenings. I pile the hours in, but to me, it’s part of the job. It’s hard to be a writer. People think its cool, but they see it as your hobby until you make the bestsellers list on the Sunday Times. Until then, it’s “a thing you like to do.” And quite often, they think its just sitting and typing. No. You have to promote. You have to market yourself and your work, you have to develop a brand (you), singlehandedly run and update your website (you can’t afford IT), research (online, interview, library, visit places), you have to find jobs, competitions, search agents and publishers, keep an eye on the market, listen to conflicting advice (run with trends, don’t run with trends!!!), and you have to create opportunities. It’s the most poorly paid job ever! All the while suffering with imposter syndrome, so you completely believe you are failing and not good enough. So you see how important having motivation that’s close to your heart is.
My personal goals were always close to my heart. Some seemed plausible, but most to be honest, I never thought I would get there.
They were;
Goal one: A stranger to read and enjoy my work.
It took me years to admit I liked to write, even longer to call myself an author. It always sounded pretentious. Then someone said to me, if a person plays music, practices every day, writes songs, does local gigs but never makes the top ten in the charts, would you still call them a musician? I said, of course! They aid then you, my dear, are a writer.
It took a lot of nerve for me to go public, I was scared stiff. So you can imagine what it was like to have someone read your work. It’s so scary. You piled your heart and soul into every word, edited, re-edited, and then did it again and again. If they hate it, it crushes you.
I decided on the kind of author I wanted to be. I wanted to have an email address just for readers, a messaging centre on social media, and I would give examples of my writing as a thank you for investing your time in me. When I first received messages, readers described how attached they were to characters, asking me questions about what happened to them (this meant I made them real and relatable) that felt so good. For three people I know of, my books are the only ones they have read in their adult lives. Through emails and messages, readers tell me what they liked and enjoyed and how the books fit into their lives. They tell me their stories. This is how I know I achieved this goal. It’s probably true it would be nice if they also left reviews, but I love how many people get in touch. Its more time spent on me and my writing out of their day, which I am incredibly grateful for.
Goal 2: Get into libraries
I achieved this. What was an amazing touch was The attempted demise of Augusta Walsh aged 15 years, 4 months and 6 days was continuously out on loan. So much so that the library had to buy new copies! This blows my mind!
Goal 3: Change the way someone sees the world and how people think by my words alone.
As far as I know, this has happened on two occasions. Two readers got in touch, honestly giving readers that portal to contact me was the best thing I ever did. I implore other writers to do the same. It’s given such a lift over the years.
When I wrote Isolation Tales, it was to draw attention to the KeyWorkers and the risks they took during CoVid-19. At the time, everyone seemed to focus purely on the numbers, how many cases, and how many deaths.
I interviewed keyworkers and found out what they wanted people to know. It was a book of short stories and poems about living in the pandemic.
I had a message saying that after reading the book (many did so in one sitting), they looked out the window. They saw the postman and a herse and started to think. For the first time, it wasn’t just how the pandemic affected them and their families but the world as a whole. They started to take notice.
The second was a lady who felt she was the only one who felt alone. When she read Augusta, all her worries, her thoughts, were expressed in that book. She related to Augusta, felt more confident, and tried to change her life as it was. Augusta gave her belief that she could go through the worst but still end up okay. It gave her hope. People have connected so much with this book. Some have read it four times! This feedback means so much I can not say.
Goal 4: Leave your mark
This goal happened unexpectedly. Kresen Kernow heard about Isolation Tales and submitted it into their archive. If you don’t know, Kresen Kernow is the world’s biggest collection of documents, books, maps, and photographs related to Cornwall’s history. It is a huge honour. I am fiercely Cornish, and this is my greatest achievement to date. It means more than I can tell you. For over five generations, my family stemed from Cornwall. Once something is put into Kresen Kernow, it doesn’t get removed. Isolation Tales, my work, will live on. I get tearful just thinking about it.
And now the final one: Be able to physically walk into a bookshop and see my books on the shelves.
This recently happened in Morethanabookshop in St. Austell. What makes it even better is that it is a community bookshop. All the money goes back into St Austell, a place I spent years living close by. I won’t bore you with words here. I made a video straight after I came away from the shop. You can see how much it meant.
I have never been fuelled by money (good job!), all the author’s royalties from Dudley and Isolation Tales both go straight to Cornish charities. Most of all, I wanted my work to mean something. After achieving all of my list, I believe it does. And really, that’s the ultimate goal.
Geek Girl Eats Cake 