Sunday Bookmarks #14
It’s Monday and here is where I begin to regret titling my newsletter after a day of the week, talk about putting yourself between a rock and a hard place. I didn't publish a newsletter last week, and have missed a couple on occasion since I started. I would have previously called that a failure, but now I see it as grace. I have had a week of two halves, firstly in a post vax fever, glued to bed for 24 hours, and then after finding some kind of stability, a loose term when chronically ill, I have felt both completely lost and totally motivated, to make something of my writing. I am too sick for a full-time job, I also do not dream of work. I have interests and strengths, I reluctantly back myself as an ok person with words, of course, i love books and authors and anything remotely literary. People have told me for a long time I have some kind of eye, for design, aesthetics, for the ways things fit together. Another part of me also thrives in education, in learning, in stretching my mind.Although I don’t believe your job or career must be built from your hobbies, in fact, that is a privilege in itself, I do think doing something you are drawn to, have some natural affinity for, makes it easier to find balance. My problem seems to be, I have a lot of affinities, and often they don’t connect. I am aware this is a tale as old as time, a young 20 something woman doesn’t know what to do with her life, flounders in temp work and extensional crisis whilst spending her savings on coffees, a favourite plot point of mine in any literary fiction read.
That is also to say, I am just as lost as the rest of you. I am still figuring stuff out. At 18 I thought I would move to Bali and travel perpetually, in fact, I swore off university as a waste of time. At 21 I thought interior design and styling was the career for me. At 23 I thought I had nailed it, teaching was fulfilling and egalitarian. 3 months ago I accepted a place on a masters in education policy, wanting to change the world from the inside, out. 10 days ago I submitted a book proposal. Last week I handed in notice for my Brighton flat, with no concrete plans for a new one. This week i went to a webinar on investigative journalism. None of those things was mistakes, all of them still appeals to me in some way, there are practical barriers for some of them I do not see changing any time soon. So far I have established that I want to work from home most of the time, I want flexible hours, I want space to continue my bookish pursuits, I want time off to access health care treatments, I want to be able to pay my rent. Those all seem perfectly reasonable and totally unrealistic.
All this preamble is to say, I am moving the newsletter to a bi-weekly basis for now. I had a wonderful pep talk with an internet friend, who amongst throwing far too generous compliments my way, reminded me that someone will, one day, want to pay for my writing, and giving it all away for free, is a disservice to myself. In the weeks there is no newsletter, Sunday bookmarks will appear on Instagram in its redacted form, as it was originally conceived. Those weeks I will be able to work on my long-distance writing projects, and also nap and rest and recoup from the extremely motivated nose to the grindstone weekdays I plan on having, (when my body complies).
READING //
Post vax fever provided fertile ground for audiobook binging. I listened to trans like me by C.N Lester, of the ashamedly limited books I have read on trans experiences from the community, this is by far the most wide-reaching. It seems as though Lester has used the endless list of discriminations, insults and confrontations they have had to endure as the fodder to create chapters full of rebuttals. A very much fuck you to every bigot and transphobe, so-called writer, and national newspaper, that have spread vitriol and encouraged hatred towards this vulnerable group of people. Lester is so full of grace, there is no bitterness in their voice, they educate with such generosity, it is a marvel to read. Within each chapter, they disperse personal histories, the unique experiences as a classically trained singer and pianist, social records of trans people in their field and beyond as well as recent pop culture moments. The chapter exploring cis actors playing trans characters, dissecting Eddie Redmayne’s infamous performance in the Danish Girl, was so straightforward, it now seems absurd that so many people managed to perform the mental gymnastics that were required to preach Redmayne’s inclusion as a win for the trans community, another example of a vulnerable group expected to be grateful for the breadcrumbs left by a societal majority. By the final chapter i was both elated and distraught, C.N Lester held tentative hope for the following years after publication in 2018, and yet we still here in 2021 and see trans people, youth in particular, rights being reversed, lives being pathologized and debated by CIS people across the political spectrum.
LIVING WITH //
I have used all my reflective steam in the opening existential crisis, so there is little left to put here, I had planned to reflect on my year so far, but that seems too mammoth of an undertaking. Something that has helped me the past couple of weeks, to keep chipping away at this nebulous thing called writing, is talking to others who write, or those who don’t, about writing. Watching others write, reading a persons daily writing intention, listening to words of wisdom from writers of eras past has all helped me lean into this identity of a writer, that I am trying on for size. For so long I thought you needed to have published a book, got a newspaper byline or lectured on your craft, to earn the badge of a writer. There is so much mystery (And privilege and nepotism) in the creative fields, so much jargon you must decode, protocols and rituals to follow, I often thought it wasn’t for me because I didn’t have an English literature degree, wasn’t filling notebooks at age 5 with stories and tales, So thank you, if you’ve joined a conversation, come to a zoom or posted anything about your own writing journey, it helps, it really does.
One grain of wisdom I collected from the post writing mingle in London Writer’s Hour, was from someone in Bristol, whose brain felt clouded after a emotionally taxing conversation the night before, they journaled it out, and then told the group the words they tend to live by: ‘If it’s hysterical, it’s historical’ and I have been thinking about that, all week.
Catch you all on another part of the internet,
Hannah x