Grrr. I really really really want to retire!
Work is actually better at the moment. I mean I am busier than I've been in a long time but it's not hell, it's not screaming and shouting and horribleness, it's just meeting myself coming backwards and I can handle that. Almost. I don't mind being busy: I like working hard, weird as that might sound. I mean I'd rather be bust than twiddling my thumbs but this week sucks so far. Yesterday was bad. Everyone has some horrible tummy bug at the moment: they're dropping like flies and I am tempted to invest in some kind of surgical mask as a few days off work throwing up is just what I don't need. So, I'm short-staffed, I have a million reports to complile, all of which are wanted NOW, I need to chase up containers in China and I have orders sitting on my desk laughing in my face. I need another pair of hands!
Had a lovely weekend though. Hurrah for Valentines. I totally don't buy into the school of thought that professes not to believe in Valentines Day, the 'love me every day' attitude. I love my boyfriend every day, and I know that he loves me, and we make sure to show each other. Little gifts every now and then, walks on the beach, delicious meals - at home and out- lazy Sunday mornings and sofa cuddles but you can't deny that sometimes real life can get in the way. We're up at numbers starting with a 6, by the time we've had dinner and done the dishes it's often gone 9pm, and it's easy to appreciate each other less than you should. Tell me what's wrong with one day of the year that is totally 100% set aside to show that person that they mean the world to you. It's only as commercialised as you let it be: Ian and I set a ten pound limit on Sunday, and the presents we got each other were awesome. We spent the afternoon at the Lowry - free, and the best Sunday afternoon we've had in a long time and we had dinner out, a meal where we didn't stop laughing. Doesn't mean I don't show him I love him the other 364 days of the year does it?
The Lowry was awesome. I've not been for so long, and the LS Lowry exhibition has changed somewhat. It was fabulous. I heart LS Lowry x a LOT! If you live up Manchester way and you like pretty pictures then get yourself over. Yes. Pretty postcards a plenty. I wanted to buy a framed print fot the house but Ian was having none of it. I don't think Lowry's grotesque self-portrait is quite his style......
in which i actually write some poetry type stuff
Maybe it's ok after all. Fair enough it's hard, so much harder than the prose work but I'm actually enjoying the challenge. I don't think what I'm producing is particuarly good, but I'm persevering, and I already have a piece that is being edited and re-edited and will hopefully, finally, be submitted as my assignment! I'm not going to show you that though. Oh no, s'for my eyes only!!
I will show you this though: a little piece developed from one of the course exercises, that asked us to make a list of proverbial expressions used by friends/family/colleagues and list them as a poem.
I’m not being funny but it’s
just not fair and
don’t tell me it’s not raining.
It’s raining in my head.
You’re ruining my life and I don’t
really care about crumbling cookies.
Funny how hindsight really is
20/20 vision. It’s obvious now:
My best interests nestled
in your heart. Watching out for your little acorn,
you hoped to see a great oak grow.
I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket, I
made my hay dressed in shorts, so when you ask
me if the proof is in the pudding,
you’re taking the words right out
of my mouth.
All’s well that ends well.
It is by no means great. I know this. But it does resemble a poem, kind of. & I wrote it. This is an improvement on prior attempts, believe me!!!
I will show you this though: a little piece developed from one of the course exercises, that asked us to make a list of proverbial expressions used by friends/family/colleagues and list them as a poem.
I’m not being funny but it’s
just not fair and
don’t tell me it’s not raining.
It’s raining in my head.
You’re ruining my life and I don’t
really care about crumbling cookies.
Funny how hindsight really is
20/20 vision. It’s obvious now:
My best interests nestled
in your heart. Watching out for your little acorn,
you hoped to see a great oak grow.
I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket, I
made my hay dressed in shorts, so when you ask
me if the proof is in the pudding,
you’re taking the words right out
of my mouth.
All’s well that ends well.
It is by no means great. I know this. But it does resemble a poem, kind of. & I wrote it. This is an improvement on prior attempts, believe me!!!
in which i freak out about the OU
It's bad. It's actually really bad. So bad that I am wondering why the hell I signed up for the stupid course in the first place.
That's right guys and dolls. It's poetry time. I can't do it. The end. I just really can't. It doesn't help that I'm struggling at the moment to find the time to do the exercises - maybe I'll feel better tomorrow when I've sat down and worked through it all some more but at the moment I have a deadline for a 40line poetry assignment looming and I just want to cry. I have no inspiration, and it's all just really technical and gah. I want to cry. I need to take a deep breath, and count to ten and get on with it, I know, but it's stumped me. I've been loving it up to now: the prose side has been awesome, I'm quietly confident about getting the mark for the last assignment and it's al lbeen good and now this. If I fail this course it will be because of the next few weeks. Oh, help.
That's right guys and dolls. It's poetry time. I can't do it. The end. I just really can't. It doesn't help that I'm struggling at the moment to find the time to do the exercises - maybe I'll feel better tomorrow when I've sat down and worked through it all some more but at the moment I have a deadline for a 40line poetry assignment looming and I just want to cry. I have no inspiration, and it's all just really technical and gah. I want to cry. I need to take a deep breath, and count to ten and get on with it, I know, but it's stumped me. I've been loving it up to now: the prose side has been awesome, I'm quietly confident about getting the mark for the last assignment and it's al lbeen good and now this. If I fail this course it will be because of the next few weeks. Oh, help.
in which i get my first TMA back...
I don't want to brag, in fact, I don't even know if I have anything to brag about given that I don't know how the OU marking structure works, or what constitutes a good grade, but I got my first TMA back today. 72%. I can't help but be a little proud, especially when that grade was accompanied by comments such as:
"This piece shows a great deal of skill with language and character development...." and "you include touches of humour and excellent use of desrciptive detail...." and, best of all "....it's one that you could enter for competitions looking for short stories: short, but perfectly formed."
YEAH FOR ME!!!!
"This piece shows a great deal of skill with language and character development...." and "you include touches of humour and excellent use of desrciptive detail...." and, best of all "....it's one that you could enter for competitions looking for short stories: short, but perfectly formed."
YEAH FOR ME!!!!
in which Ian reveals he is a secret writer....
S'quite annoying that I repeatedly fail to hit the 'save' key and lose my posts. Dammit.
So, currently I am mostly grumpy. My job sucks at the moment, my jobs sucks most of the time, but at the moment it sucks more. In the last week and a half my boss has had me in tears for 5days out of 7. How marvellous. Perhaps I need a new job. I am so stressed out, and so miserable that I can't read. I'm not even lying. I settle myself down with a hot milk and honey and my Margaret Atwood and I start reading. & then I have to stop because I realise I've read the same line seven times and all I can think about is what's going to happen at work the next day and I have a horrible knot in my tummy and the only way of getting rid of it is to be asleep. Reading has always been my only escape. How bad is it that even that doesn't work anymore.
Anyway, enough enough. On to more optimistic topics. I am nervously awaiting the return of my first TMA, which should be here in the next few days. Eek. I hope I haven't failed. This week I am working on chracter development. I like it. I might post some of the exercises on here, if anybody is interested in reading what I'm doing? Last night's exercise has even left a little plot bunny hopping around, so I might take it further, make it into an actual piece. How exciting.
It was lovely last night actually. Aaah, Jasper. I was laid on the floor writing away, and he came and laid next to me, little white paws resting on the edge of my paper, big kitten eyes staring at me. He was entranced. A literary kitten.
& Ian, wellwell, what a dark horse. I did my work last night and went for a shower leaving him with the workbook and a pad and pen. He had a go at the exercise, and you know what, it was bloody good! Who knew! & we had such a laugh, I think I shall make him my unofficial OU buddy....
So, currently I am mostly grumpy. My job sucks at the moment, my jobs sucks most of the time, but at the moment it sucks more. In the last week and a half my boss has had me in tears for 5days out of 7. How marvellous. Perhaps I need a new job. I am so stressed out, and so miserable that I can't read. I'm not even lying. I settle myself down with a hot milk and honey and my Margaret Atwood and I start reading. & then I have to stop because I realise I've read the same line seven times and all I can think about is what's going to happen at work the next day and I have a horrible knot in my tummy and the only way of getting rid of it is to be asleep. Reading has always been my only escape. How bad is it that even that doesn't work anymore.
Anyway, enough enough. On to more optimistic topics. I am nervously awaiting the return of my first TMA, which should be here in the next few days. Eek. I hope I haven't failed. This week I am working on chracter development. I like it. I might post some of the exercises on here, if anybody is interested in reading what I'm doing? Last night's exercise has even left a little plot bunny hopping around, so I might take it further, make it into an actual piece. How exciting.
It was lovely last night actually. Aaah, Jasper. I was laid on the floor writing away, and he came and laid next to me, little white paws resting on the edge of my paper, big kitten eyes staring at me. He was entranced. A literary kitten.
& Ian, wellwell, what a dark horse. I did my work last night and went for a shower leaving him with the workbook and a pad and pen. He had a go at the exercise, and you know what, it was bloody good! Who knew! & we had such a laugh, I think I shall make him my unofficial OU buddy....
in which i submit my first ever OU assignment...
Well, it's finally happening. I am a student, proper and yesterday, I submitted my first TMA. It wasn't due til the 30th, but, I was in danger of over editing and so I decided to just go for it. I hit the 'send' button, and that's it. No turning back.
I am so nervous. Seriously. I have no idea if it's any good, no idea really what they expect and I am just terrified that my tutor will hate it and my mark will be embarrasingly low. There's not a lot I can do but wait and see.
It was a good assignment actually: a short freewrite inspired by a given prompt, a fiction piece inspired by your freewrite, and then a commentary on both. I enjoyed it. I'm enjoying the course as a whole, and have even been brave enough to post a few of my exercises on the course forum - thankfully my public feedback wasn't awful - it was even rather good. Phew.
Poetry next. I shall be making headway with that over the weekend and I am trying to embrace the challenge rather than be petrified! Doesn't help that I've never written much and all the people I know that write poetry do it incredibly well. Campbell, that means you!
I am so nervous. Seriously. I have no idea if it's any good, no idea really what they expect and I am just terrified that my tutor will hate it and my mark will be embarrasingly low. There's not a lot I can do but wait and see.
It was a good assignment actually: a short freewrite inspired by a given prompt, a fiction piece inspired by your freewrite, and then a commentary on both. I enjoyed it. I'm enjoying the course as a whole, and have even been brave enough to post a few of my exercises on the course forum - thankfully my public feedback wasn't awful - it was even rather good. Phew.
Poetry next. I shall be making headway with that over the weekend and I am trying to embrace the challenge rather than be petrified! Doesn't help that I've never written much and all the people I know that write poetry do it incredibly well. Campbell, that means you!
in which i finally share my love for the graveyard book
"You’re alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. You’ve made what you’ve made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.”
I love Neil Gaiman a little bit. Granted, I've only read three of his novels: Coraline, Stardust and The Graveyard Book and some people might feel this isn't evidence enough to be using the 'L' word but I don't care. I don't. I love him. Coraline, a modern day Alice: amazing if slightly (really) creepy. Stardust: so much better than the film, so pretty and magical and incredible. The Graveyard Book: in the running as my book of the year. Ok, so I'm not the Booker Prize, I'm just some girl who likes to read but still, I loved this book. I loved it more than pretty much everything else I've read this year.
Why?
It's pure brilliance, that's why. How many books have you read that manage to be both sinister yet poignant? Think of The Jungle Book, Kipling's version, not the Disney sing-a-long ( although I admit to maybe loving the Disney version more than the Kipling, so sue me!) and make it darker. Turn the jungle into a graveyard, the animals into ghosts and you've got The Graveyard Book. It's witty and it's clever and it's so beautifully written that it's impossible not to fall in love with this dark tale that manages to be full of warmth.
Sentences like "Nothing was said. Just a silence in reply, that echoed of dust and loneliness" just make me happy! In fact I am going to buy the audiobook, I want somebody to read this book aloud to me, and I want that somebody to be Gaiman!
Nobody Owens grows up in a graveyard after his parents, and sister, are killed by 'the man Jack,' a nasty man who is still after our Bod's blood. Adopted by the long-deceased Mr and Mrs. Owens, Bod is given the run of the graveyard, growing up amongst ghosts and ghouls and protected by the intriguingly mysterious Silas: the only one who can leave the graveyard, a man neither living or dead.
The book feels more like a short story collection than a novel, and this makes me love it that little bit more. Each chapter, whilst linking to the one before is 'complete' and Gaiman has a way with words that I've not seen equalled for a long time. I loved the language, the description, the little touches of humour, such as the way he told us what was written on the headstone of each 'person' we met: "Thomas R. Stout (1817-1851. Deeply regretted by all who knew him.") His character development is a work of art. Oh, see how I gush! Gaiman effortlesstly creates these characters that you are drawn to, that you care about, that you want to explore further but he never gives to much away. Is Silas a vampire? Is Miss Lupescu a werewolf? Dear reader, make up your own mind.
Also, I've not had a new literary crush for a while - unless you count my little Book Thief crush of course. I do have a soft spot for Rudy. And Max. But, I love The Graveyrd's Silas just a little bit too much.If you don't read it for any other reason, read it for him, because he could be my new Sirius.
"There were people you could hug, and then there was Silas."
I love Neil Gaiman a little bit. Granted, I've only read three of his novels: Coraline, Stardust and The Graveyard Book and some people might feel this isn't evidence enough to be using the 'L' word but I don't care. I don't. I love him. Coraline, a modern day Alice: amazing if slightly (really) creepy. Stardust: so much better than the film, so pretty and magical and incredible. The Graveyard Book: in the running as my book of the year. Ok, so I'm not the Booker Prize, I'm just some girl who likes to read but still, I loved this book. I loved it more than pretty much everything else I've read this year.
Why?
It's pure brilliance, that's why. How many books have you read that manage to be both sinister yet poignant? Think of The Jungle Book, Kipling's version, not the Disney sing-a-long ( although I admit to maybe loving the Disney version more than the Kipling, so sue me!) and make it darker. Turn the jungle into a graveyard, the animals into ghosts and you've got The Graveyard Book. It's witty and it's clever and it's so beautifully written that it's impossible not to fall in love with this dark tale that manages to be full of warmth.
Sentences like "Nothing was said. Just a silence in reply, that echoed of dust and loneliness" just make me happy! In fact I am going to buy the audiobook, I want somebody to read this book aloud to me, and I want that somebody to be Gaiman!
Nobody Owens grows up in a graveyard after his parents, and sister, are killed by 'the man Jack,' a nasty man who is still after our Bod's blood. Adopted by the long-deceased Mr and Mrs. Owens, Bod is given the run of the graveyard, growing up amongst ghosts and ghouls and protected by the intriguingly mysterious Silas: the only one who can leave the graveyard, a man neither living or dead.
The book feels more like a short story collection than a novel, and this makes me love it that little bit more. Each chapter, whilst linking to the one before is 'complete' and Gaiman has a way with words that I've not seen equalled for a long time. I loved the language, the description, the little touches of humour, such as the way he told us what was written on the headstone of each 'person' we met: "Thomas R. Stout (1817-1851. Deeply regretted by all who knew him.") His character development is a work of art. Oh, see how I gush! Gaiman effortlesstly creates these characters that you are drawn to, that you care about, that you want to explore further but he never gives to much away. Is Silas a vampire? Is Miss Lupescu a werewolf? Dear reader, make up your own mind.
Also, I've not had a new literary crush for a while - unless you count my little Book Thief crush of course. I do have a soft spot for Rudy. And Max. But, I love The Graveyrd's Silas just a little bit too much.If you don't read it for any other reason, read it for him, because he could be my new Sirius.
"There were people you could hug, and then there was Silas."
in which i get excited about the OU
It seems I have failed lately with the whole blog thing. Real life has gotten in the way and holidays and work have left me with little time to update. However, I am back on it, and have much to talk about such as Margaret Atwood and the Shopaholic books, and my new found love for Neil Gaiman...til then though, the OU.
The stuff for my creative writing course came through at the end of last week, and it looks very exciting! So much so, that I am tempted to start before the 'official' start date of beginning of October. It won't matter will it, and it's not like this blog is widely read enough for me to get caught ;)
All the course material looks great, and there are some fun looking excercises in the big fat workbook, so, with any luck (mine and not yours) I will soon be posting lots of new stuff on here. I've also taken a sneaky peek at the TMA's - the course is assessed on 5 TMA's and one final assignments. They look awesome. I am excited about them all with exception to the poetry one, and really can't wait to get started on the first one - due October 30th. The poetry I am dreading. Really. I don't write poetry, never have and whilst I know that's the point of the course; to learn, I have to admit to being a little dubious. How can I learn enough in a month to be able to write 40lines of poetry to a standard required to get the marks? *panic*
We'll soon see I guess. But yes, all very exciting!!!
In other news we have mice. I am refusing to leave the office and despatched folk to try and find a humane way of removing them. *shudder*
The stuff for my creative writing course came through at the end of last week, and it looks very exciting! So much so, that I am tempted to start before the 'official' start date of beginning of October. It won't matter will it, and it's not like this blog is widely read enough for me to get caught ;)
All the course material looks great, and there are some fun looking excercises in the big fat workbook, so, with any luck (mine and not yours) I will soon be posting lots of new stuff on here. I've also taken a sneaky peek at the TMA's - the course is assessed on 5 TMA's and one final assignments. They look awesome. I am excited about them all with exception to the poetry one, and really can't wait to get started on the first one - due October 30th. The poetry I am dreading. Really. I don't write poetry, never have and whilst I know that's the point of the course; to learn, I have to admit to being a little dubious. How can I learn enough in a month to be able to write 40lines of poetry to a standard required to get the marks? *panic*
We'll soon see I guess. But yes, all very exciting!!!
In other news we have mice. I am refusing to leave the office and despatched folk to try and find a humane way of removing them. *shudder*
in which i ponder upon friendships
They say the friends you make at university are the friends you keep for life. If you didn’t go to university then I suppose the friends you made when you were of university age – late teens and early twenties - will be your equivalent.
Your friends mean the world to you. They are the people you want to share things with, good news and bad; the people you want to make memories with; the people who feel like an extension of yourself. With these friends, time and distance doesn’t matter: no matter how long it’s been, the moment you get together it’s like no time has passed at all. You are connected. Wired.
Life moves on. Of course it does. Nothing stays the same. None of us are the same person we were when we were 18, 19, 20, even 24. People get married, or change jobs, or have children, or move house. Priorities change. Time is forced to be divided up differently. Are friendships affected by this? I think the answer is yes and no. You still care. You still love each other. You still have that connection, but the dynamic is different. Dancing ‘til dawn four nights a week is replaced by one night a week with trashy t.v and maybe you don’t talk as much, meet as much, but you know what? That’s ok.
It stops being ok when you realise that for the most part you are the one that always calls. It stops being ok when you realise that for the most part you are the one that always emails, texts. It stops being ok when you realise that those calls, emails, texts are very rarely returned. It stops being ok when you feel like you are the only one to really make an effort. It stops being ok when you feel like you bend over backwards to help these friends out, and yet they appear to have time for every other person in the world bar you, and it stops being ok when you stop to think before you make that call, or send that email, and wonder why you’re bothering.
Does that mean that you’ve moved on, and if it does, what do you do about that?
Your friends mean the world to you. They are the people you want to share things with, good news and bad; the people you want to make memories with; the people who feel like an extension of yourself. With these friends, time and distance doesn’t matter: no matter how long it’s been, the moment you get together it’s like no time has passed at all. You are connected. Wired.
Life moves on. Of course it does. Nothing stays the same. None of us are the same person we were when we were 18, 19, 20, even 24. People get married, or change jobs, or have children, or move house. Priorities change. Time is forced to be divided up differently. Are friendships affected by this? I think the answer is yes and no. You still care. You still love each other. You still have that connection, but the dynamic is different. Dancing ‘til dawn four nights a week is replaced by one night a week with trashy t.v and maybe you don’t talk as much, meet as much, but you know what? That’s ok.
It stops being ok when you realise that for the most part you are the one that always calls. It stops being ok when you realise that for the most part you are the one that always emails, texts. It stops being ok when you realise that those calls, emails, texts are very rarely returned. It stops being ok when you feel like you are the only one to really make an effort. It stops being ok when you feel like you bend over backwards to help these friends out, and yet they appear to have time for every other person in the world bar you, and it stops being ok when you stop to think before you make that call, or send that email, and wonder why you’re bothering.
Does that mean that you’ve moved on, and if it does, what do you do about that?
in which I read about sex on a train
I always loved Melvin Burgess. I’d read anything he put his name to and would flaunt his books proudly. When I was a teenager he lived next door to my cousin’s best friend’s Auntie. Obviously, this meant I knew him, despite the fact I never actually met him. Ah, the teenage years. “What’s that you’re reading?” my friends would enquire and I’d smile smugly “Oh, it’s by Melvin Burgess. He lives next door to my cousin’s best friend’s Auntie you know.” I was so proud. An Angel For May; Burning Issy; The Baby and Fly Pie; Loving April; Kite. I’d read them all and Junk, his novel about teenage runaway heroin addicts is still secure in it’s position of one of my favourite books ever. I re-read it recently and it had lost none of it’s appeal. Burgess takes controversial subject matters and he writes them, well. Junk is a perfect example of that, but, I am not here to talk about Junk, or brag about my Melvin Burgess claim to fame. I am here to talk about his more recent offering, Doing It.
It is quite difficult to find a good review of Doing It; In the Guardian for example, Anne Fine was horrified. Why? Because this novel, written for the YA market is about sex. It is about sex from the teenage boys perspective and it is billed as pulling no punches. I was going to read it anyway – I think a part of that teenage girl who thinks Burgess is her best friend is still lurking – but reading the reviews made me want to read it so much more. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I seem to remember Junk caused a lot of outrage when it was published, and it always surprises me, how our society seems to want to protect it’s youth from ‘real life.’ I mean, the kids in this book are not 12 or 13 or 14. They are 17, 18 and so over the legal age for consent. We’d be kidding ourselves if we didn’t think a large percentage of people that age, and younger – lets be honest - were not sexually active, but there aren’t many books out there, fictional works that is that tackle a subject that is so close to every teenager of a certain age. Why not? Because not many authors are as brave as Melvin Burgess. I take my hat off to him.
Reviews try to dismiss this book as ‘teen trash’, describe it as ‘crude’ and ‘coarse’ or to quote Anne Fine ‘vile and disgusting.’ I beg to differ. Children’s Laureate I will never be, but I do have an opinion, and it is this:
Doing It is honest and it is funny and with it’s cleverly woven together themes it is impossible to dismiss it as trash. Yes, there is sexual content and yes it is explicit. Yes. If I had read it when I was 17 and in the presence of my parents I would probably have turned an interesting shade of beetroot but this book is clever and Burgess is a great writer and it is to his credit that he handles any awkward scenes with sensitivity and honesty. The novel broaches issues that need to be broached more often; You have one boy trapped in an affair with his teacher, desperate to break free but unsure how, one boy in love with a ‘fat bird’ but scared what his friends might think and a third, the ‘popular’ boy that every school has, madly in love with the ‘popular’ girl yet desperate to lose his virginity, and then you have your teenage angst as well, divorce; adultery; peer pressure; shoplifting. Doesn’t sound particularly chirpy does it, and to be honest this book could easily have become deep and depressing. Lucky then that it was touched with that Melvin Burgess magic and like Junk before it, manages to be well-observed and rather amusing at the same time as it moves you and at times makes you cringe. It is well written and it has a unique twist in that it is told, for the most part from the point of view of the boys. How often does that happen? Every character has a voice, there are no cardboard cut-outs, no judgements are made; you are left to make your own mind up.
The conclusion I reached?
I wish this book had been around when I was seventeen.
But of course, to a degree, it was.
It was a funny coincidence that about the time I decided to finally get on with reading Doing It, my brother chose to clean out the attic and present me with a huge cardboard boxful of my old, mainly Enid Blyton, books. Tucked in there was a rather careworn copy of Forever by Judy Blume. The 1970’s Doing It.
Doing It is proof that ‘going all the way’ is still a taboo subject in YA literature, so why did Judy Blume get away with it, some 30-odd years ago. Whereas it is hard to find a positive review for Doing It, it is equally hard to find the opposite for Forever although I am aware that it did cause controversy at the time.
So, out of curiosity I read them both on the same day.
It was a wonderful experience, to be transported back to being 16, or 17, when I read Forever for the first time and I quickly got sucked back into the story of Michael and Katherine, just like I had then, and, I was frustrated with the ending just like I was then; I was always a fan of the happy ever after. Why could forever not have really been forever. (“..because I love you too,' I whispered into his chest. Saying it for the first time was the hardest. There’s something so final about it. The second time I sat up and said it right to him. 'I love you, Michael Wagner.' 'Forever?' he asked. 'Forever,' I said." *sob* it broke my 17 year old heart…)
Forever deals with the same sort of issues as Doing It does. It is sexually graphic, although maybe not in the same way as Doing It, and it deals with less than pretty issues.
Forever opens with “Sybil Davison has a genius I.Q. and has been laid by at least six guys.” The same Sybil, later in the book has to miss her graduation as she in hospital giving birth to the baby that she gives up for adoption. Surely that is equally as shocking as the opening of Doing It, which has the three protagonists having a hypothetical talk about sex:
“'OK,' said Jonathon. 'The choice is this. You either have to shag Jenny Gibson or that homeless woman who begs spare change outside Cramner's bakers.' "
I think every teenage boy I ever met (and several girls) will have played that game growing up. What makes it shocking is the language. Melvin Burgess *gasp* had the nerve to use the word ‘shag.’ Judy Blume however, opened with a 17 year old girl who had already had 6 sexual partners and had another main character desperate to ‘get laid’ before graduation. Now I am not saying I disapprove of Forever, to the contrary, I love it. I am just saying that really, Doing It is no worse, in several ways it’s better. Judy Blume wrote Forever (for her daughter I believe. How embarrassed would you be?!) with every word indicating she could remember just what it was like, and how it felt to be a teenager, thus engaging with every girl that ever picked up the book, and I believe Melvin Burgess has done the same.
Doing It is maybe cruder, I’ll be stereotypical and blame that on the main characters being teenage boys; they are famous for that ‘laddish’ jokey attitude to sex, but Burgess expresses that this is more out of nervousness or embarrassment than actual idiocy. Forever is more sentimental. I’ll let my Goddaughter read Forever (when she’s older), and you know what, I’ll more than likely let her read Doing It as well, ‘vile and disgusting’ or not. Teenagers need more books like this, and I applaud both Blume and Burgess, for 35 years apart, having the nerve to write them.
It is quite difficult to find a good review of Doing It; In the Guardian for example, Anne Fine was horrified. Why? Because this novel, written for the YA market is about sex. It is about sex from the teenage boys perspective and it is billed as pulling no punches. I was going to read it anyway – I think a part of that teenage girl who thinks Burgess is her best friend is still lurking – but reading the reviews made me want to read it so much more. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I seem to remember Junk caused a lot of outrage when it was published, and it always surprises me, how our society seems to want to protect it’s youth from ‘real life.’ I mean, the kids in this book are not 12 or 13 or 14. They are 17, 18 and so over the legal age for consent. We’d be kidding ourselves if we didn’t think a large percentage of people that age, and younger – lets be honest - were not sexually active, but there aren’t many books out there, fictional works that is that tackle a subject that is so close to every teenager of a certain age. Why not? Because not many authors are as brave as Melvin Burgess. I take my hat off to him.
Reviews try to dismiss this book as ‘teen trash’, describe it as ‘crude’ and ‘coarse’ or to quote Anne Fine ‘vile and disgusting.’ I beg to differ. Children’s Laureate I will never be, but I do have an opinion, and it is this:
Doing It is honest and it is funny and with it’s cleverly woven together themes it is impossible to dismiss it as trash. Yes, there is sexual content and yes it is explicit. Yes. If I had read it when I was 17 and in the presence of my parents I would probably have turned an interesting shade of beetroot but this book is clever and Burgess is a great writer and it is to his credit that he handles any awkward scenes with sensitivity and honesty. The novel broaches issues that need to be broached more often; You have one boy trapped in an affair with his teacher, desperate to break free but unsure how, one boy in love with a ‘fat bird’ but scared what his friends might think and a third, the ‘popular’ boy that every school has, madly in love with the ‘popular’ girl yet desperate to lose his virginity, and then you have your teenage angst as well, divorce; adultery; peer pressure; shoplifting. Doesn’t sound particularly chirpy does it, and to be honest this book could easily have become deep and depressing. Lucky then that it was touched with that Melvin Burgess magic and like Junk before it, manages to be well-observed and rather amusing at the same time as it moves you and at times makes you cringe. It is well written and it has a unique twist in that it is told, for the most part from the point of view of the boys. How often does that happen? Every character has a voice, there are no cardboard cut-outs, no judgements are made; you are left to make your own mind up.
The conclusion I reached?
I wish this book had been around when I was seventeen.
But of course, to a degree, it was.
It was a funny coincidence that about the time I decided to finally get on with reading Doing It, my brother chose to clean out the attic and present me with a huge cardboard boxful of my old, mainly Enid Blyton, books. Tucked in there was a rather careworn copy of Forever by Judy Blume. The 1970’s Doing It.
Doing It is proof that ‘going all the way’ is still a taboo subject in YA literature, so why did Judy Blume get away with it, some 30-odd years ago. Whereas it is hard to find a positive review for Doing It, it is equally hard to find the opposite for Forever although I am aware that it did cause controversy at the time.
So, out of curiosity I read them both on the same day.
It was a wonderful experience, to be transported back to being 16, or 17, when I read Forever for the first time and I quickly got sucked back into the story of Michael and Katherine, just like I had then, and, I was frustrated with the ending just like I was then; I was always a fan of the happy ever after. Why could forever not have really been forever. (“..because I love you too,' I whispered into his chest. Saying it for the first time was the hardest. There’s something so final about it. The second time I sat up and said it right to him. 'I love you, Michael Wagner.' 'Forever?' he asked. 'Forever,' I said." *sob* it broke my 17 year old heart…)
Forever deals with the same sort of issues as Doing It does. It is sexually graphic, although maybe not in the same way as Doing It, and it deals with less than pretty issues.
Forever opens with “Sybil Davison has a genius I.Q. and has been laid by at least six guys.” The same Sybil, later in the book has to miss her graduation as she in hospital giving birth to the baby that she gives up for adoption. Surely that is equally as shocking as the opening of Doing It, which has the three protagonists having a hypothetical talk about sex:
“'OK,' said Jonathon. 'The choice is this. You either have to shag Jenny Gibson or that homeless woman who begs spare change outside Cramner's bakers.' "
I think every teenage boy I ever met (and several girls) will have played that game growing up. What makes it shocking is the language. Melvin Burgess *gasp* had the nerve to use the word ‘shag.’ Judy Blume however, opened with a 17 year old girl who had already had 6 sexual partners and had another main character desperate to ‘get laid’ before graduation. Now I am not saying I disapprove of Forever, to the contrary, I love it. I am just saying that really, Doing It is no worse, in several ways it’s better. Judy Blume wrote Forever (for her daughter I believe. How embarrassed would you be?!) with every word indicating she could remember just what it was like, and how it felt to be a teenager, thus engaging with every girl that ever picked up the book, and I believe Melvin Burgess has done the same.
Doing It is maybe cruder, I’ll be stereotypical and blame that on the main characters being teenage boys; they are famous for that ‘laddish’ jokey attitude to sex, but Burgess expresses that this is more out of nervousness or embarrassment than actual idiocy. Forever is more sentimental. I’ll let my Goddaughter read Forever (when she’s older), and you know what, I’ll more than likely let her read Doing It as well, ‘vile and disgusting’ or not. Teenagers need more books like this, and I applaud both Blume and Burgess, for 35 years apart, having the nerve to write them.
