I'm not going to lie, you might feel sad about it at first. Actually you'll feel like an absolute tit. But when you realise you spend 93.7% of your day being a tit, it's really ok. Can't promise you won't have a panic attack or two, or that you won't spend next month's salary on a new hair do and wardrobe to distance yourself from this month's less dignified you.
I feel better for it. You might. Dignity's overrated anyway.
Today I've spilled my guts on medium.com/@aimeecoleman86 and www.aimeecolemanwrites.com/stories
If an infinite amount of monkeys with an infinite amount of typewriters can write the works of Shakespeare, why the f*@k can't I? ... Infinity can f#ck off And so can Shakespeare. I'm sick of his goodness (ok fine, greatness). It's terrifying.
Me Mam said: never steal. She said: never call me Mam either, it's Mum, Mam's common. Which is comical really because we grew up on a council estate (goverment housing), and snobbery is as hard to find as Brie, a baguette, or a Burgandy.
Never steal, she said.
And here's this bloke - Paul Arden he's called - telling me to steal from anywhere, steal the things that i believe in and make them my own.
A brilliant book. Reminds me that women are held to higher standards than men - as colleagues, bosses, mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, girlfriends, the list goes on - and because of that we try to do everything perfectly. So it's important to look after ourselves first and make sure we are well, wise, inspired to wonder at the world and committed to giving back. Like what the gorgeously made-up flight attendant tells you: apply your own mask first before others.
When I was seven, my side hustle was selling tape recorded songs from my CDs to my grandparents. Yes. Tapes. Of CDs. I was smart. I knew my CD costed seven pounds (they costed me nothing I worked on charm). And i was giving my bargain loving oldies the tape recorded version for a snip at two quid! Everyone's a winner. I reckon I ended up fourteen pounds in the black.
My learnings: competing on price will only get you so far, you've got to build relationships. Old folk love a bargain. There's a (tiny) niche - where you make all of about fourteen pounds - in old technology.Wherever everyone else is going, try the other direction (except if you're making tapes of CDs).
I have an irrational and unfathomable dislike of the word peruse. Why peruse when you can just look at, for God's sake? And I normally have so much appreciation for vocab, innit. I don't know where the seed of this distaste came from but the roots have spread from that bit in the brain that files all your memories (amygdala?) and weaved its way around my spine to my little wonky toes. (Not all of them are wonky, just the outside ones.) Peruse makes the little piggies anxious so they cling tight to their neighbour. But if they stood up straight for once and perused the situation, they'd see no danger. It's just a word. OK, maybe my little toes and i can start moving on from this. Also if you don't mind the word peruse and you like the idea of instead of moaning, making things, this blog is great: https://labs.ideo.com/2014/08/28/best-way-complain/
One of the best presents I've ever had (and a kick up the arse with love!) Thanks to my amazing husband. And thanks to all one hundred and one incredible women in this book. In particular, Nikki Giovanni, @daniellehenderson@juliarothman@justinablakeney@issarae who inspire my to make creativity my profession. Mwoah!
Whoop. It's awesome. Feel clevererer already! :-) There are people who've questioned his ability to put forward an idea for a completely different socio-economic structure. The audacity! God forbid. For me though, it's a brilliant idea supported by/grown out from facts and theories of economists, sociologists, philosophers (those with the degrees and that) and another way of thinking about the world that at the very least gets people looking at things from a different angle and gets people talking about viable alternatives to capitalism. At best, gets people taking action at a grassroots level to make a difference in their own communities. Plus it's well funny. Read it.
Writing competition - successful writer I am not yet
Tough day at the office! My short story submission was unsuccessful. Ouch. It stings a little. Something tells me there'll be lots of these unsuccesses in the coming years. I'm imagining my granny self as a (ninja) turtle, so hardened by submission woes that I've grown my very own hard shell. I'll insist my grandchildren call me Donatello but not tell them why. It'll be a family mystery that they'll need to solve before they can access their inheritance. If they dont solve the puzzle, the inheritance prize (which will likely be $50 and my pile of foreign currency coins) will go to a turtle sanctuary in Laganas in Greece. Does this count as my will???? Xxx Hashtagyougottabeinittowinit.
A conversation I wish I'd had with myself... I want to be a writer. Do it then. I can't. I'm no good at it and if I do it, I'll be way behind Barry. Forget Barry. But Barry's an Accountant and that's well better. Is it? Yeah he's got a new house. You have a house. It's not mine. We rent. Be glad you've got a fucking house and a calling that may turn into a talent - the more you give it a go. But- No! No buts. Fuck off. Get out of your comfort zone, be happy being shit at it for a while and do it, learn from it, enjoy it. AND forget about bloody Barry. He's got his own shit to deal with without you putting him on a pedestal.
I AM ADDICTED TO CERTAINTY. There, I got it off my chest.
I went to see a fortune teller. A tarrot card reader. Actually, a medium, I think they like to be called. I'm kinda embarrassed to tell you. Anyway, Pam's her name. She and her waddling dog led me into her kitchen and invited me to sit at her table. The cards were there, laid on top of a purple embroidered scarf pretending to be a table cloth. I loved how I felt warm when she looked at me. Her eyes said: you're gonna be alright, you are. What I couldn't answer Chris (honestly) when he asked me why then, I'll answer now. (I think I gave him some bullshit about being curious.) I went because I wanted old Pam to tell me that I was going to be a writer. I wanted it to be written in my stars. I wanted to know for certain that this is the path I needed to take. What I know now is that nobody -not even wise old Pam - can tell you that kind of thing. Pam, love, you've been great, but I don't need you any more. Hugs. I'll try this thing as see where I get to... Xx P.s.i'll write a short story about a psychic experience and if it's any good i'll put it on my blog: www.aimeecolemanwrites.com/stories.
Powerful stuff in such a short video: https://youtu.be/vKAO4aItd-E
It got me thinking. My cousin said this to me once. He said, if you have any trouble at school, send them to me. Or i'll meet you after school and you can point them out to me. He had my back. I knew it. I felt it. There's something so calming about knowing someone is looking out for you. I hope I can do that at work today, tomorrow and the next after that. I'm so lucky, I've got quite a few people like Gary in my life. #everydayheroes#everydaymentors#bigsisters#bigbrothers Here's a story I wrote about one of my incredible nannas called Homage to Joan: www.aimeecolemanwrites/stories
I'm just chuckling, imagining my mum reading my post. She won't. She's not heard of instagram. She's on the facebooks but instagram would require a whole other 5 week tutorial that my baby brother has neither the patience nor the motivation to endure. His tutor gene gets a work out twice a year and he's maxed out already because of my mum's skype and whatsapp issues. Long story short, mum and I have reverted to landlines (I live in Australia, she lives in England - we're basically analogue again). Where was I? Put your weed in the bag - it means put a shift in, where I'm from. Pay your dues. Grind.
I've never taken drugs. Not any. (Yes, I'm one of those briefcase wankers who thinks they'll die.) but I think this is a mantra I'm gonna stick to. Thanks Charlamagne @cthagod. I'm really enjoying #blackprivilege
Mum, if you download instagram and you read this, remember when you took drugs (you pronounced it: mara-jew-ana) and you were sick for six days straight?! #iblamedaz
That's another story I'll no doubt tell you all soon at www.aimeecolemanwrites.com
"Take pride in your appearance." Mummykins circa anytime and all the time between 1990 and 2000.
My Mum used to bollock me all the time about taking pride in my appearance. Actually my Dad tried to encourage me too, he was just less vocal about it. And he probs had the foresight to imagine that period of time ahead - just before I became a lady - when he'd have had to do a 180 and start telling me to take less pride. (Just guessing.) Back to mum... "You're not coming out with me looking like that. We're going to a party. You look like nobody bloody owns ya!" she was staring at my man utd top and shell suit pants as she shouted. I stood there with my big snarly pout, arms crossed: "I own myself. And anyway this is what David and Wayne, Ben and Michael (my cousins) will be wearing." "No they won't!" (They did.) "I'm not wearing that stupid orange waist coat and shorts." "They're burnt orange actually, and they're denim so they're not too girly." Burnt. Orange. Those were the actual words she said before I started tearing my hair out of my pony tail and screaming.
I ended up wearing that shit outfit and having a face on until i saw my grandparents and the other kids.
We've not had to have that argument for a while but I reckon if she caught me today with my socks and flipflops and trackies she'd dig up that old phrase and clip me round the ear 'ole with it. Xxxx
I didn't know straight away. Mum was pretty LOUD about it though, she put ribbons in my hair and that, but I just thought she was weird and I didn't start listening to her until much later.
I thought I was the same as my cousins and our friends - a wriggling, writhing street tribe. Just animals, mostly.
Then I had long hair that my Mum insisted on braiding. There was also the dresses she bought me, that I kicked off about. Every. Time. She. Suggested. (Common theme in my posts, I know. Imagine how I felt.) I remember the day I properly realised. Realised for realsies. With the benefit of hindsight I know now that was the day I knew it was different for girls. Different expectations and that.
My Dad's a feminist, see. It's through his eyes that I noticed the world isn't skewed in my direction. It was the day I asked him to teach me to box (I was heavy into karate at the time - we both were). It's a bit of a longer story - not Instagram appropriate - so you'll find it on my blog: www.aimeecolemanwrites.com
I've been missing out because I've needed to know the answer, I've clung to the shadows of the elders who are wiser and know better (turns out they don't), I've stuck to the map because I was scared to get lost and waste time.
Aren't we all lost, all of the time? So I'm just going to stick that in my pipe and smoke it. Watching what Barry does and following him step by thoughtless step is doing me no good. He doesn't know anything I don't. Maybe he just had more conviction once upon a time.