10/10 would watch again for this little guy alone! Pua is just the cutest
Cross Stitching – Approach With Caution
Today I was hit with the Spring Clean vibe really hard and decided to gut my bedroom. Don’t ask me why it had to happen on the sunniest day of the week or why I didn’t think to postpone until the weather turned for the worse. It was nice letting the natural light in through the patio door right enough, and I did open windows to air the flat out a bit (which felt like a very grown up thing to do).
The Spring Clean of 2017 is still a work in progress, but my desk is now a workable area which is really exciting (if you’re excited by things like giving objects a specific home on/under a desk, which I am) and I have set up my laptop so I feel more in the zone for writing and generally more productive with less clutter in my space.
As part of the clear out, I have created my own little craft corner which houses everything from photography books to knitting needles, my sewing box, colouring books and my calligraphy set:
Ain’t it cute?! And super tidy, considering it’s my stuff we’re talking about, and the ridiculous volume of things there were to find a home for. I have all my sheet music hidden at the back too. It’s a very handy wee hidey hole!
Although my love for crafts and arty ways to pass time span a whole variety of activities, my newest hobby is cross stitching. And I must admit, it is bloody marvelous.
My sister got me hooked with this wonderful kit she gave me for Christmas:
(kit available from the Geeky Stitching Co)
Cute, right!?
Cross stitch is a great way for me to spend my time for several reasons – it’s a creative outlet, it’s plannable (I now have a square paper jotter to sketch potential designs in *squee*) and it keeps both my hands and mind busy. It’s also great when partnered with a bingeable series on Netflix.
(available here)
So, cross stitching is my latest craft love. I won’t lie, I went a little crazy at Hobbycraft this week, buying hoops, cloth and this:
ISN’T THAT THE PRETTIEST DAMN THREAD MOUNTAIN YOU’VE EVER SEEN???
And just because it’s so darn beautiful, here is my collection in rainbow fashion.
#embroideryporn
This particular set of 100 threads was £16 and worth every penny. So, yes, I have well and truly caught the cross stitch bug.
However, it is not a hobby without peril. Please, folks, tackle the stitching with caution.
You see, a lot of my cross stitching is done while I’m lying in bed. This is a prime location for many reasons; not least comfort and space to spread out all materials while exerting as little energy as possible for retrieval (I can now reach my sewing box without having to physically leave my bed – result!)
It is a pretty safe bet that if I am working from my bed, I will be in pjs or some other form of loungewear. I detest lying in bed in jeans after 7pm and the bra comes off as soon as humanly possible – if I was wearing one at all to begin with.
It is at this precise moment that cross stitching transforms into something of a safety hazard for me.
What you have to understand is that I am not the most elegant of people. Nor the most coordinated. I approach most things with gusto and grace just waltzes on out the door before I get a look in. This doesn’t really affect me in everyday life. Just don’t ask me to slice a bagel or sidle up to the barre.
When my klutzy tendencies do affect me, though, is the moment my bra comes off and the embroidery hoop is picked up.
Let me clarify – needles are sharp, my boobs are unprotected; injuries ensue.
I won’t lie, blood has been drawn a handful of times and my boobs are not the only victim. My fingers, thighs and elbow (I don’t even know) have endured the stabby stabby from my cross stitching attempts. My boyfriend’s eye has had a few close calls too – he knows to swerve when my arm starts extending to pull through a long thread. (Personally I blame him – it’s not my fault that I’m left handed and he sits on my left…)
I suppose the moral of the story here is to:
1. wear protective clothing when handling sharp objects, especially embroidery needles, and
2. work out seating arrangements before readying said sharp object for stitches to avoid other casualties.
As much as I detest wearing padded bras, it would seem they are part of the uniform necessary to keep my poor wee tatas safe from the evil pointy stabber.
I’m sure there’s some poetic irony to be pulled from a needle creating beauty despite its cold, painful composition, but it’s too late in the day to deduce it.
Currently, I’m working on a piece inspired by a stall I’ve fallen in love with in the Royal Mile Market at the Tron Kirk. I bought a wonderful little ring from the stall and ever since I’ve been more determined to spend time refining my witchy side.
This hoop is going to be magical and I’m attempting to channel my best moonchild vibes to give it the mystical edge I’m desperate to create.
Updates to follow!
There’s No Place Like Home
Today I say goodbye to the place I have called home for nearly 14 years.
In 2003 we moved into this house. Among other things, it has seen me through primary school, high school, university, losing our wonderful Chocolate Labrador; Fudge, and entering the big ole world of work.
Moving took a lot of adjusting. For one thing, I’d only ever been on a school bus once or twice, now I’d be taking one every day of primary school. Boys were another adjustment. I’d been to an all-girls school in Glasgow – I was not prepared to deal with boys and their teasing or hair pulling or smell. Some things you just never fully adapt to.
As I grew older, I remember being so ready to leave the tiny town and explore pastures new. But the night before I left for uni I was in floods of tears; the move was incredibly daunting. 150 miles away from my family, no friends going with me. I was comforted with Mamma Mia and popcorn, and the promise of being brought back home once my stuff was moved into halls. After flitting my gear from Oban to Edinburgh the following day, my parents snuck out without saying goodbye to make sure I didn’t jump in the car with them. Soon after, they were the ones asking me when I’d next be home, while I was busy galavanting and studying (yes, really, I did study…sometimes).
Maya Angelou said something that fits my relationship with this house, and Oban, perfectly:
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.
I’ve grown up here; played dress up, forged friendships, learned scripts, practiced dances, sprained ankles falling down rabbit holes (not some of my finest moments) and mended broken hearts.
The sea views and home comforts have seen me through many tear fests and giggle fits, sleepovers and all nighters.
From wearing bridesmaids dresses and parading up and down the stairs to hiding in the Tiggy-Winkle cupboard (aptly named after the Beatrix Potter paper that adorned the walls) playing Sardines; I have so many wonderful memories.
I’m still too scared to walk up the stairs to bed in the dark and I will always find that attic creepy as hell. Too many badly lit corners and sloping ceilings and cobwebs. Perfect hiding place for monsters and baddies from storybooks. I have done my best to avoid spending time at there at all costs. Not today, Satan, not today.
Every time my chimney threw down stones in stormy weather I’d get the fright of my life, even when I remembered beforehand that it was bound to happen.
The wee nook in my bedroom window with my beanbag saw many books devoured.
The cupboard by the fireplace hoarded treasures and keepsakes of milestones gone by; from my signed leavers Park Primary polo shirt to painted pottery to photographs of musicals I’ve been in.
I mended my broken heart from within that bedroom. My pillow soaked up so many tears and it was cocooned in that duvet that I wrote my frustrations and hurt and anguish away. I overcame loneliness and hurt and loss of important friendships in that room. Those four walls were the safest of havens in some of my darkest moments.
Now empty, the den holds some wonderful memories too. Phone calls with Cal, Grease singalongs and painting the walls with colours that definitely didn’t match the curtains or carpets.
The front door handle that always came flying out if you didn’t turn it the right way provided lots of entertainment. I always laughed watching others do it and seeing their faces contort in horror, thinking they’d broken our door and locked us in. I still did it myself, even this morning as I was filling up the car.
I’ll especially miss the kitchen. That hob though. And that oven produced some of my finest baking over the years. The corner by the cook book and CD player was a particular favourite of mine. I would thumb through one of the many Jamie Olivers or occasionally Nigella’s latest book, belting out Nina Simone or Harry Connick Jr. Latterly Adele and Elbow made the playlist too.
Takeaways and late nights singing and making memories in the conservatory. Camping in the garden that one time. Naming the back road Sweetie Lane because it came out at the Old Fashioned Sweet shop – I was definitely one of their best (by which I mean most frequent) customers. Managing to sleep 9 people in the house at once.
This house has been the common ground for so many memories, so much happiness and personal peace.
I am truly sad to be closing this front door for the final time.
However, I’m also incredibly excited to not have to travel for 5 hours for snuggles with my dog. I’ll just have to walk down the hill and she’ll be there for walks and naps. (Having my parents closer will be great too, obvs.)
My mum’s family are still in Oban. I will always have ties to this wonderful town. The family I’ve made here, too, from Spotlight and school and other places are just as much a reason to return.
I can’t let go of the sea. I’m a west coaster at heart. I will forever yearn to be by it, be seduced by the serenity of it and miss it massively when I’m away.
It won’t be long before I’m back visiting, but this new chapter is itching to be lived out and I’m ready to see what the future holds for the King family in Edinburgh. New city, new adventure.
Can you believe the three of them copied me, upped sticks and moved to my city? I am a trendsetter, evidently.
No matter where I am in the world, part of me will forever be tied to this little coastal town and I will continue to miss it terribly when I’m not here – pesky seagulls and all.
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave,
and grow old waiting to get back to.
– John Ed Pearce
Top 5 Fave Females
It’s International Women’s Day!
In celebration of all the women out there who work hard, fight the patriarchy and are generally just Girl Bosses, I’ve put together a list of 5 of my biggest role models and current inspirational women to in my life.
Some who didn’t make the top 5 but are more than deserving of a mention: actual Girlboss Sophia Amoruso, Fearne Cotton (her style though), the unstoppable Viola Davis, Carrie Fisher – may she rest in peace, the fierce and fabulous transgender rights activist Laverne Cox and actor, activist and all round great gal Emma Watson.
There are so many more women I could have mentioned, but I’ve have been here for days. I’ll try and cover some more of my heroes in another post soon!
Anyhow, here they are – my top 5 favourite females:
5. Victoria Beckham
Clichéd? Yes. But I have a hell of a lot of time for this woman. As a kid I was often referred to as The Posh One because of my accent and being a city girl. Spice Girls taught me a lot of things, including the lesson that Posh isn’t negative. Her letter to her younger self published in Vogue really spoke to me, too. Her openness about her lack of confidence, self-image issues and knockbacks sounded a lot like the sorts of feelings I go through in cycles. To hear from someone as accomplished and beautiful as her gave me hope that one day I’ll get over my insecurities, too. She’s a cool, funny lady who adores her kids, creates clothes that are outta this world and she’s totally down to earth. Also her instagram is bangin.
4. Dame Stephanie “Steve” Shirley
If you haven’t already, you need to watch Dame Stephanie Shirley’s TED Talk. It’s hugely inspirational and motivational. (AND THAT SHIRT!!)
She reminds me that I can aim high and that I need to keep working hard to get to where I want to be. But that I should also have fun while I’m at it. Her life hasn’t been without its hardships, but she never let anything slow her, she only ever approached life in a positive manner and I admire her greatly for that alone. I’m really tempted to apply for a job under a male name to see what happens…
3. Malala Yousafzai
Unless you’ve been living in a hole these past few years, you’ll have heard of how incredible Malala is.
Published by the BBC at 11 on her experiences of living in Taliban-occupied Swat, nominated for the International Children’s Peace Prize by Desmond Tutu and nearly assassinated aged 14; Malala has literally been through the wars. She’s one of the most inspirational young women in the world. She’s a world-renowned education rights activist and was co-awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. She blows me away with her determination and passion for education. She more than qualifies as one of my fave females.
2. Michelle Obama
A woman who needs no introduction.
Former First Lady, mother, activist, fashion icon and incredible Mom Dancer, this lady doesn’t stop at glass ceilings – she smashes through them time and time again.
There’s also the fact that she can belt it out with James Corden in a car round the White House grounds and KILL IT.
Need I say more?
1. My Mum
Yes, it’s predictable. Yes, it’s true. Mummy Manda is my number one role model. Camera shy, passionate, emotional and the best listener I’ve ever known. Gardening mad, lover of a good smelling candle and sofa napper extraordinaire; she has taught me so much and still has more lessons to impart (not least in the kitchen). I know she’s always there at the end of the phone. Or the end of the road come next week. I love that woman with all my heart.
Mum, you are so incredibly special. Thank you for all your love and support, even when I didn’t really deserve it. I can’t wait to drink too much gin and never look at bubble wrap ever again with you.
It’s Friday, the weekend is a few hours away, you got this
(credit: @actuallynotevan)
This Little Piggy Went and Made Herself a Website!
Welcome to my brand spanking new website!
Here you will find a collection of thoughts, self-discovery and nonsense written by yours truly.
About me
I’m Amy – an Edinburgh-based Linguistics graduate with a penchant for good grammar, better brownies and the best mojitos (which can be found in El Barrio).
By day I work in marketing – specifically creating social media and blog content – and by night I cross stitch, binge-watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine and rapidly grow my addiction to Castle Crushers thanks to my wonderful boyfriend. (I always play the cute pink one whose magic is literally rainbows and penguins.)
A huge fan of feminism, body positivity, sex education and open discussions about mental health, there will undoubtedly be posts about these topics popping up around the blog. I thrive on sarcasm, sugar and cute animal GIFs so there will be plenty of that sparkly stuff featured here too.
Blogging, and writing more generally, is a therapeutic avenue for soul searching. It also provides me a space to talk about things I’m interested in, share some sweet pig GIFs and generally just have a one-sided chat with anyone listening.
About the name
When I was born, I was small. I also snuffled in my sleep. I was as small as some of my teddies, including Piglet from Winnie the Pooh. You can guess the rest.
More recently, my unique laugh has been compared to a little piggy’s squeals and I’m none too ashamed to admit that I’m okay with this comparison.
It’s also true that I’ve often likened myself to a pig because *surprise reveal* I sometimes have a wonky body image. This is something I occasionally find tricky to pinpoint, so to get a better idea of how my own brain works and to boost the old self-confidence, I’ve been making more of a conscious effort to turn negatives into positives. It was during this endeavour and the encouragement from some dear friends that The Squealing Piglet was born.
Fun fact: I was originally going to name this blog The Fat Unicorn, but I’m saving that for my autobiography when I’m 90 and wrinkly and fabulous like Baddiewinkle. I just drew a Copyright sign in the air to make that idea officially mine. Y’all better not steal it.
About the blog
The views I post about are my own, unless otherwise stated. The Linguistics student in me will ensure references are cited because that’s a hard habit to break.
This Little Piggy will host all the random things like entertaining face mask reviews, feminist musings, baking fails, crafty projects and piglet GIFs because they make me happy and it would be criminal to not share the cuteness around.
Grad life is new and exciting and scary. It’s also an inevitable eventuality for students. I’ll be dropping anecdotes, adulting updates and my hints and tips for preparing to join the working world.
I am a massive word nerd, which is lucky or my degree could have been painful, so there is a section dedicated to language facts, thoughts and epiphanies – largely thanks to my Ling Ladies from uni and Susie Dent who is my idol.
I’ll also be chatting about mental health because I’m not afraid of it. Most of the time. There are some really powerful campaigns running just now to improve understanding and conversation around mental health and I’m excited to get more involved with that – discussing my own and others’ experiences.
Piggy Pics is exactly what it says – I’ll be sharing my favourite pig-related GIFs and memes here because who doesn’t love watching a piglet twerk or a good pig pun?
Lastly, I should say that this blog is a constant work in progress. It’s my first website, so curation could get a little hairy. I’m learning on the job which is the best way to go but with no guidance except some tutorials online (which can be super dodgy or have really annoying background music like the track that played during art creation segments of Art Attack), you’ll have to be patient.
I also love feedback (another Linguistics student thing) so if you have any, drop me a line! My contact details are on the homepage.
Much love
x
Some Girls Are Just Born With Glitter In Their Veins
Today marks the end of my 10 months at The Leith Agency.
I’ve had an absolute ball during my time here and I am very sad that come Monday morning I won’t be back in the office with this wonderful bunch.
Can’t say the same about my 7am alarms, right enough. Or the mental requests I’ve dealt with as a community manager. The comedy value was worth it though.
The knowledge I’m walking away with is invaluable; the experience has been equally first-rate. I’ve worked on accounts for top Scottish brands and can throw out some great random facts from the masses of research I’ve done.
Fun fact: A video equates to over 1 million words in communication terms.
It has been great to use my Linguistics degree and get my knowledge nerd on every week.
To be able to say that I began interning with one of Scotland’s biggest, best and boldest advertising agencies before I’d even been donked on the head with the manky hat and given my certificate of graduation is an achievement I’ll always be proud of.
In 10 months, I have worked on more than 85 powerpoint presentations, 126 word docs and have been on the Barge a grand total of 7 times.
I’ve made some wonderful friends, annoyed the hell out of my best gal and work wife Philippa and “left a lasting impression” on the people on my floor (which I’m fairly certain is code for “noisy and hard to forget”).
I’ve grown up a lot too. Much more certain in my capabilities and the caliber of work I produce, I no longer feel the need to check everything off before completing it.
Not to mention my rapidly improving GIF game. I’m sure I’m the only one who will miss my GIF inputs in response to all-staffers.
At the moment, I don’t know where I’m going to end up, but I do know that wherever the next step lands, the people I work with have very very large shoes to fill and the highest expectations to top.
I haven’t cried yet, but it’s not quite half 5 – there is still time. I do know that I’ll be sad to pass through Leith’s doors as an employee for the last time tonight and not know when I’ll next see the brilliant, talented people inside – but I won’t stop pestering them just because I’m out of sight.
And I must admit, my colleagues do know me well. My leaving cards were full of glitter, pugs and pizza. What more could a girl want to be remembered for?
I have cried at every yoga class I’ve been to so far
Since accepting that I am less than happy with my body and general well being, it has been something of a conscious decision on my part to start exercising.
Healthy eating has gone right out the window since I found out I needed to start job hunting again. I’m a comfort eater, so sticking to vegetables and cutting back on carbs hasn’t quite gone to plan. All too often I’m binging on pasta and garlic bread and ice cream and chocolate and maybe a packet of crisps later on in the evening. It’s not healthy, it’s not helping and it’s got to stop.
In terms of exercise, then, yoga seemed like a good place to start. I’ve done it before and enjoyed the deep stretches. It is one of the few forms of exercise that doesn’t trigger my asthma. There’s a class round the road from work that’s 2 hours of Ashtanga practice which offers a good workout as well as meditation. The meditation seemed like a good thing to try and get into the habit of too, for maintaining good mental health.
But yoga isn’t helping. If anything, so far it has only succeeded in making me feel even more self-conscious and defeated by my body’s inabilities and limitations. Despite my teacher maintaining the mantra that “yoga is a practice that can always be improved upon”, I can’t get past the shame and the upset of the situation here and now.
Now I am overweight, I have a belly I can’t stand the sight of and thighs bursting out my jeans. My double chin is back and I don’t look or feel like me. What I see in the mirror isn’t what I see in my mind. I expect something different, something more.
Changing, becoming a better version of myself, is such a big aspiration for me. To see myself and think Yes, I am happy and comfortable in my own skin. Getting to that point seems to be impossible though.
It all feels so hopeless sometimes. I have no motivation to get myself to a place where I’m happy, but I’m desperate to already be there. I suppose it doesn’t help that my hormones are running haywire just now and I’m exhausted from a week of less than stellar sleep (read: next to none).
This leaves me in a place of real confusion. I am a firm believer in body positivity, but feel like a fraud because I struggle with my own body image. I champion people everywhere to love themselves the way they are and accept themselves, but am a hypocrite when I cannot do the same.
Yes, body positivity is a journey. It is a mindset that can only be achieved through hard work and tenacity and love. Keeping up with that can be exhausting and it can feel unattainable. For someone who can be a bit of a perfectionist and hates hypocracy, this can make my dealings with and understand of my own body image all the more difficult and confusing. But body positivity is an empowering force in my life and I do desperately want to arrive at a point where I can happily stand up and appreciate my body for all its flaws and deviations from societal perfection and constructed beauty ideals.
I suppose I felt the urge to share my experience because I know I’m not the only person in this position. I’m not alone in feeling unhappy with my body and frustrated with its limitations. Shameful of the lack of breath climbing stairs, embarrassed when I squat down to the bottom shelf in a shop and struggle to get back up. Mortified when a pair of jeans a size bigger than I’d normally buy won’t button over my belly.
Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat and the rest of them are filled with motivational messages, success stories and aspirational healthy lifestyles. Like what was highlighted with the See Me “My Unfiltered Life” campaign, what people rarely show is the true struggle it can be to get to that place and just how difficult it can be to maintain long-term.
Where are the selfies of red-faced, tear-stained men and women who have left a gym session early because their bodies couldn’t cope with the “beginner’s class”? Where are the Insta photos of the unhealthy meals – sans #cheatday – instead captioned with the truth, that sometimes you just can’t ignore the cravings or the need to hide behind junk food or not having the energy to prepare a healthy, filling meal after the day/week/month you’ve had.
Yes, these are all excuses for unhealthy behaviour. But we’re all human. Even the healthy stumble along the road. They just dress it up as a cheat day or a treat or over-emphasise the slip up to the point where it just feels fake.
Finding motivation doesn’t really seem to be enough. I’m not too sure yet what is enough, but when I find it I will be holding onto that thing for dear life because serious changes need to be made. I will, however, remain real about my situation and realistic about my expectations. No more searching how to lose 3 stone in as many weeks, no more lemon and salt water fads and definitely no more obsessing over social media accounts.
I’ve cried at every yoga class I’ve been to so far. If I cry at every yoga class I ever go to in the future I can at least be proud that I’m still going.
7 Reasons Why You Should Give Me a Job – Number 4 is Amazing!
It can be difficult to get people’s attention. There is so much noise out there, making being heard or seen a challenge if you’re lacking a megaphone and platform boots.
My time at The Leith Agency is coming to an end and I am ready for my next big adventure. I have been contacting other agencies, hoping to chat with digital strategists and social media execs and planners and copywriters to gain a better understanding of how different agencies — and indeed, different people — approach advertising and marketing in innovative, loud, noticeable ways.
The problem was that I wasn’t being noticed myself. Countless emails and requests and LinkedIn stalking sessions later, I was scunnered. It was time for a new, bolder approach.
The following is a modified version of the very real clickbait efforts I sent out to people and agencies I wanted to get to learn from and get to know better. What better way to convince them that I’m a fun, motivated, interesting person they’d like to have a chat with than to capture them with intrigue and the human inability to ignore the big neon sign (or in this case clickbaity title)?
Amy King. Linguistics graduate, Digital intern, lover of pretty stationery. She’s ready for her next adventure in the working world of social media management and digital strategy. Want to know why not employing her would be a HUGE mistake? Read on to find out…
1. I’m a millennial (setting aside the controversy of the term for now). I’ve downloaded Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Whatsapp, BuzzFeed, Pinterest, Tumblr, Giphy, LinkedIn, WeHeartIt, YouTube and Reddit. Not to mention supporting apps like Boomerang, VSCO, Layout… I use Hootsuite for my personal accounts as well as clients’ social media profiles. I’m committed to the cause.
2. I’m the keenest of keen beans when it comes to learning. I often find myself on a QI binge. Fun fact: Not every language can deal with metaphors. One of these is Navajo. The Navajo word for The Elephant’s Feet (mountain pillars on Navajo land) translates into English as “two rocks standing vertically parallel in a reciprocal relationship to each other”. This makes me a pretty great pub quiz teammate. Or researcher. Whichever you think is more important.
3. My Linguistics degree set me up for big research projects, quantitative data analysis and understanding communication. Advertising is all about understanding communication. We’re a good fit, really.
4. I prefer a GIF to an emoji. Emojis have their place, but GIFs really tell a story. Some people have Snapchat streaks, my boyfriend and I have baby animal GIF-offs. You tell me which is better.
5. Facebook ads, Instagram ads, Twitter insights— I’ve dealt with them all. Community management and content marketing make up the bulk of my working week, but other projects I’ve completed include researching internal social media engagement strategies, writing Best Practice guides for social media platforms, learning about the psychology of clickbait and keeping up to date with the latest technologies and advancements in the digital sphere. #Trendy
6. My life revolves around lists: To Do lists, shopping lists, Do Not Forget These Important Things lists, ‘please talk to me about your industry’ lists – the list goes on. They help my productivity, are cathartic to write and work through and are a productive form of procrastination. What’s not to like?
7. My Digital Strategist internship with The Leith Agency was originally 10 weeks. When my contract ends in February, I will have been with Leith for 41 weeks (that’s just over 10 months). I must be doing something right, right?
So, there you have it: 7 reasons why you should want me on your team (albeit not an exhaustive list, but I have to keep some things up my sleeve for the interview!)
Amazingly, this method has proved successful. People tend to notice a headline screaming at them in their inbox when the rest rarely make use of an exclamation mark, never mind block capitals.
It’s funny how keen people are to share their pearls of wisdom with you, yet how difficult it can be to get their attention. Advertising, especially, requires a certain outside-the-box approach to show you’re suited to the industry (not to mention a wee showcasing of my copywriting abilities — added bonus).
Clickbait (aka ‘fake news’ aka ‘alternative facts’) often comes under fire for misadvertising the contents of an article — a prime example being this less than gracious article Piers Morgan published after being stood up by Ewan McGregor (I’m staying away from the politics this time).
However, I’d like to think this article stands up somewhat for the little guy in this particular scenario. Sometimes a catchy title for an article or an introductory email, despite its same-old-clickbait appearance, really is as great as it seems.
Smells Like Teen Angst
Communicating my thoughts and feelings through writing has not always been my strongest skill, but it has been a cathartic release for me from a young age.
While packing up my bedroom at my parents’ house over the Christmas break, I came across an old notebook I’ve owned for years.
It’s a pretty little hand-stitched number from Paperchase that I bought many, many moons ago.
As teenagedom hit with the subtlety of a sledgehammer and the emotions began running amock, I took solace in the pages of this notebook.
I always fancied myself as a poet or novelist, and unfortunately I was less than talented in the poetry department.
For today’s Throwback Thursday, I thought I’d share some of the greater works (and by greater I mean those that induced the most stomach-churning cringe) of my adolescence.
Fact and Fiction
Sometime I feel like a character from a book
with no choice of path.
It seems to me that
we are all characters from God’s latest novel.
It seems to me
that we are all characters from God’s new best-seller
Apparently I was struggling with religion…
Act I Scene III
You’re the Lady Macbeth
of today.
Your tongue is your dagger
You seek revenge, need to
satiate your thirst.
Your anatomic sword pierces
hearts; spilling tears and
killing dreams.
Bloodlust courses through your veins
and yet you lie
ever silent, ever dreaming,
until the day the dagger
plunges.
It would also appear I was both ridiculously pissed off with someone and had a flare for (what I considered at the time to be) dramatic structure. Thank God there are no rhyming couplets or I’d be at this page with a rubber and a lot of elbow grease…
And, God Almighty, I seemed to think I could write humour into my ‘poetry’:
Optimism
My glass is half full
of an exciting new drink
that colours my day.
Optimism is
the new pessimism but
more optimistic
Give me strength.
One of the final entries in this notebook is also a short one, but it has a lot more meaning to me. And yes, this one rhymes:
Roses are red
violets are blue
I cannot fathom
this world without you.
Yellow’s for daisies
purple’s for heather
I’ll love you and miss you
forever and ever
I wrote that in 2012. It was the first Valentine’s Day after one of my dearest friends died in a car crash. It was such a devastating time for me. Probably fuelled a lot more angst, but fortunately I stopped writing so much poetry and focused my energy on journals and fiction. I can assure you they were better.
So, there you have it. I was an angsty wee thing, but God loves a trier.
There are still empty pages in this notebook, as time and other distractions left it sitting on the bookshelf for years. I am going to attempt to fill them all. No doubt there will be some angst still there – gotta get it out somehow – but I’m determined to finish this book on a happier note (and maybe without so much terrible, painful poetry).