Peer Pressure can be difficult as an adult. But can you remember it as a teenager? It was really unpleasant. That horrible feeling of being pressured into doing something you didn't want to do, that you knew wasn't right, but felt you had to for fear of being shunned by your "friends".

Man, I remember it. It might have been 30 years ago, but that awful feeling of betraying my sole for what I thought was the greater good, comes back when I look upon my poor little pimpled, teenage face. I remember that drive to want to fit in. The feeling of not liking myself, of wishing I was everyone BUT who I was. And the need to do whatever it took to have the other girls like me. I don't think I felt liked by anyone. Not even my boyfriend/s. It's amazing how a poor self-image can run that deep. *shudder* I wouldn't want to go back there for anything.

Which is why I love writing Contemporary YA novels. I want today's girls to know what I didn't: that they have other choices. And that, in fact, the choices they make in terms of who their friends will be, can have a huge impact on how well (or not) their teenage years will play out. In the first few years as a pre-teen and teenager, I chose badly. I want other girls to choose differently. I want to help them know how to choose differently and to see why it is important that they do so. In some cases, having no friends is better than having the wrong ones.

At least when you have no friends, new friends know to come looking for you.

Do you have a teenager struggling with choosing who will be the best kind of friends for herself? Does she know how to find her tribe? Maybe The Boy in the Hoodie would be a good stocking-filler for her this year.

Here's an excerpt from the end of chapter one from The Boy in the Hoodie:

But no, she brought us alcohol. Her Mum's favourite, she'd said. She took another swig, then passed it around for us all to drink from again. Keira and Megan took bigger sips this time.

I waited my turn with a dry mouth. I tried to convince myself that I had a choice; I didn't have to drink it again. Surely if I didn't, my friends would understand. And with time, they would forgive me. Eventually, we’d move on.

But then again, would it hurt to have another sip? No one else would ever know. It would be our group’s secret; a stupid story to laugh about.

There was more than one way that this scenario could play out, but which choice—to drink or not to drink—had the least consequences?

I was quite sure I just hadn't anticipated the one that actually happened.

The bottle was pretty much empty by the time it got back to me. Only one mouthful left, at best. I toyed with the bottle for a moment, looking at it, rolling it in the palms of my hands. Three sets of eyes watched me closely. I could see the words forming on Paige's lips: Mary. Her narrow eyes were telling me to hurry up and drink it. I stared down at the bottle. The first sip, I hadn't known what I was doing. This time, I'd be knowingly drinking alcohol at school.

And so when Mr Wally walked around from behind to row of pine trees that lined the school boundary, I froze. It hadn't occurred to me to empty the bottle, to tip it over, even just to hide it behind my back. I had still been in the process of deciding whether I was even going to drink from it again.

I'd never been good at getting caught out. Mum reckoned she could always tell when I was guilty even before she asked the question.

Why exactly Mr Wally felt the need to inspect the bottle, I don't know. Maybe it was Paige's reputation. Maybe there was a smell in the air. Maybe it was the bewildered look on my face. But suddenly I was suddenly being marched toward the Principal's office.
And Mr Wally had a bright pink drink bottle in his hand with my fingerprints all over it.

Available now from:
Booktopia
My publisher, Rhiza Press
My distributor, NovellaDistribution
KoorongBookstore
Or at your local bookstore. If they don't have it in stock, ask them to get it in for you!

Thanks for reading. If you’re interested in connecting with Catriona, you can look her up on Facebook, or find out more at her website: catrionamckeown.com.au

Looking for Anxiety in the highs and lows (a parent's point of view)

Anxiety. It touches so many lives these days. And to such different extents. While some disorders are thought of in terms of placement along a spectrum, I think anxiety can be thought of in terms of placement along a journey. And where you, and/or someone you love, is along that journey will depend on how you see it and its impact. It is a difficult journey for everyone - and not just those suffering its effects. It impacts on others around them, too. I know, because I have a child with anxiety.

I wanted to share some things I have learned so far, as a parent. They're not the only needs to know. They're only one parent's experience and our journey has far from ended. But perhaps this can be your starting point of what to know if you suspect you have a child with anxiety.

1. Knowing what to look for helps, especially in the early days.
* Look for signs of lacking self-care. Not showering regularly. Not brushing their hair. Not putting enough clothes out to be washed
* Having a messy, and especially smelly, bedroom
* Be aware of any perfectionist behaviour
* Not sleeping well
* Picking at their skin, especially their face
* Watch their bank account. Needing the immediate gratification/thrill of spending money can become an issue.
* Look out for areas of their body they are hiding. Some anxiety sufferers will self-harm strategically and hide it meticulously
* Note any reduction in wanting to do things with other people, especially their friends
* Panic attacks can happen at night, or may not be recognised by the person who had it. It took us too long to realise our daughter was having panic attacks; we didn't know what was going on, or who to go to for help
* Changes in their eating patterns

2. There are some things you should avoid.
* Don't assume because they're seeing professionals that they'll tell them everything
* Don't dismiss a professional's suggestion to try medication. Medication could give you your child back and give them a chance of recovery
* Don't assume they'll get better and will stay better - even with medication
* It's important that you don't blame yourself, either for their anxiety or for how you've dealt with it to this point. They need you to be healthy and strong for them. Every day is a new day - be grateful for that!
* Don't try to cure them. Love them and accept them, no matter what they say or do (or don't)
* This is a huge one: don't expect them to be able to teach you how to help them with their anxiety. They're struggling to work it out for themselves. Try different tactics. If it works, great. If not, try a different one next time
* Don't expect things to stay the same. What works and doesn't work will change. They're on a rollercoaster ride - expect to have to ride it with them
*And don't try to do it alone. Talk to people. Watch documentaries. Read blogs. Get on The Mighty and see what others say about what living with anxiety is like. The more you can understand it, the better chance you'll have in getting to a place where you can support them on the journey. There was a terrific show on SBS where people spoke about what it is like to live with anxiety and how suddenly it can appear in someone's life. If you need a starting point, try watching it: https://www.sbs.com.au/ondemand/video/1351060547935/insight-beating-anxiety

Things that can help, and signs they're doing better:
* They become more honest with where they're at and where they've been on their mental health journey
* They start taking interest in things outside their immediate world again
* They start wanting to care for something. A kitten. A plant. Or six plants. (Get them for them.)
* They start being a better advocate for themselves with their anxiety
* Improved sleep
* They start to look after themselves a little again - eating better, wanting haircuts again, the washing basket fills too quickly for you to keep up with

4. If you suspect you are living with a child/teenager/young adult with anxiety, you probably are. Please, don't ignore it. Please please, don't see it as a "fault" of the child's. Don't leave it to fix itself. Get some help. It doesn't have to be an expensive journey. Start with your GP or chat to someone at HeadSpace; there are plenty of options for help out there.

Thanks for reading. If you’re interested in connecting with Catriona, you can look her up on Facebook, or find out more at her website: catrionamckeown.com.au

Asking some hard questions... about parenting anxiety

I've been pondering this week about the ways anxiety and PTSD have affected my family. In many ways, I actually don't know. We can see, to some extent, how it is impacting on my daughter who has the anxiety. But how has it affected my other children? and me?

There are nine years between my oldest and youngest child and it occurred to me, as I pondered, that she probably isn't even aware her older sister has anxiety. And even if she has heard that word, she would have an extremely limited understanding of what that means. I'm not sure she's seen her sister have a panic attack. She's probably unaware that some days, when her sister stays home from school, it's because she can't get out of bed. And she wouldn't understand why her sister struggles to deal with her when she's left in charge, and her other older sister has to take over caring for her. I guess at some point we'll have those conversations with her, but when? I really don't know.

And then there's my middle daughter. She has a terrific relationship with her older sister and is very aware of the part anxiety is playing in her life. She looks up to her sister. She is invited into her sister's world through mutual friendships at their youth group, often hanging out together, going on lunch dates, to the movies, and to evening church services. But then, when my middle daughter's teachers tell me she has had incidents at school that look like panic attacks, it begs the question - is she experiencing her own struggles with mental health (after all, it often runs in families, and even more so follows same-gender siblings) or is she just learning to cope with the world around her in the same way her older sister does? I really don't know.

And then there's me. How has having a daughter with anxiety affected me? It is difficult to say. How much of the changes that have happened in my life have been a result of this greater level of need to love and support her, which takes time and effort and resources, and how much has it been because I'm so much busier now. I feel like I don't have time and energy to care for people outside my own family like I used to. I can't remember the last time I cooked another meal for a family in need. I can barely remember the last time we had people over for dinner. Some days I feel like I can barely keep up with the medical appointments and the need to have my children at home so they can recover from their days, let alone work and study and writing and cooking and shopping and laundry and and and... And yet God calls us to love and care for others. I used to do that - does God remember?

Perhaps I need to remember that is just for a season. It could be a few years. It could be ten. And actually, it doesn't matter.

PTSD and 1st anniversary refelctions

It's been a long time since I last blogged, but there are lots of reasons to get behind my computer and write today.

For one thing, it's the one year anniversary of The Boy in the Hoodie being officially released into the world.

It's been such a long journey that it feels surreal that it has only been one year. In my mind, The Boy in the Hoodie is much older than just one year. It was birthed during the month of November (during NaNoWriMo) four years ago. So in some in some ways, today I'm also remembering the novel's conception all those years ago.

But today I don't want to focus on the novel, The Boy in the Hoodie, so much as I do on one aspect of the protagonist, Kat, as we find her at the end of the novel. Due to her experiences, in the end we are given some insight into her journey with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The scenes that show some of what Kat went through with her PTSD are not completely fiction. I am an outsider looking in, watching my own daughter go through her own PTSD experience.

And I've got to tell you, some days it is crazy, super difficult to watch on from the outside.

In my paid job, as an Inclusive Education Teacher, I speak to a lot of parents about their experiences with their children growing up. I've listened to them speak about the realisation that there was something different about their child, that their experiences as a parent were different from those of their friends around them. And then, come the diagnosis, they speak of the steep learning curve of trying to work out what exactly the diagnosis means for them and their child, and some of the grief that comes with that. It's not easy to watch your child struggle. It's not obvious how you should parent them now. It isn't easy to sift through the myriad of information we now have available to us (thanks to Google) and find what is true, what strategies are appropriate, and what is going to work for your family. Every day seems to be trial and error of working out this new reality.

I had no idea when I began working as an Inclusive Ed Teacher that I would come to know first hand what it was like to be one of those parents. But it happened. After a year of counselling sessions and psychologist visits, followed by a few trips to a terrific local psychiatrist, my daughter was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Social Anxiety.

Fast forward a couple of years to last night, my daughter and I sat in the toilet cubicle together (yes, I crawled under the door to get to her, because I love and care for her that much) and formulated a plan for the evening. It was all I could do to not cry with her as she talked about how difficult the night was and how much she really, really, didn't want to do it. And the truth was, she didn't have to do it. She could have retreated to the car and not walked up on stage to get her awards. She could have sat outside and not watched her amazing and beautiful friends received their leadership positions for next year. She could have buried her head in the proverbial sand tried to pretend it wasn't happening. But instead, I watched my incredibly strong and brave daughter do exactly what she did not want to do.

And yes, I cried. While my best friend sat beside me so excited, as she knew her son would shortly be named School Captain for 2019, I cried. And she still managed to support me. I shouldn't have needed it. I should have been stronger. I wish I could have been more brave.

And so this is where my pride resides: Not in the multitude of academic awards my daughter received last night, but in the fact that she was there. She got up on stage. With all the braveness a young woman can muster, she shook her teacher's hand, walked across the stage and took up her position with her cohort. And she continued to stand in front of all those people until it was time to walk off the stage. And then, she walked back into the auditorium to watch her best friends (and she has a heck of a lot of really top quality, amazing friends) take out award after award and the positions of responsibilities as the 2019 leaders of the school. My heart screamed for her, knowing it would be hurting her to be there watching (and to not be up there, joining in with them). My emotions streamed down my face as I ran through all the what-ifs of her life and asked yet again, for the hundredth time, why God has put it on her to carry this burden. I know His ways are perfect. I know His plan for her is to prosper her. I know she has already handed over her plans for her life into His safe hands. I know it is not my fault she has PTSD. I know. I know. I know.

Today is a new day. And so today, for me, is very much about celebrating my daughter and her incredible strength and resilience. I am so immensely proud of her. I hope you see some of that in Kat, too, as you read the final chapters of The Boy in the Hoodie. The way she pressed on and stayed true to who she had become and worked around her PTSD to achieve the goals she had placed before her. And I hope you noticed the joy and the pride from Kat's family as they rallied around her to help her see the amazing young lady she was becoming.

So instead of writing more short stories and doing some advertising for The Boy in the Hoodie, which was what I had planned for today, instead I'm going to take my daughter out for lunch. We'll go op shopping and hang out and spend the day recovery from the exhaustion that was the 2018 Academic Awards Ceremony. And I'll continue to be incredibly grateful to have such a daughter, who is so giving of herself and her talents, and who will continue to be my inspiration when writing strong female characters who push on through hardship with kindness and determination.

Photo: *Insert photo of my daughter* But I won't include a photo, because although she gave me her permission to write about her PTSD, she doesn't need the world to know exactly who it is I'm writing about. Instead, picture a beautiful girl with long brown hair and a smile that lights up a room when she walks into it - sorry, I know that's cliched, but I'm sure the someone who penned that cliche did so with her in mind.

It is the 1st anniversary release day. Have you not read The Boy in the Hoodie and want a copy? Find me on Social Media and send me a message and I'll see what I can do to get you one.

You can connect with Catriona through social media here

What's in a week?

This past week has been a big week for me, and I'm starting to feel the effects of it.

For one thing, my youngest daughter, who is eight years old, was really quite sick this week. This meant a week of jugging who would care for her when both her dad and I should be at work, doctors appointments, other life-stuff happening (including my first born turning seventeen years old), and trying to get work done in the midst of my littlest girl needing me. All. The. Time.

Contributing to this, work has been kind of overwhelming. I have so much to do and not enough minutes in the day to do it all, which means constantly prioritising and trying to prevent any spot-fires from breaking out. This means I'm starting to miss things, forget things, even overlook things. Mostly home things; I don't think I've messed up anything at work, so far anyway. But, like, I've only just realised I have an appointment for my oldest daughter right in the middle of a class I'm supposed to be teaching this week. In my defence, I made the appointment last year, but I've only realised now that there is no way I can possibly get her to that appointment. And that is just one example. Oh, the joys. This has been my life this week.

Why am I telling you this? I guess because we all have weeks like this one has been for me. Parents yell at their kids, teachers yell at their students, work commitments in amongst school commitments can feel impossible to survive. Bad news comes in. Sickness. People hurt other people. It happens. All. The Time.

When I was a teenager, I would easily become overwhelmed by life. Sometimes, negative thoughts would come in and plague me, and I'd take my lack of self-worth and push everyone away with it. Instead of seeking people's support, I'd loathe it. I'd feel unworthy of my friends love and attention. I'd convince myself they didn't like me that much. I would withdraw into a bubble of self-pity and anguish. I could be a very miserable person to be around. I didn't like myself very much. I saw very purpose in my life. I probably had depression; I don't know, I was never diagnosed. My parents knew very little of what life was like for me inside my head. It was very lonely.

And it didn't leave me once I grew out of the teenage years. The feelings followed me into adulthood, my marriage, and motherhood.

Australia Day 2018

Here in Australia, we celebrate Australia Day on the 26th of January. It’s a national holiday, spent doing the sorts of things Australians are famous for loving, namely, going to the beach, cooking lamb or sangers (read: sausages) on a BBQ with a bunch of friends. But mostly, just enjoying a day off from work. This year Australia Day falls on a Friday. Perfect! Australians love our long weekends.

(Picture source: https://countrydigest.org/australia/)

But not everyone celebrates Australia Day and not everyone thinks it should be celebrated on January 26th. It is, in more recent years, what we call controversial.

And it doesn’t take much looking back into Australian history to discover why. Prior to the 26th of January 1788, the Indigenous residents of this great land had lived happily for a very, very long time. Suddenly, tall ships containing white ghost with exploding sticks arrived on the shores of New South Wales and a very great injustice began.

(Picture source: https://thenewdaily.com.au/news/state/vic/2017/08/16/melbourne-council-votes-drop-australia-day-ceremonies/)

Some people call the 26th of January Invasion Day and see it as a day of mourning, not of celebration.

Others say we’ve come a long way, with our National Sorry Day, the day that the Australian Government gave a public apology in Parliament recognising the damage done to our Indigenous residents through horrendous policies from the past, where families were torn apart and cultures, ancient cultures, destroyed. We, as Australians, had a lot to be sorry for. And we still do.

The year Australia Day changed for me

This photo is of some of my family celebrating Australia Day in Broome, Western Australia about 6 Years ago. It was the week before we moved to a primarily Indigenous Community. Moving to this community, and seeing the long-term, ongoing effects of some of the Australian government’s past policies changed my feelings toward Australia Day. I had, previously, loved celebrating our National Day, our great nation, our people and culture and all that entails. But that year I saw it through different eyes because I saw first hand the ongoing, deep issues we created for our original residents. It personalised it for me. It made the story of invasion, rather than settlement, real.

There are a lot of social issues, a lot of hurts still to be healed, a lot of generational problems that cannot be solved overnight. It’s so, so complicated. But there are also a lot of really good things happening in some of our Indigenous communities. A sense of pride for who our Indigenous people are and all they represent, is slowly returning to their communities. Languages are being restored (though many have become extinct), culture is once again being passed down from one generation to the next. People are starting to stand up and be proud that they’re indigenous Australians.

But that doesn’t take away from the fact that January 26th 1788 was not a good day in the history of the world, let alone in the history of Australia.

(Photo source: http://aussiegossip.com.au/life/celebrate-australia-day/)

I remember last Australia Day, in 2017, reading many different suggestions about Australia Day and whether the date should be moved, or whether the 26th should be turned into a day of mourning. There are many passionate people out there with their opinion on the matter. But the one I liked, and that I subscribe to the most was this. That we begin January 26th in sobering rememberance of the events in 1788, when Australia was illegally invaded by the British, and the ongoing effects that had on Indigenous Australians. And then, at mid-day, we begin the celebrations. We celebrate who we are becoming as a nation, a nation who accepts that wrongs were done in the past and spends its days trying to make it right again. A nation who recognises saying sorry isn’t enough, and gets behind those who want to see a change and make a difference in the lives of those who have been wronged. After a time of mourning, we begin a celebration of the reconciliation process, and the original culture of our great land, and how it is a part of us all and makes us who we are as Australians, whether Indigenous, a descendent of the invaders, a migrant, or someone wanting to call Australian their permanent home.

With all that in mind, I’ve joined in with 11 other Australasian authors to give away a Prize in celebration of Australia and the great nation of people we are. The 12 novels are written by Australians and many are set in Australia as well. The Boy in the Hoodie, is, ofcourse, both. To enter, pop along to this website: http://www.iolagoulton.com/giveaways/AustraliaDay and sign up to win.

And happy Australia Day - at least for after midday.

If you would like to connect with Catriona further, check out her website here, or head over to Facebook and say g’day here.

On getting published: Pt 2 Actual publication

In my last blog, I talked about my journey to publication, with the first part being about the writing and editing of the The Boy in the Hoodie. I ended the blog with the reminder that getting published is like the tip of the iceberg, where most of the iceberg is hidden under the water. If you haven’t read about all the ground work that goes into preparing for publication, I suggest you might like to go back and read that blog first. Then come back and read about this, more exciting, part. :)

After having written and edited The Boy in the Hoodie, and decided it was right to start sending to publishers (which, by the way, I never really thought it was ready, but I don’t think I ever would have thought it was!), I simply googled publishers in Australia. In my google search, I found a number of Australian publishers who were accepting unsolicited manuscripts at the time. They were varied in their expectations. Some only accepted them on particular days, or during particular months of the year. There were a couple who were running competitions where you could enter your manuscript and the winner would get published. I was surprised at how many opportunities were around.

However, there is some controversy amongst authors as to whether this is a good way to submit a manuscript. Some bloggers were quite scathing of these sorts of submissions. Others said it was more important to find a good agent, than to pursue a publisher. I took all this into consideration, but in the end decided I would send the manuscript to two publishers. One was Text Publishing, who have published one of my favourite Australian authors, Graham Simsion. The other was Rhiza Press, who I knew preferred family-friendly novels and at the time were only accepting YA manuscripts. They’d also previously published the winners of the CALEB prize, so I figured I was in with a chance with them.

I carefully read over the submission guidelines of both publishers. Their requirements were different. Rhiza Press, for example, wanted the first three chapters, and then another chapter from the novel. Both Publishers wanted a full synopsis (and writing that, in itself, is a long and difficult task!). They also both wanted a personal CV related to my writing. It was here that the entries into competitions (not only for The Boy in the Hoodie, but for Dangerous Exchanges as well), and the success I’d had, was very helpful. I had also had numerous short stories published online that I could provide links to. I was also able to mention that I’d done a short course at The Writing Stuido. I also took quotes from my readers, some of the positive words they had written in response to having read the manuscript, and included them in my cover letter. All these things gave reason for the publisher to at least look at what I’d sent in to them.

The publishing houses didn’t promise much. They both said I could expect a three month wait before hearing if they were interested in reading more. Rhiza Press allowed me to submit online. Text Publishing wanted a hard copy. I submitted to both and started to play the waiting game.

But within two weeks I’d heard from Rhiza Press, asking for the rest of the manuscript. I madly finished the rest of the edits I wanted to make before sending in the full manuscript (after all, I thought I had a couple of months to get those final edits done!) and submitted it all. A couple of weeks later, I received an offer of a contract for publication.

I was at school at the time. Normally I don’t carry my mobile phone with me at school, but for some reason I’d grabbed it when I’d gone off to class to see a student. The student wasn’t able to be released from class for a few minutes, so I sat outside the classroom and checked my personal emails while I waited. And there it was - in my Inbox - an offer of contract from Rhiza Press. I rushed to the staff toilets and cried. :) Then I pulled myself together and went back to work. :)

My husband and I spent the weekend looking over the contract. We googled publishing contracts to see what was normal, and what to look out for (pretty novice, hey!), before I signed it and sent it to them.

About a month after all that happened, I got an email from Text Publishing - a lovely rejection letter, saying they’d read The Boy in the Hoodie with interest but would not be pursuing publication at this time. It was amazing for them to have even let me know, and very encouraging to know they’d read my submission.

And so began the next stage of the editing process. I was offered the contract from Rhiza Press at the beginning of the year, and spent most of the year revising and making changes suggested by my editors. Many edits were simply formatting. Other suggestions were fairly major, such as removing a chapter they felt was slowing the story down. It was an amazing learning experience. In many respects it was a difficult year, as I was working four days a week as a teacher, studying a Masters degree, one of my daughters was having major panic attacks and was consequently diagnosed with Social Anxiety, plus my husband has long-term health issues, so I was a little time poor. But I learned so much and as a result I believe I’ll be a better writer for my next novel.

The Boy in the Hoodie was released on November 1st 2017. Fitting, since I had written it in November three years earlier. Three years of editing. Three years my baby. It’s lovely to have it on the shelf and to be able to explore other characters and ideas again. I love the writing stage and am excited to be back in it. And I can’t wait to share my next story idea with the world again. Should I ever get this new one finished.

Thanks for reading. If you’re interested in connecting with Catriona, you can look her up on Facebook, or find out more at her website: catrionamckeown.com.au