On how the teenage years are brutal

My first novel, The Boy in the Hoodie, officially launched into the world this past weekend.  In fact, today is its release day. It is officially available in shops from today. 

It’s been a long-term project for me.

I used to love writing. And reading. Then I went to Uni and suddenly reading and writing became all about the work, and I kind of lost my passion for it. Throw into the mix beginning to work as a teacher, and all the planning and marking that came with it, and the flame well and truly threw itself under the proverbial bus.

But then, about six years ago, the flame caught alight again. I began to write because I’d had some stuff happen to me in my adult life that I needed to deal with. And so, like Kat in The Boy in the Hoodie, I began to deal with some of my issues through the power of the written word. It helped me to process things I hadn’t processed properly from years previously, and heal, and recover. And best of all, I began helping others with similar experiences also confront their pasts through my writing. It was liberating. I was hooked. So was then born, The Boy in the Hoodie.

The Boy in the Hoodie is the first of my novels I’ve pursued publication with. And just as my first writings were very personal, so this project was personal for me. I was a sad, anxious and terribly self-doubting teenager. Trying to look back without prejudice, I realise others probably didn’t see me that way. But I was desperate to be loved and validated by the world.

I flittered from boyfriend to boyfriend because I loved that feeling of knowing that someone new thought I was pretty and fun to be with. I got myself into trouble a couple of times with boys who wanted a lot more than I was willing to give, and that damaged my innocence. I figured other girls didn’t like me much, probably because I was a terrible flirt. But also because I could be mean. I didn’t like myself, so being mean to others made me feel better. I wanted to be in the in-crowd, but I knew deep down I wasn’t that kind of girl. I wore the wrong jeans. I bought the wrong clothes. I had a mole on my face where big hairs would suddenly, like overnight, grow in the middle. My hair was completely unfashionable no matter what I tried to do to it. I had freckles across my nose and a relentless supply of pimples across my chin. I was cursed with a blotchy tan. I couldn’t relate to boys except through flirting, which they loved, but made my boyfriends wild, so I learned how to fight - and not necessarily in a good way. 

The teenage years are brutal. But that’s why I write YA. I want the world to know (or be reminded) just how difficult it is to be a teenager. To make the right choices. To grow up and yet still do what your parents tell you. To be confident. Being YA is tough. But it’s also doable. It’s survivable. The other side is achievable. 

Should you chose to read it, I hope The Boy in the Hoodie imparts some of that hope onto you. 

The Book launched at the annual Omega Writer's conference (this year in Sydney). At the conference was an amazing YA author from the US, Alex Marestaing, who inspired and encouraged me heaps. I have since found an interview he did not long before coming out to Australia to speak at the conference, so if you're interested, here's the interview:

Photo credit for this photo goes to moi! I am generally terrible at taking selfies, but am in training by my teen and tweenie daughters. It's not brilliant, I know. But, you know, I haven't had as much experience as they have, so really, they just need to be patient and not laugh so much at me. #parentingproblems #borntoosoon #stilllearning

Photo credit #2 goes to children's author Penny Morrison, whose photo I "borrowed" from Facebook, so if she ever sees this, I hope that is okay, Penny! The photo is of me speaking at the book launch, with Rochelle Manners, my publisher, and Emily Sweasey, one of the editors at Rhiza Press who spoke about the novel.

If you want to connect with Catriona, you can do so here This week on FaceBook Catriona is giving away a FREE copy of The Boy in the Hoodie - so head on over there if you're interested in entering into the fun.

On anxiety

Mental health is an issue that has been a part of my life since a loved family member of mine was diagnosed when I was about 18. Suicide attempts, decisions about moving in and out of psych wards, phone calls to psychologists and psychiatrists, all became somewhat “normal” for my parents. (Hmm... Perhaps normal is not the right word. Perhaps common would be better. I’m not sure mental illness ever really feels normal, even to the person experiencing it.] 

I must admit, I was pretty sheltered from most of it at that stage of my life. But I knew what was going on. I knew what shock therapy treatment was (after all, I’d watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest at school). I learned what a mental illness could do to a person, to a family.

From a short distance, I watched and hoped that things would get back to normal again one day. 

(Photo borrowed from: https://www.twenty20.com/photos/1ed2159b-862e-4d48-8e38-25c338f5b518)

But I think what resulted from those earlier experiences within my wider family, was that when it happened to me, I didn’t recognise it. I didn’t understand the depression and the anxiety I was experiencing was the same thing as what my loved one had. It didn’t look like how I thought it was supposed to look. It was years later, around the time I was preparing for the birth of my first child, that I realised that I’d suffered depression for the first few years of my marriage and was in danger of PND. So I started to look for the signs.

So why am I telling you about this? 

I think sometimes we think mental health issues will look a particular way. Maybe because, like me, you knew someone who had depression, or you’ve read some things on Pinterest, or read extensively a variety of articles; whatever your experience, it can mean we put mental health in a box. But it can look like so many different things to different people.

For example, I know a few people with BiPolar, and it looks completely different for all three people.

So when thinking about mental health, or if you meet someone with a mental health condition, stay open-minded.

And, if you’re concerned for yourself or someone you love, go to a doctor and talk to them. Just like you would with any other health issue, mental health can be treated and needs to be, the sooner the better. 

I'm not sure who took this photo of me and some of my work budd-ios at work on RUOK day. Someone else who works in my office, no doubt. Whoever you are, mystery person, thanks! I hope you're OK with a, somewhat partial, acknowledgement.

You can connect with Catriona via social media here.

Maybe, someone needs to know

It’s warm outside. And humid. The backyard is a bit of a mess after the storm we had yesterday - the joys of living in the tropics - but I still enjoy the view from inside my office, where a fan blows gently on my face and I’m relatively protected from the heat. 

(This photo is totally not of me. For a start, I don't even think I could get myself into a sitting position like this on a chair, let along stay there long enough to have the timer go off on my camera to take the photo. She looks cute though, hey, sitting there all authory-like in her chair? All the best to you, random photo girl from http://www.freeimages.com/).

I’m safe in here, in my house, where I’m a bit of a nobody. In here, I sit at my laptop with my hair thrown up onto the top of my head and no makeup on. I could still be in my PJs and no one would know, unless I told you. No one is aware that I do weird things, like drink green tea and put ginger in my juice and brew kombucha tea in the pantry just behind me. No one knows the thoughts in my head; the way I write paragraphs about people as I talk to them, or how story ideas run through my head as they tell me something weird that happened to them, or how being at the hairdressers reminds me of Effie Trinket from the Hunger Games, and I can’t help but think about how Suzanne Collins was probably sitting in the hairdressers one day when she came up with that beautiful supporting character and told us her story at her computer one day. But sorry, that’s why I didn’t quite catch what you said to me. 

No one knows, unless I tell them.

No one knows why I’m sad, if I am sad. No one knows why I am angry, if I am angry. No one knows why I am frightened, unless I let them in, into my world, and tell them.

Fear and sadness and anger are caused by different stuff that happens. Maybe my friend ignored me. Or said something unkind. Maybe my mum didn’t trust me, or caught me out in a lie, or yelled at me for using up all the data on my phone too quickly. Maybe my parents keep fighting, or my dad hurts my mum, or the uncle Mum thought we could trust, we couldn’t.

(photo from http://www.istockphoto.com/au)

No one will know if I keep it inside. No one will know why I cry when I cry or yell when I yell or run when I run. And maybe, that isn’t a good thing.

Maybe, someone needs to know. 

You can connect with Catriona via social media here.

On body image

So today I went to the hairdressers. I have to admit, although I love it while I’m there, I’m not a huge fan. I go, maybe twice a year. But every time I go, I remind myself that it's not so bad and that I really should make an effort to go more often.

(This isn't actually me at the hairdresser. My smile isn't that big - meaning I'm never that happy to be there - and as much as I go in with high hopes, my hair never comes out looking this good. My hairdresser is fabulous and all, but she's still human. I borrowed this photo from http://chelleybeanhair.com/ which looks like a nice hairdressing place in Brisbane, but they probably wouldn't drive all the way to the Fraser Coast just to do my hair.)

Let's face it. Going to the hairdressers can be:

* a little socially awkward as you have to chat to the hairdresser

* time-consuming - who has three hours to spend sitting in a chair watching a beautiful person fuss around behind you trying to make you as beautiful as you think she can make you?

* depressing - as fabulous as they may be at hairdressing, they suck at making tea/coffee

* and, like going to the dentist, at the end you never really know what you’re going to have to pay. 

Don’t get me wrong; I loved my hairdresser this year, and I kinda hope I remember her name to ask for her at my next appointment in a year's time. Her name is Candy (which I don’t think is her real name. The other hairdressers in the salon also have unusual names, like Bams, which makes me think they all have nicknames so the customers can remember them easier. Does anyone know if this is true?). Her ash-blond hair stopped just above her shoulders, except for the top of her head, where her hair was positioned like a whale spout, and it cascaded down over the rest of her head. It looked awesome. If I tried to wear my hearing like that, I’d look like a middle-aged-four-year -old and they’d tell me to go home and sleep it off. 

She also wore a tight short black skirt that hugged her (dare I say) large thighs. Candy had beautiful curves. A single black feather clung to the underside of her right arm and another tiny tattoo hid on her shoulder blade, only popping out every now and then for viewing. She didn’t over-wear her make up like some hairdressers do, either; you know, like they have to put a whole new face on top of the one they already have. And I wondered what it was about some people that they could wear these sorts of things, with confidence, when they weren’t a Size 8 and were only 22. 

The more experienced hairdresser in the salon also wore a frighteningly short black dress and had a colourful sleeve on her upper left arm. A few more years and I wondered if she’d start covering it up, as wrinkles were beginning to make the floral arrangement wilt. Somehow, her confidence was less interesting to me. Women of her age worry less and less what others around them think of their fashion and lifestyle choices. But for one so young - Candy - to bear such confidence, I was impressed. And perhaps a little jealous that I didn’t enjoy such luxury of spirit when I’d been her age. 

My conclusions from today’s pondering at the hairdressers? It’s not so much about how you look, as it is about how you feel about it. Candy was gorgeous. She looked it, because she felt it. So much of what you think about yourself comes out in the way you present yourself to the world. The more you’re happier in who you are, the more the world will see a beautiful and confident you - and love you for it. 

You can connect with Catriona on social media here.