It was my daughter’s prom this week. Being British, this meant Miss F
was only 15 years old, not 18 as she would have been, were she attending prom
in America. Like many American customs that have crossed the pond, this one has
had to be adapted to suit a different educational structure. Whereas in
America, children attend the same high school until 18, here in the UK children
can leave their upper school at 16 to move into further education – be it college,
vocational training, an apprenticeship of some kind, or to take A levels in sixth
form.
I was unsure how I felt about the whole prom business. I mean, when I attended upper school – back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, we had an end-of-school disco and were grateful for it. A DJ was hired – probably someone’s older brother who had a mobile disco and was prepared to do it cheap – the school assembly hall might have a few balloons hanging about, and there were a variety of bulk bought fruit squashes for the student to re-hydrate with. I’m not sure there was even food available, but if there was, it would only have been a few crisps and maybe some store-bought sausage rolls. Teachers would have lurked on the edges to make sure that no shenanigans occurred between students, and most of us were there dateless. Girls would congregate on one side of the hall, and the boys would huddle together on the other – apart from a few couples who would self-consciously linger in the no-man’s land in-between.
It was all very basic and very innocent, and very cheap – parents might
have been asked to contribute a small amount to cover the squash and the disco,
but that would have been it. As for expensive prom dresses and suits – well, I
do remember my best jeans came out for the occasion, along with a new top – but
that was as far as it went. Although, I do have fond memories of slipping
across the highly polished wooden floor in my pixie boots doing the “Prince Charming!”
When my daughter’s prom rolled around, I wasn’t too sure what to expect – but had a feeling I wouldn’t get off as lightly as my parents had. Three months ago the pressure began – all the other girls already had their outfits (they didn’t), if we didn’t buy something immediately, then everything would be gone (doubtful), and stores put their prices up the closer to prom you shopped (not likely, but I suppose possible). So, we hit the local shops and found the entire outfit in the sales, including underwear and accessories for £160. I later found out I’d been incredibly lucky to have found a dress straight away that (a) both my daughter and I agreed on (b) fitted exactly, needing no alteration (c) didn’t require negotiating a loan from my bank. Some parents, I was reliably informed, had spent upwards of £250 just on the dress. To which I responded – “more bloody fool them.”
Events like proms are yet one more occasion that lurk to trip the
hapless single parent struggling on a tight budget. Once again, we are torn.
Obviously, we want our child to be happy, we want them to look amazing and feel
confident in their outfit – BUT – and it’s a big but, there has to be an element
of common-sense control. £250 for a dress that will be worn probably just once
is a ridiculous and slightly obscene notion. I could feed us both for over a
month on that amount, and I think everyone would agree that food is more
essential than ball gowns.
The closer to prom we got, the more extravagant became the lengths some parents were prepared to go to. A stretch limo for one 15-year-old to be driven two miles down the road, classic cars hired especially for the occasion, even a silver party bus! It all started to have a whiff of one-upmanship, a game I flatly refuse to play, and luckily my daughter and her friendship group agreed. Tentative enquiries were made into the cost of hiring a limo between them, jaws dropped when they heard the price, and a group decision was decided to save their money and schlepp it there in the two smartest cars the parents could rustle up between them. I did offer. I was declined. Apparently a 1996 Nissan Micra with more rust than paint and cobwebs hanging off the wing mirrors wasn’t even in the running for consideration. Instead I was relegated to the role of Mum’s Taxi, shuttling carloads of girls out to the brave mum who’d volunteered her home to be the base of operations and sleepover central – rather her than me, and then collecting them all the next morning to run them to their various homes.
Question: how many teenage girls can you fit in a tiny, two door
Nissan Micra along with all their clothes, prom dresses, make-up, hair products
and bedding?
Answer: Four, with very careful packing – honestly, the whole exercise
turned into a game of car Tetris.
But I guess what you all want to know after this long ramble, is did Miss F enjoy it? And did I feel it was worth the money? Considering the final bill including hair and make-up probably came to £230. Well, I am happy to say she had a ball, literally. The venue was a beautifully restored 14th century barn on the outskirts of town, and the food was everything a teenager would want it to be. Her friendship group of eight had a wonderful time getting ready together, and judging by the photos, had a lot of fun dancing the night away. Afterwards, there was a sleepover with a midnight feast and games.
And how do I feel about proms now? While I do still think it is a
little excessive for 15 and 16 year olds, I can see why it is held now and not
in two years-time. Most of these young people have suffered through eleven
years of school together, they’ve endured sarcastic teachers, disastrous school
trips, tedious assemblies and the terror of exams. But now that’s over. They’re
all scattering, going their separate ways. Many will lose touch; friendships
will slip; and the girl you sat next to in Chemistry for years will soon be
nothing more than a fading memory.
This night was their last hurrah, their final chance to be together as
school children and bond in one, stupendous evening that will be remembered for
the rest of their lives. Truly, a coming of age experience, and one I’m glad my
daughter participated in. Yes, it stretched me financially, caused me to tear
my hair out with stress, and had me driving around country lanes like a mad
thing, going back for forgotten tickets and cramming so much into my poor
little car I could feel it straining up the hills, but ultimately, it was worth
it.
The chance to see my tomboy daughter looking like a princess for one night, watching her and her friends pose self-consciously for photos in their finery, giggling, pulling stray curls off mouths plastered with lipstick, teetering in unfamiliar heels and awkwardly clutching tiny bags bought for the occasion. Then waving them off to a night that represented the culmination of eleven years of hard work on their part – it was worth every single penny.
Join me and the wonderful author, Toni Kief, as we discuss the role of the older woman in literature and in life.
Do women become invisible as they get older?
That is certainly the opinion of this week’s guest the fabulously funny author,
Toni Kief. Author of five independently published books, she made a conscious
decision to have her heroines buck the trend and consequently they are smart,
opinionated, determined and are definitely what would be termed – ladies of
advanced years. I asked her what first triggered this realization that us older
girls become more or less invisible to society, and she responded with the
statement below.
“There
is nothing more amazing than a four-year-old girl. Confident, cute to the max,
all-knowing, and energetic, she can dominate a room. This moment is before the
demands of society wrestles her into insecurity. Doomed to forget that she is more than a
reflection and a fractured comparison to photoshopped beauty. By the teen
years, she hates her unique perfection and tries to undermine her brilliance.
Often
the girl chooses to stifle her genius and dedicates decades to the success of those
she loves. Then one day, the shock of fading into the background from the
social scene hits. This phenomenon is usually in the mid to late forties. Simply
another step is taking her to a trivializing, “cute.” But this time it is the
precursor to the dismissive label of elderly.
When
I turned sixty, I realized I still didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew
up. By that recognition, I had already become completely invisible, and any attention
felt like charity. So many years dedicated to the success of husbands, children,
and maintaining food and shelter, I didn’t make time to dream. After accusing
my mother of sneaking around behind my mirrors, I started to look deeper. We
crones were everywhere, but you have to search. There’s one carrying a covered
dish, another offering aspirin, one more babysitting, or over there sitting quietly
in the corner. NO, it’s our turn. I decided to do something, anything to
celebrate us.
In
an unintentional challenge, never meant to be serious, I started to write.
Unlike many who have silently written for entire lives, that wasn’t me. After a
couple of hundred short stories, there was the afternoon I saw a woman of an
unexpected age. She was walking, no stomping, on the side of the road. She was
deep in an animated conversation with the cosmos, and she was angry. That was
the moment that birthed my first book, Old Baggage. Gifted with the realization that all of us
have stories to tell, I continued. Women, not girls, face choices and make new beginnings
when least expected. Our stories are sometimes shocking, victorious,
heartbreaking, and funny. They arise from an unplanned change. However it
happens, those twists make us who we were meant to be.
Our
confident, beautiful, all-knowing selves from the age of four, are back. So, I
decided to make invisibility a superpower, to celebrate my regrets as a tool
that brought me to here. I’ll continue to embroider personal stories into legends
hoping for a form of immortality.
Today
is the beginning. Your assignment is to make art. The art of your choice and
move it to primary importance. Right now, form a unique creation with no
concern about measuring up to anyone but our four-year-old epic self. Ready,
set – go!”
Toni Kief…
Toni, that’s
quite a forceful and poignant statement, but do you really believe that when
women reach a certain age, we become invisible?
It happens quickly along with a particular birthday,
between 45 and fifty. One day, we walk in the room, and heads turn and there
are greetings. A week later, around the season of menopause, there is no notice
at all. Instead of being asked to dance,
I’m now asked to save a chair.
Why do you
think that is? Is it because we’re no longer considered attractive to the
opposite sex?
The realization that when the Beatles came into
popularity, I was too young for Paul McCartney, and now at the age of 70 I’m
too old. I agree it has to do with sexuality and a society that has been
moulded to worship a glorified idealization of youth and fashion.
As the attention from the opposite sex wanes, I
watch the communities of women grow. Little do “they” know that we are coming
into our strength. Educational opportunities have grown, and we are no longer considered
a victim or frail. In reality only the
exceptions were weak.
Throughout history, we women receive a minimal
education and placed in a position of support.
Many of us have been listening, and reading – growing to a greater role.
We are asked daily to prove we can not only take care of ourselves, but
children and elders too. Today, I hear the mature voices speaking and building
in power, but it is slow going.
Or does it go
deeper than that? Perhaps it even has its roots further back in history, to a
time when once a woman was no longer able to bear children, she was considered
a burden on society?
The historical research I have found genius and
accomplishments that were co-opted and demeaned. In earlier times we were
witches and hags. Now it is bitches, shrill, and emotional, but things are
changing, and it is an exciting time.
There were a few women in positions of power. There are some very
respected women in history, but at the time, I’m sure they had to battle the
patriarchy. In my research I find names daily that have slipped to the foot
notes.
Or maybe it’s
simply that many middle-aged women dress for comfort and no longer to impress.
I must admit, I have heard the siren call of elasticated waistbands and the
colour beige myself, which I am so far resisting.
I
stopped wearing shoes you couldn’t run in during the women’s rights marches in
the 80s. I was the President of the Tampa National Organization for Women. I started
a movement to mail our shoes to President Reagan. He had been against women’s rights
and the transition from the home and subservience. My last pair of high heels
were sent along with over 200 pairs of shoes. There was no acknowledgement in
the press, but I was rewarded with an FBI file, which I’m sure is paper and in
the back of a cabinet. P.S. the Equal
Rights Amendment has never been ratified so American women are still not
protected on the Constitution.
Now, I understand that you didn’t start
writing yourself until you were a lady of advanced years, what gave you the
push to begin?
I didn’t start writing until I was sixty years old.
I was in metaphysical group that was disbanding. James Johnson said, “I want to
write more.” I’m not sure where the answer came from, but I said, “If you write
I’ll write.” Now ten years later we have a total of eight published books
between us, and that doesn’t include the cookbooks we never published. (Dangerous
Dishes and the Food they Inspire were short biographies of women of history and
myth with recipes to go with them.) I have the only printed copy.
What’s your
favourite thing that you have written?
Of all my 200 short stories and 5 books. My favourite
project is Mildred In Disguise with
Diamonds. The first in the Mildred
Unchained trilogy. Mildred Petrie is 71, widowed and broke. She walks
to a casino, and they offer a job working in security undercover. She isn’t your usual crime fighter and I’d
love to hang out with her.
I really
enjoyed reading Mildred in
Disguise with Diamonds and admired her strength and determination not to let
her age slow her down in any way. How much of you is in Mildred?
I’m noisier and more strident than Mildred. But we
do share a drive for justice. I considered her completely separate, but as the
further books came along, I can’t deny there are some connections.
Before our
interview, I thought long and hard about whether I could think of any older
heroines in literature at all, other than your own of course, but all I could
come up with was Miss Marple from the Agatha Christie books. Can you think of
any others? And if you can, did they have any influence on your own heroines?
I’m racking my brain. Most older women in
literature are Queens, murderers, or supporting characters. I found The
Little Old Lady That Broke All the Rules, by C. Ingelman-Sundberg and found
it delightful, but I already had Mildred cooking. I’m noticing a change creeping into the
entertainment industry starting with The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. I love
that the older actresses are refusing to be pushed aside and building their own
projects.
Do you read indie books? If so,
are they any that have had an impact on you, and why?
The past four years I have read almost exclusively
Indie authors. It has been a wild ride into genres I wouldn’t have read before
when I was awash in best sellers. This
sounds like a commercial, but one of my favorites was The Forest~ a tale of old magic ~ written by you. The story was complex, the characters were
deep and thoroughly real. There was also
Circle of Time by Debra
Shiveley Welch, she combined history and time travel in a fascinating way. The Shark God’s Son by Kia Bertrand,
this was a modern story into Hawaiian myth and unique read. Last, was another
dive into a genre I had avoided before, The
Immortality Cure by Tori Centanni, a mystery with a unique
vampire twist that is out of the stereotypes.
Did you think
about trying for a traditional publishing contract? Or did you go straight to
being an indie author? If the latter, why?
I
didn’t even try traditional. Since I started writing so much later in life, I
didn’t want to wait for agents to reject me and then publishers all adding more
months and years to a book. So, I simply went to work, published and then wrote
some more.
What are you
working on now?
I’m working on a historical fiction about my 8x
great grandmother, Susanna Jackson/White/Winslow who was on the Mayflower in
1620. I’m struggling with her book; it is so much more complex that the story
that has been given to us in our American history. She also had disappeared for
a long time, but was a true foundation to the colonization. Sue Allan from
Scrooby Manor has been successful and learning about Susanna.
That sounds
fascinating, and of course despite history being mostly told from the male
perspective, there are examples of remarkable women doing extraordinary things.
Is there any one woman from history whom you particularly admire?
When asked if there is a person alive or dead that
I could meet with, I always chose Mary Magdalene and a translator. Since I have
spent some years researching women’s history this could read like the movie
credits at the end of The Greatest Story Never Told. I’d like to meet Elizabeth
Freeman, AKA Mum Bett, she was a slave in the 1770s and sued for her freedom.
She was the reason that there wasn’t slavery in Massachusetts from then
on. I had researched her and couple
years later found my family was the bad guys in the story. In my time in
politics I have been fortunate to meet several modern women and I would love to
spend more time with Maya Angelou.
What is your
pet hate?
Frogs and I don’t know why. I must have seen one
with a knife and a sneer when I was a baby. Just thinking about this answer
gave me a chill.
Have you ever
built it into a character or used it in your writing?
No, it is a silly enough hate it would make a
character unbelievable.
What movie can you watch over and
over again?
I don’t tend to re-watch movies or reread books. I
am embarrassed to say that I’ve seen Grease seven times, but that was
accidental – it was on in front of my face.
Grease is the
word – if you’d said those seven times were on purpose there’d have been no
judgement from this side. Okay, is there one movie you saw and absolutely
hated?
I can’t believe how hard it is to answer this
question. If I dislike something, I let it go. I have walked out on films, and if it is in a
multiplex simply go to the next theatre. I’ll go with the Fast and Furious
franchise. I don’t care about fast cars and violence once, let alone 8 of them.
Ever since seeing The Mummy’s Ghost on late night TV at the age of 10, I have
avoided 99% of the horror genre too.
What’s your favourite quote, ever?
Oscar Wilde, “I’m too old to know everything.”
Name two things in life that you
wish were easier.
Getting a good education and cleaning the oven.
Totally
feeling it on the oven cleaning front, and I’m not ashamed to admit I actually
pay a little man to come and clean mine. It’s my guilty secret, sshh, don’t
tell my mother. Do you have a guilty secret? And are you prepared to share it
with me – I promise I won’t tell anyone.
I have 23 years of community college and no degree.
My father was 43 when he was disabled as a firefighter and went to
college. I was a senior in high school,
and decided to take the pressure off of him so he could finish. I took classes
one at a time and never took math; we can also add 5 years of yoga. I did get a
standing ovation in a women’s studies class for the record.
Apart from
your cloak of invisibility, if you could have any other superpower, what would
it be?
I have thought about this, and I’ll stick with
invisibility. I used to dream I could fly, but it was like swimming, about 5
feet off the ground and was about as fast as running. With invisibility I can
catch a commercial flight and sneak a sandwich under my cloak at the same
time. I assume that as I age the desires
become more basic.
Finally, what would you like
people to know about being an Indie author?
The writing is the joy, editing the equalizer and
marketing the battle. Remember commas are Ninjas that creep around into the
night trying to make you look bad. I
used to be an insurance investigator called to horrific scenes of destruction
in the dead of night. I spend more time and energy writing, but it gives me
more reward (well not monetary, but reward none the less). At least before I didn’t wake up at 2 am
trying to craft a scene for three hours then doze off and forget most of it.
Many thanks to the amazing Toni Kief for being my guest on A Little Bit of Blake, and thank you for taking the time to join us. I hope you have a great Sunday and look forward to chatting with you all again next week.
Today
is Father’s Day in the UK. A day when traditionally a big fuss is made of your
father, a day when you buy him a card with a suitably sentimental message, and
a token gift, perhaps you even take him out for the day. It’s a day when
children of all ages can celebrate the man who loves and helps raise them.
But,
what about if you are no longer with your child’s father? What about if the
role he plays in their live is minimal? What about if he is absent altogether?
This
was the problem I faced when my daughter was four years old and in her
reception year of primary school. Before then it had never been a problem, we
simply didn’t mention it and Father’s Day was a non-event in our home. Although
my daughter did still then occasionally see her father, it certainly wasn’t
regularly enough to warrant making a fuss and buying him a card stating he was
– “the best dad in the world” – because he was far from being worthy of that
title!
So,
it never occurred to me we would have a problem at school in the run-up to this
particular Father’s Day and I had no inkling of the emotional trauma it was
going to cause, until I picked my daughter up on the Friday before Father’s
Day. Immediately knowing something was very amiss from her red, angry face and
sullen silence, I waited until we got home to ask her what was wrong.
As
a reply she thrust a homemade card at me showing a stick family all smiling
inanely, with assorted glitter spelling out the words “Happy Father’s Day”. I
looked at it and then looked at her. I could see she was really upset, but it
took almost an hour of gentle questioning before the whole story came out.
The
teacher had announced that they were all going to make special cards for their
dads to celebrate Father’s Day. Not really understanding what they were talking
about, my daughter said she didn’t want to. Too shy to explain why and at four
too young to articulate her wishes clearly, the situation quickly deteriorated
and ended with my daughter being told to “stop being difficult and make the card
for her father”.
Obviously,
I was angry at the teacher’s insensitive treatment, but it was too late to do
anything other than soothe my daughter with lots of cuddles, her favourite
supper of pizza and ice cream, and an extra-long bedtime story.
By
the following year, of course, my daughter had forgotten all about it, but I
hadn’t. The week before Father’s Day I paid a visit to the school and spoke to
her teacher, a different one from before, she was a lovely, kind lady who
instantly saw the issue.
This
time when I picked my daughter up from school the Friday before Father’s Day,
she was proudly carrying two beautiful cards she’d made for both her
grandfathers. Excited to tell me all about the wonderful time the whole class
had had making cards for the special man in their lives – be he a grandfather,
uncle, stepfather, godfather or even an older brother – no one was left out,
and no one was forced to make a card for someone who no longer existed in their
lives.
This
became a tradition throughout the whole school and the practice was even
adopted for Mother’s Day, when pupils were told they could make cards for the
special lady in their lives – mother, grandmother, auntie, big sister,
godmother – it didn’t matter, the pupils could make the cards for anyone.
Since
then, Father’s Day for my daughter has always been about the two wonderful men
who have been steady constants in her life, her two grandfathers, and she
enjoys choosing them special gifts and seeing them on that day.
With
just a little bit of imagination and a light, sensitive approach, her teacher
was able to take a potentially unpleasant situation – not only for my daughter,
but for other pupils whose parents had separated – and turn it into a positive
experience for all the pupils so that it was inclusive, not exclusive.
Being
a single parent is one of the hardest jobs there is and any little acts of
understanding we encounter along the way are a blessing. It’s hard enough when
the other parent is still around to occasionally share the burden, but sadly
all too often this is not the case. Having to be both mother and father, the
fun parent and the disciplinarian – the good cop/bad cop – as it were, can be
emotionally, mentally and physically exhausting. Often my smile would slip the
moment my daughter was safely tucked up in bed, and then I would sit on the
sofa and wonder how the hell I could carry on because I was quite plainly
rubbish at this whole parent thing. But, next morning, I always got up, shaped
up and showed up. I had to, there was nothing else I could do, but some days it
was hard.
I
guess what I’m trying to say in my usual rambly fashion, is that it’s ok to
feel like a failure, to think you’re doing it all wrong and that everyone else
is making a better job of it than you, because believe me, they’re not. If your
child is happy, healthy and knows they’re loved, if they trust you and can talk
to you, and if they know that you’ve always got their back, then you are doing
a bloody fantastic job and don’t let anyone else, especially yourself, tell you
differently.
It
is so easy to judge someone else’s life and think they’re coping better than
you are, don’t forget people only show you the smooth, calm surface –
underneath they are all paddling just as desperately as the rest of us.
So
Happy Father’s Day – or Grandfather’s Day, Godfather’s Day, Stepfather’s Day,
Big Brother’s Day – whatever works for you, because if it works, then it’s not
wrong.
Thank
you for reading, and I hope you enjoy your Sunday.
Hello
there, and welcome to my very first blog on “A Little Bit of Blake”! Now, it’s
not the first blog I’ve ever attempted, but hopefully this will be the first
blog I stick at. Several years ago I started a blog on my website, but I was a
brand-new author and completely clueless about how to promote myself and my
books. I had no internet presence to speak of, so had no way to drive footfall
to my website. Eventually, I grew discouraged at the lack of response, at that
feeling I was whispering into the void, and gave up.
Time
passed, I published a few more books, became a little more experienced and
decided to have another go at this whole blogging lark. This time I started a
blog on Goodreads, figuring I might get a bit more traction there, but again,
quickly grew bored and the lapses between blogs grew longer until finally I had
to admit to myself it was going nowhere and abandoned that one as well.
But
now, a few years, a few books and a lot more friends and followers later, I’m
going to have another try and this time I think it might stick, because I
finally understand what I want my blog to be about.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m an author, I write and publish books, so a good proportion of my blogs will be about books – both mine and other authors – and the whole writing process in general, but that’s not all I am. I’m a single mother, I’m a busy working woman, I’m a reader and reviewer, I’m a complex and multi-faceted person who is interested in a wide range of far reaching topics. Most of all, I’m someone who appreciates that life is sometimes wonderful, sometimes not so much, that it is complicated and hard and difficult. That every day we all get up, shape up and try to make the best we can of what’s been given us. Yet life is also amazing and diverse and best of all, funny. That’s what I want to blog about, life and everything that it entails.
Once
a month, sometimes more often, I will have a guest on my blog who has an
interesting story to tell. Not just authors, but people from other walks of
life as well. People who’ve done something amazing, have faced the darkness and
fought their way back to the light. People who are giving everything they have
for something they believe in. People – wonderful, diverse, real people with
honest tales of real life. That’s what I want my blog to be about, you guys!
So, if you have a story you think might be of interest to others then please
get in touch and maybe you could be a future guest. If you’ve done something
amazing, or are doing something fantastic, then likewise get in touch.
I
do hope you’ll stick around. I can’t guarantee you’ll always be interested in
everything I blog about. I can’t promise you’ll find my guests interesting, but
I can promise to do my best to entertain and enlighten you.
And of course I will talk about this crazy writing journey that I’m on, the ups and downs, the funny bits and the soul destroying bits, but this will be different from the normal authors blogs in that I won’t preach or tell you what you’re doing is wrong. I’m not really the best person to give advice as I’m still pretty much fumbling around in the dark myself. What I will offer is support and encouragement, and the knowledge that you are not alone. That whatever you are going through, I’ve probably been through it as well, or at the very least know someone else who has.
So,
what do you think? Worth a look? If I’ve piqued your interest even a little,
then why not check my blog every Sunday to see what my week has been like and
check out my latest guest. I’m always open to suggestions for any topics you’d
like me to explore, or maybe you’d simply like to comment on something in the
blog that has touched a nerve with you.
Next
Sunday is Father’s Day in the UK and I’ll be looking at the very sensitive
subject of how to handle it if your child’s father is absent from their lives.
This was a real issue for me when my daughter was younger, and I’ll talk about
how we handled – and continue to handle it – together.
A Little Bit of Blake 