I realised writing a review for Becoming by Laura Jane Williams* wasn’t going to be easy very early on when reading it. I have had such an emotional reaction to this book, writing the kind of review you may be used to on my book blog Once Upon a Bookcase just isn’t going to cut it. So, instead, this is part review, part love letter to Williams, and part a post about me and my hurts. (This is pretty long. You have been warned.)
It’s difficult for me to find the words to explain how much Becoming meant to me. I’m a huge fan of your blog Superlatively Rude, and admire you so much as a writer, so Becoming was always on my wishlist – to read more of your words, to hear more of your story. But it ended up affecting me on such a deeply emotional level. You’ve changed the way I think, you’ve made me want to be braver, and you’ve made me face and accept parts of myself I had always turned away from and ignored. Continue reading
The other day, I had plans to go out with Mum. We were going to watch a movie, and then go dress shopping for a couple of weddings coming up this summer. However, that morning, Mum woke up feeling ill, and wasn’t able to come along. So, instead of cancelling the day, I just went on my own. (I’d like to point out here that the movie wasn’t one Mum was too bothered about.)
Yes, I go out alone. And people seem to think this is strange, or out of the ordinary, and I don’t really understand why.
I’ve had my brother – who often goes to the cinema alone – that I shouldn’t do the same, because it’s sad for a girl to go on her own. Apparently, if a girl goes alone, it looks like she’s Billy-no-mates. I’ve also had my aunt tell me she thinks it’s really brave when I went to a restaurant nearby on my own, that she couldn’t do it. I was completely bewildered; what’s brave about going out to have a steak on my own? Continue reading
In honour of today being International Poetry Day, I thought I would share with you some of my favourite poems. I will bolden my favourite lines, but not in the first, because the whole thing is just brilliant. Enjoy!
The Sick Rose by William Blake
O Rose thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.