Veronica Foale

Author: Veronica Foale

  • Forcing it

    Autumn came, seemingly overnight. I’m not entirely sure where my summer went, but I know that it’s gone and I’ve lost my chance to lay in the sun.

    I’ve got writers block and I don’t know if I’m falling apart or not. Not writing, I’m twitchy, but forcing it isn’t feeling much better.

    Good things have been happening, in a relatively consistent stream and yet, I’m still left laughing maniacally at an email that comes through, because fucking hell, could this whole situation be any more bizarre? Sometimes it’s like an elaborate dance I’m dancing, keeping all my balls up in the air and my feet away from the cracks. Blogging is insanity personified and I’m pretty sure twitter is the gaping jaws swallowing all my cohesive thoughts.

    I wonder if I’m going mad and content myself that as long as I’m still trying to work it out, then I’m probably not. My head feels all messy and I’m coping, I’m functioning, okay? but there’s the dark underbelly I can’t think about, or talk about, or write out.

    I’m pretty sure I’m going mad, I’m just not convinced it’s an entirely bad thing. It feels like an imagination overload and imagination is a good thing when it involves giant scenarios with small heroes and large problems, less of an asset when it makes you run through your emergency drills over and over and wonder how things would look if that person fell down that cliff.

    My imagination is a bit of an arsehole sometimes.

    I’m forcing it out, making it work. Every hill can be climbed right? You’ve just got to keep walking?

    Yes.

    I think I’m going mad, but sometimes, you’ve just to write stuff and trust that people will know you’re still okay. Things just need out.

  • Bad writing

    Bad writing is the death of my inspiration. I’m pretty sure trashy novels and I have to break up. Soon.

  • Jaded

    Jaded.

    I am jaded.

    Blogging has changed so quickly that I am left behind, wondering how to swim in this shark tank. When did blogging become about PR deals and not the writing?

    Maybe I’m just a bitch.You kids get off my goddamned lawn.

    I want more from this. I want my writing to be brilliant. I want fans, across the globe. I want time to write a book, to lose myself in my own fantasy. I want to connect with like-minded people and find more brilliant blogs. To be entrapped in a blog’s story from the moment I start.

    I want more.

    ***

    Something happens. Something good, for me, and I float on the happening for weeks. I adore it and then it ends and I am forced back into reality with the screams of my children ringing in my ears.

    This is the come down. I knew it was coming, but my head being all fucked up has surprised even me. I want to hibernate, to pull the blankets over my head and refuse to leave my own head.

    Unfortunately, this is not how reality works.

    ***

    I want to be bigger than myself.

    I want you to want more.

    I want my words to flow out of my fingertips and onto the screen with ease. I’m sick of pulling words the way dentists pull teeth.

    I want my dissatisfaction to fade away.

    I want a lot of things.

    ***

    Tell me, who do you read when you’re feeling dissatisfied? What do you do?

    Because whatever I’m doing isn’t working so well.

  • Breaking through

    I’m sitting on the concrete, cross legged. My foot falls asleep, but that’s okay, because the music is good and the sun is warm. In front of me are people on beanbags and a stab of jealousy shoots through me, and I tell myself I’m being stupid.

    Sitting, listening, I feel like I want to write again. Something new, I’ve had writers block for a month now. The music flows through me and it’s great. My fingers twitch, an iPhone is no good for proper writing. This is unfortunate.

    The music is free and the atmosphere is great. I’ve been pushed well out of my comfort zone, but instead of drowning I’m swimming free and loving it. At home my children play and scream for their father, but that’s miles away from where I am now.

    Later, we stand in a line tweeting, while someone headbangs to a cello.

    ‘We must look like nerds’ says Gordon.

    I smile, we probably do, with phones in hand and twitter at the ready, but this is what we’re here for.

    A moment later, a man in a bright yellow shirt and purple polka dot pants walks past. I laugh.

    ‘We might look like nerds, but we don’t look anywhere near as bad as he did.’

    I drift around, listening to music and people watching. I feel like an adult again, not just a mother, needed only for nappy changes and food distribution and hours of playing with cars on the floor.

    I’d forgotten who I was, stuck in domesticity and mired in a sea of autism and meltdowns. This has reminded me that I am someone outside of their mother. That I can be an adult still and hold adult conversations that don’t revolve around screaming and lack of sleep.

    The week stretches out in front of me and I am so pleased I came, so pleased I’m here.

  • For Bloggerbelles everywhere.

    You need to read this first, or my response will make no sense. If you’re anything like me, that post won’t make any sense either, but that’s okay. I don’t think it’s meant to.

    ***

    It had been a week since Bloggerbelle had talked with “Sarah” from the land of PR and she was beginning to feel like she’d been duped. She had read Sarah’s version of the conversation and she was rather displeased with how she’d been portrayed. She certainly wasn’t as stupid as Sarah thought she was and she suspected that Sarah was actually a witch, trained in the art of double talk and confusion.

    After stewing on these facts for a while, she decided to travel to the land of PR and confront Sarah. Leaving her child with a baby sitter (Sarah might have claimed she was a beautiful princess of Blog, but she was wrong about a lot of things) she travelled for a long time to reach Sarah’s kingdom.

    The people of PR were tricky you see and frequently moved around to curtail complaints, and avoid the worst of the dark and stormy weather.

    When she finally found Sarah, they sat down together for a coffee. Bloggerbelle had lots of questions.

    ‘Sarah, when last we spoke, I walked away confused. We spoke about compensation and giveaways and yet, I don’t feel that my questions were addressed, or even adequately represented in the post you wrote.’ Bloggerbelle continued. ‘I think you misunderstood what I meant when I said I was asking for compensation. I was approached by people from the land of PR, who asked if I would review a product and host a giveaway. Then I was disheartened when my requests for compensation were turned down.’

    Sarah looked at her and then spoke carefully, ‘Bloggerbelle, we discussed the problem of compensation, remember?’

    ‘I remember, and yet, I walked away without learning anything’. Bloggerbelle hardened her mind to any tricks that Sarah was trying to use on her.

    ‘The land of PR offered me a product to review and then giveaway on my blog and yet, they wouldn’t give me compensation for the time and effort required to run a giveaway. Tell me Sarah, are you being paid?’

    ‘Well, yes, I’m being paid but -‘

    ‘Are you being paid in money? Honest to goodness money? Or does the King of PR send you home at the end of the week with product samples to see you through?’

    ‘It’s not the point! I’m doing my job!’

    Bloggerbelle had thought about this on the long trip to the land of PR.

    ‘Sarah, I am doing my job too. I am spending time writing copy for a blog post, I am moderating comments and organising a giveaway, don’t I deserve to get paid also?’

    Sarah looked annoyed. Very annoyed. Dark clouds gathered above her head and Bloggerbelle started to realise why the land of PR was dark and stormy.

    ‘I accept that you are taking time and effort to put together a blog post, but you’re a blogger! We don’t have a budget to pay bloggers!’

    Bloggerbelle didn’t agree that there wasn’t a budget.

    ‘Sarah, I think you do have a budget, otherwise you wouldn’t have a client. I just don’t think you’re willing to share any part of your budget with bloggers.’

    Sarah spluttered a bit and Bloggerbelle tried a different tack.

    ‘Sarah, I am using my trust capital and my sphere of influence to promote a product for your client. I have worked hard to build up an audience and regardless of what you think of their worth, I know that I am worth more than a few boxes of cereal.’

    Sarah looked shocked as Bloggerbelle kept talking.

    ‘You might believe that we’re all alike in the Land of Blog Sarah, but we’re not. I know that if I turn down a chance to work with you that you will find someone else willing to work for nothing. I am okay with this. I am concerned with my long term reputation, not my short term gain. And frankly, if people assume I’m getting paid anyway, then why should I do the work for nothing?’

    Bloggerbelle stood up quickly and nodded to Sarah. Without a backwards glance, she left Sarah still spluttering behind her.

    While she wasn’t yet sure what she wanted to get out of her blog, she did know that she wasn’t prepared to sell herself for nothing. After all, how could she give her child all the pretty things in the kingdom if she wasn’t being paid for anything?

    She knew that she was worth more than that and she wasn’t prepared to sell herself short.