The joy of kissing.
25 September 2020 • creative writing, gracie actually has opinions, kisses
I love kissing. No, seriously. It's a big deal for me. In fact, I'd say it's a make or break point. On my first date with Hands, I confessed to him (after a few whiskies) that I believed kisses were extremely important; I’ve always felt that if I get on with someone, great, but if their kisses don’t work for me, then odds are we won’t continue seeing each other for very long. I want sparks, excitement and a feeling of connection.
What part of kissing is the best part, though? Is it the build-up? I used to love that part, when I was a hopelessly romantic teenager, full of hormones and constantly fighting inappropriate urges. We actually used to do an exercise in my Drama A Level lessons to ‘create sexual tension’ (hardly necessary, in a class of 15 sweaty teens mostly wearing leggings and writhing around to moody trance music, but hey) in which we’d grab a partner (literally) and take it in turns to walk towards each other and get in super close, as if we were about to dive in for an epic snog, then turn and walk away at the last minute… then turn back longingly, one last time. Goodness me, it was intense. And obviously, we all loved doing it. Because the suspense was delicious. It was like a scene in The OC, or even Skins; the will they? won’t they? plot lines were so juicy, it was almost a let down when the characters would break the tension with a smooch and end the wondering immediately. I remember I had friends at school and then college who I didn’t ‘get with’ because I enjoyed the ‘maybe’ of it all too much. I properly relished the excitement and question of it. My friends and I would always be swapping stories about ‘almost kisses’ on the train home, we’d get drunk on the anticipation and flush hot pink as we described every little detail – “he and I were in the costume cupboard behind the theatre, and we both reached for this jacket at the same time, he turned to me and we made eye contact and I FELT HIS BREATH on my cheek…”
Yep. The build-up, the not-kissing part, is pretty wonderful. But y’know what else is? The actual kissing part. When I was very young, I remember wondering how on earth we humans decided that we liked smushing our mouths together, and how that could be a declaration of attraction, or even love. And I mean, to this day I can still see the weirdness of it all, if you look at it simply – it’s just two faces being abruptly stuck together by two pairs of lips, with the optional tongues slipping in and out and shaking all about. It’s really bizarre. But it sends the happiest tingles through you; it somehow connects with your whole body, and your brain can get really into it as well. If it’s done right, that is. I’ve been kissed by some truly magnificent masters, a few promising punters, and then some absolute amateurs. Everyone has their own style and preferences (for instance, I’m really not that fussed about the tongue. Leave it in there, mate). I’m a big fan of hands on the sides of my face, or maybe one against the back of my head and one on my waist. Even a light hug around the middle feels nice. I once shared a great kiss with someone in a suit, and I think what made it great was the fact that I could grab hold of their lapels and pull them toward me. 10/10. I’ve also kissed someone I probably shouldn’t have, and that fact was hot enough really, but they also did this trick of running their hands up and down my back in little circles, which made me shiver against them and get in even closer. Sensory overload.
But then it doesn’t always have to be dramatic. It can be lovely and gentle, like my first kiss with Hands, which was across a wobbly table in a pub on a quiet Friday night; just a little smooch that tasted like a sweet mingling of whisky and rum, it felt so gentle but hid within it a hint of wickedness.
photo: Sophie Mayanne
Then comes another exciting part… the after. When you break apart from the person you’ve been kissing and share a moment there, just you two. This is particularly lovely after a first kiss, partly because all that tension that built up would have finally been released, and you’ll both feel the happy relief of it as the dust settles around you… but also because it’s a taste of what’s to come. A first kiss is like a key, and you let yourself into something with it. You don’t know what the something actually is yet, and that’s part of the excitement, isn’t it? I, for one, love the ‘after’ part of a kiss. It can be so brief; just a quick flicker of a spark between each other’s eyes, blink and you’ll miss it, before you both look away and smile to yourselves, then continue with whatever you were doing. Return to the party, refill your drinks, catch up with other friends, don’t think on what just happened too much because there’s no time now. Or it can sit with you for a while, a comforting feeling that settles on your shoulders and tickles your lips; it fills up your chest with a mixture of warmth and confidence that makes you sit up a little and show your teeth when you smile. It glows in the corners of your eyes. For the rest of the evening, you and the person you kissed will feel the little smattering of stardust that was born when you collided, and exists between the two of you.
photo: Sophie Mayanne
What’s
your favourite part of a kiss? And are there any that you think will always linger in the
back of your mind?
Recent Reads: prison, musical theatre, and a dead dad.
12 September 2020 • bookish, recent reads
Oh boy, this one is very late going live… oops. I actually read these books about a year ago, and wrote these reviews back then, but then the draft got buried somewhere and I'm only just resurrecting it now. Think of this as a catch up, dear readers. I mean, maybe it will reignite the excitement for some of these books, as it's a while since some of them were published!? Yeah, that's what I'll go with...
'I Am Not a Number', by Lisa Heathfield.
The Traditionals have been voted to lead the country, winning people over with talks of healing a broken society, of stronger families and safer streets. They promised a happier future for everyone. But when Ruby is swept up with protesters from the opposition, her life is changed forever. Locked in a prison camp far from home and with her belongings taken from her, she's now known by the number 276. With horror escalating in the camp, Ruby knows that she has to get her family out – and let the world know what's happening. Set in the present day, I Am Not A Number is a powerful and timely book for both young adults and adults alike.
I already had a bound copy of the MS (she says casually, like she didn’t gasp dramatically when it came in the post with a note from the publisher), but I couldn’t not have a finished paperback edition of one of my favourite author’s books. As usual, Lisa broke my heart with her gorgeous characters and the sheer emotional weight of the story. Perfect. Devastating. Addictive. I always get so swept up in her books, it often takes me a couple of days to get my head out of it once I'm done reading. It's an emotional hangover.
'The Truth About Keeping Secrets', by Savannah Brown.
Sydney's dad is the only psychiatrist for miles around their small Ohio town. He is also unexpectedly dead. The circumstances are suspicious, to say the least; how could he crash his car randomly, with no witnesses and no explanation? And why is June Copeland, homecoming queen and the town's golden child, at his funeral? As the two teenagers grow closer in the wake of the accident, it's clear that not everyone is happy about their new friendship. But what is picture perfect June still hiding? And does Sydney even want to know?
This book took me about a month to read. It just didn't grab me, which was a shame, because it had been highly recommended by the bookish friends whose reviews I tend to trust the most.
'SING (Like No One’s Listening)', by Vanessa Jones.
Since her mother died, Nettie Delaney hasn't been able to sing a note. This wouldn't be a problem if she wasn't starting at Dukes, a prestigious performing arts college, with her superstar mother's shadow hanging over her. Everyone is watching Nettie, expecting greatness. Then one night, in an empty studio after college, Nettie finds herself suddenly singing, while someone behind a curtain accompanies her on the piano. Maybe all is not lost for Nettie! Maybe she can find her voice again and survive her first year at Dukes. But can she do it before she gets thrown out?
This one well and truly pulled me out of my reading slump. I don't know what it was, but this book had the same effect on me that a Holly Bourne, Lisa Williamson or Sarah Crossan one does, in that it was so bloody readable and fun. Lovely and totally believable characters, some great arcs, solid – and, at times, deeply emotional – story.
*
That’s all, folks! Well, that’s all from this teeny, old post about books I read a very long time ago… there will be a more up to date one soon, promise.
To any publishers reading this, my address has now CHANGED so please contact me if you still want to send me proofs etc.!
In these difficult times, we really need to be supporting the indies of the world, and steering clear of the giants who don’t appreciate the individual customers as much. Please consider buying from your local bookshop (find it here) or family-owned online businesses such as A Great Read! (aff link)
It would have been fun.
8 September 2020 • dear you, love
I was a very romantic teenager. Like, obsessed with all things love and lust. I had so many crushes, fantasies and ‘what if’ moments. I would spend hours listening to the same pop punk ballads, gazing out every train window, sighing dramatically, staying up late with my phone under the covers, agonising over my wording of the simplest texts – then sending the most obscure ‘hey, what’s up?’, definitely expecting a lovelorn essay in return, and being heartbroken when I only got a ‘nm, you?’ back, several hours later. UGHH. It was exhausting, having so many feelings about everything and everyone.
Most of these feelings were unrequited, of course. I think on some deranged level, I liked it that way. I wallowed in the pain and drama of it all. I can’t tell you how many friends I had who saw me as a confidante, someone they could go to for advice when they were sick with love. I’d happily listen, reply to all their texts (even if it used all £10 of my credit) and hog the family computer all evening to chat in mostly emoticons (remember those?) on MSN Messenger, when secretly, deep inside I’d be aching with sadness because all along, shockingly, I was in love with them. Taylor Swift’s ‘You Belong With Me’ was basically my life, for a few years. In fact, the whole ‘Fearless’ album was my soundtrack; I’d listen to it on my iPod classic as I walked to and from school every day, picturing my crush of the moment and I dancing together or kissing in the rain or running through airports for each other. It was torturous… and exciting.
Then came the loves that were reciprocated. Oh yes, there were some of those! Who’d have thought? They were all pretty wild rides – emotionally speaking, that is. Intense and instant chemistry, a spark that anyone around us could see, secret kisses in cupboards, code names we gave each other, hands almost touching as we walked side by side, tension you could cut through when our eyes met, flurries of texts one night and then silence for days. I got greedy, sometimes. I couldn’t get enough. I lived for the most dramatic moments, I gorged on angst and would set fire to the quiet comforts so things would be more interesting, if only for a short while. I played with boundaries between friendship and something more, because that was my favourite story line in books, films and TV shows. I remember being surprised when it didn’t work out as well in real life as it did in works of fiction.
My first love was my best friend. They were the first of many best-friend-turned-loves – and the reason I started this online diary of sorts, actually. The day we met we felt something big, and mutually decided it must be romantic, so we went on a date the following weekend. We went to the cinema and saw perhaps the worst film to watch on a first date. It became ‘our film’. But I turned out to be the misguided character in the end, who put too much of themselves into a fantasy. We had our first kiss at one train station, then decided to be ‘just friends’ at another, a few hours later. And for a year or so after that, we were truly terrible at being ‘just friends’.
I remember when it all imploded, and I sat crying onto my computer keyboard, quietly screaming in pain. It felt like a physical loss. You were suddenly gone. Then some time later, I was in Waterloo Station, and you called me. You’d forgiven me. Then we both started uni, and you came to visit me a couple of times. The timing still wasn’t quite right, now I think back to it. I met you off the train one day, emotionally hungover and spiraling badly after a silly night spent with another ‘friend’. You were there, and ready. I wasn’t. Another time, we went for lunch at my favourite diner, and I told you over a shared portion of fries that I’d started seeing someone. Another Northerner, with the same name as you, curiously enough. You laughed, and shook your head. We went out that night dressed up as geeks, in dungarees and fake glasses, and a few friends of mine asked if you were my long distance partner. We got home at 2am and ate buttery crumpets, then literally fell into bed together. Nothing happened. Between these two occasions, we met in London. We’d kiss now and again, in cafes and museums and parks, never in a big moment, but because it just felt like the natural thing to do. It made sense. It’s so weird to think back to that now, because to this day I’ve never been like that with anyone else. It inspired me. I wrote a novel about two characters who loved each other deeply, and wanted each other so badly, but never crossed that line. I always thought that was it; we’d come together again someday and it would be like no time had passed. It would just click. I thought of you when I read ‘One Day’. You were my Dexter. You weren’t the one that got away, you were the one I never made a go of it with. I know that if I had, things would be very different now. Because it would have stuck, I’m sure of that. But then ‘The Versions of Us’ also reminded me of you, and made me wonder – we may have been perfect together back then, but would it have lasted? How would we have coped with the distance, our different university experiences, and my health scares?
The last time I saw you, we had lunch at one of my favourite restaurants in London. A small chain, a branch I’d never been to. You’d said as we walked there, ‘I think you’ll like this place’. You weren’t to know I’d been going to the one near me for years – on a lot of dates. I remember looking at you over my pots of dim sum and coconut rice, thinking ‘it’s still you and me, but it’s not the same us’. You told me a little about your work, and gave me updates on your family. I laughed at all the crazy stories, and briefly pondered on how I’d always wanted them to be my in-laws. I asked after your girlfriend, and you told me it was good, and you were working hard to keep it that way. I felt warm and happy for you. Since that day, we’ve called each other drunk a few times, and exchanged the odd message on social media platforms – we’re not Facebook friends any more, though. That seems too intimate somehow.
Today I found out you got married. An old friend of yours, another who you had a love story with once upon a time, told me. We’re both sad not to have known, nor been invited to celebrate with you. I’m giving some time to my teenage self today; remembering what I felt, what we had, and how heartbroken sixteen-year-old me would be to hear that it never went where she expected it to. I’ve cried at my breakfast table, put Taylor’s latest album on full blast and sung along in the shower – I’ve even asked David Nicholls for some wise words. I’ll say congratulations and move on tomorrow, but today I need to mourn for my old romantic self.
We were something, don’t you think so?
Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool
and if my wishes came true,
it would have been you.
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