Gracie's Bookshelves.
31 August 2016 • book, book blogger, book bloggers, books, bookseller, bookshelves, fiction, gracie actually reads, IKEA, non-fiction, organised, rainbow
In
case you don't follow me on Twitter or Instagram, FYI, I recently
have made my bedroom infinitely sexy. I wanna thank my family for
giving me this exciting birthday present – a day out in IKEA, and
these breathtaking Billy bookshelves.
Oh
wait, not just the bookshelves (3 all together, one wide Billy and
a smaller skinnier Billy lad either side), also the spotlights. Yeah, I
got spotlights. I am that guy now. I also got some extra glass
shelves to add another dimension to it – a display area.
I
really struggled with forming a scheme for these shelves, at first. I
mean, so much space...so many books...gahh. I knew I wanted a series
of differing sections; fiction, YA, non-fiction, classics...but there
had to be an over-arching theme first of all.
I
went with the standard colour-coordination, which I'd previously done
with my minimal uni house bookshelves and then my somewhat
dilapidated shelves at home (see below).
Of
course, I knew if I was going to go for the rainbow look, I'd have to
call in the pro. My whip-smart organiser supreme, Clare H-H. She
dissected my many piles of books into the key colours, dark to light,
within minutes. What a genius.
So
the shelves began to take shape. YA and general fiction, top 2 middle
shelves and the shelf below the middle glass. Red, orange, yellow,
green, blue, indigo, purples, pinks. The monochromes were tricky to
place – in the end I made the top 2 shelves on the right all white,
ordered by the colour of the font on the spines. Yep.
I
then decided to put the black covers at the end of the rainbow; again
ordered by the colour within the black of the spines.
The
bottom middle shelf is fiction hardbacks – and the annoyingly
larger fiction paperbacks that wouldn't fit in with the others. I
quite like that arrangement – hardbacks and paperbacks, living in
perfect harmony, all of them awkward but able to fit together.
Within
fiction are classics. Well, classics are what began fiction. Wait,
what? Idk. Whatever, I just felt the classics needed their own space.
They deserve respect. So I gave them the top left shelf, where they
can be admired but also left to their own devices.
So
now we have the non-fiction. A genre that's actually become a
favourite of mine ever since becoming a bookseller and having easy
access to the Smart Thinking/Popular Science/Biography/Politics
areas...*drools openly*
Although
to be fair this isn't a new love of all things non-fic, I have liked
it ever since I started seriously blogging. A lot of my favourite
bloggers and vloggers have either recommended a non-fic treasure to
me or written one themselves!
So
my paperback non-fiction is on the left, below the classics. Then
there's a glass shelf beneath that – but I'll get to that in a
minute!
One
more shelf down is the hardback non-fiction – note the exclusive
Caitlin section, I can confirm Ebury publishers approved when they
saw this.
Below
the non-fiction hardbacks on the left, we have my random yet
organised selection of what I refer to as 'the DIY books'; my
Literary Listography book, the 642 Things to Write About range, Kerri
Smith's genius creations, and the many colouring books I accumulated
last year. Also the PostSecret publications; holy moly, I love
PostSecret. The live event I was lucky enough to attend a couple of
years ago was beyond powerful. I also have wedged in at the end of this shelf a Writer's Toolkit box my gorgeous Maddie sent me from Berlin. I'd been eyeing it up at work for ages! What a mega babe.
Then
under that one on the right we have a collection of my notebooks from
years gone by! And an additional source of light, as I've found it
gets darker down there, where my sexy spotlights can't quite reach.
I
went through these notebooks as I sifted through the boxes and
decided what was worth keeping; I was a little shocked at Younger Me.
She had dark thoughts and was a little too into certain bands and
certain boys...she was also deeply insecure at times. I am actually
hoping to have a ceremonial bonfire soon to throw these pages, and
these thoughts trapped within them, into the flames and release them
from my hold. I'll probably write a blog post about that...
Going
right over to the bottom right, we have my more academic books. My
Writer's Yearbooks '16 + '17, Frantic Assembly's guide to
devising, hardcore Sociology texts and a couple of Creative Writing helpers I had to order
before starting the course. I also have some borrowed books stashed
behind those – books lovely friends have lent me recently which I
need to read ASAP and not unintentionally get used to having on my
shelves. (Thanks for the lends, friends!)
And
finally, my glass shelves. Left, we have 4 specific non-fiction books
that I wanted to be left alone (one given to me by Keris, one School
of Life, one my sacred Crystals Bible, one a book of cheesy mantras
that actually give me life some days) and then a plate of my lovely
tumbles. I pick one up as and when, hold it and sometimes carry it
all day – at the moment my favourites are the clear Quartz.
Which
brings me to the middle glass shelf! Ornaments. So many treasures; my
stone Buddhas, the pin-on star from my high school, a glass goblet of
crystals and pendants, the little time piece my grandparents gave me
for graduation, a ring I can no longer wear but still deserves to be
seen...
The
shelf below the middle glass one is a bookish display area. I'll be
using that space to show off my latest faves, and some eternal loves;
at the mo I have 'Grief is the Thing With Feathers' by Max Porter
(just read it, people), a collection of Angela Carter's most divine magic, the Book
of Answers (freakishly perfect), The Princess Bride (hardly anyone
knows the screenplay for the perfect film was written by the guy who
wrote the book?!) and Milk & Honey by Rupi Kaur (omg omg omg took
my breath away).
The
right glass shelf holds my jewellery. The 5 heavily loaded ring
holders and the little bowl of earrings. Boxes of the more precious earrings, too. And my address book - leaving it in this handy location was a good idea, I feel. Then there's the light-up G a lovely friend gave me for my birthday.
Oh, and directly underneath the right hand glass shelf? Just my perfect fully-functioning typewriter. A blue 60s era Underwood. Bought in Brighton for just £18. Bloody steal. I am so happy to be able to display her at last after having her a while now. Her name is Sticky, due to excessively tricky and tough keys.
Oh, and directly underneath the right hand glass shelf? Just my perfect fully-functioning typewriter. A blue 60s era Underwood. Bought in Brighton for just £18. Bloody steal. I am so happy to be able to display her at last after having her a while now. Her name is Sticky, due to excessively tricky and tough keys.
I
haven't mentioned the bottom left shelf as that just holds my pens
and pencils in pots, and my iPod dock. Boring, right? Also the
toiletries shelves under the typewriter, on the right – they are
basically just a ton of products thrown into handy neutral baskets
that look plain yet tasteful from the outside, and are an utter mess
inside. I'm working on that.
I
considered making up a separate section for all my signed books –
and the retired ones that I refuse to lend out ever again, due to
their insane personal value/decrepit and fragile bindings. Then I
realised that a lot of my books are signed (yay, I freakin' love a signing) and working out another section and then rainbow-ing within
that would be exhausting and messy, to be honest.
Okay
guys, my fellow book addicts and travellers on this grand tour, we
are done! Thank you for taking an interest in this epic project of
mine – I really am proud of it and love that y'all asked me to
share it with you. Expect many #shelfies in the future!
28.
29 August 2016 • about me, facts, fun facts, gracie's life, life, me
Hi, my name's Gracie.
I'm 23 now, I don't enjoy builder's tea, the upcoming Gilmore Girls reunion is giving me life, I find vandalism fascinating, if I'm buying a dress I find pockets and fluted sleeves can always sell it 100%, I cannot believe I never appreciated what a magical album American Idiot is when it first came out, I love a good stir fry, men in suits turn me on, I really think quinoa chips are ingenious, my laptop is my baby, when I was at uni the only expensive item I'd allow myself when food shopping was Whole Earth organic crunchy peanut butter, my wardrobe is mostly full of blue, I'm writing a book, I actually enjoy my job, I'm going to be lecturing on blogging at my alma mater very soon, my brain is stable, I can officially legally drive my car again, things are falling into place, and that's frighteningly magical.
I do one of these postswhen I can actually think of fun facts whenever I remember to.
I'm 23 now, I don't enjoy builder's tea, the upcoming Gilmore Girls reunion is giving me life, I find vandalism fascinating, if I'm buying a dress I find pockets and fluted sleeves can always sell it 100%, I cannot believe I never appreciated what a magical album American Idiot is when it first came out, I love a good stir fry, men in suits turn me on, I really think quinoa chips are ingenious, my laptop is my baby, when I was at uni the only expensive item I'd allow myself when food shopping was Whole Earth organic crunchy peanut butter, my wardrobe is mostly full of blue, I'm writing a book, I actually enjoy my job, I'm going to be lecturing on blogging at my alma mater very soon, my brain is stable, I can officially legally drive my car again, things are falling into place, and that's frighteningly magical.
I do one of these posts
The London Bartender.
25 August 2016 • attraction, awkward, bartender, drunk, feelings, first step, flirt, flirtation, friends, gracie's life, instinct, life, maybe, meet cute, moving on, sexy, tipsy
I'm
really worried this is going to become a series of sorts...'Gracie's
the Singleton's Totally Ridiculous Misadventures'.
Yes,
I met another guy. Much like that
time on the train, the Brighton-bound retro denim jacket
disaster, I was given all the signals and I went for it. The results
were unexpected.
I
must say here, for probably the thousandth time, that I do not think
that much of myself. Not in regards to romantic interest, anyway.
Does that make sense? Like, if a human shows an interest in me it
will take me FOREVER to a) notice it, and b) believe it. I went on so
many coffee dates and random wanders/drives with my guy friends at
college and then was bought drinks by male pals at uni, before I
realised what was happening. What was their aim. Not aim, hint? They
were hinting. And because I may be quick on the uptake but I suck at
self-esteem sometimes, I would insist all my slightly wiser and more
alert friends were wrong; they didn't fancy me, they couldn't, no
way, they're just being friendly.
So
bearing this in mind, please understand just how blatant and
shamelessly obvious this dude's flirting was. Okay? Even *I* picked
up on it. I was 100% sure of it. Got that? I wasn't imagining
anything. I promise.
Bartender
- let's call him Daniel, because I'll always protect identities on
this blog, even when they don't necessarily deserve it - was chilled
in his speech and thoughtful in posture. He was tall, longish hair
beneath a branded snap back cap. Shouldn't have been my type, but
there was something in his aura. Wiry frame, broad chest, not skinny
but not enormously toned either. Relaxed smile but intense eyes. He
complimented me once or twice, deliberately, coolly, before
sauntering off to serve others.
'Grace?
An elegant name for a beautiful girl.'
He
made me approximately 6 cocktails over the course of the evening. I
would catch him looking my way and when I caught him, he didn't
waver. I liked the easy confidence. He was also surprised, though, it
seemed, by me. Numerous times. He was happily taken aback when I
referenced a TV show he loved; he did that eyebrow-raise lip-purse
when I asked for mint in my drink instead of basil; every now and
again this smile would creep in and I genuinely believed it was just
for me, just because.
I
got tipsy and therefore brave. The perfect level of tipsy, I feel. I
was rocking my jungle red lipstick and grinning with my tongue
between my teeth, which I haven't done for ages. I wrote my number
down on my bar receipt - my number and my full name, should he wish
to find me online. I never do that. I never give out my number. I
take other numbers, as it's safer - or I would, once upon a time, but
these days I'm not getting any nor do I want any.
He
smiled and took the scrap of paper. He unfolded it, smirked, raised
an eyebrow and pocketed it, thanking me. I got whispers of
butterflies and wanted to dance.
I'm
making this sound romantic. It wasn't. It was just a sizzle. A
flirtation. A rare
thing for me at the moment, you understand. I forget how
immensely awesome flirting makes me feel - especially these days,
when my body is especially starved for attention and my gaze is never
settling for long.
He
left the bar, and went home without saying goodbye, as I was watching
the authors at the event reading aloud and stunning the crowd. I was
buzzing. Books, friends, the perfect cocktail, and a nice warm dose
of flirtation. Would it lead anywhere? I didn't know, and wasn't sure
I cared. I felt good about myself. That's all that mattered.
Then
I got the text. As the event wound down and everyone gathered their
things. I got the text, and I showed everyone, wordlessly. I couldn't
quite believe it. I didn't know whether to laugh or seethe. Now, 24
hours on, I can safely say I've done both a fair bit. I've also felt
ashamed, of myself and my behaviour...but then I've reminded myself,
and had good friends remind me too, that I did nothing wrong.
And
he's just a bit of a prick, it seems.
There.
That should tell you all. I've edited out the bits in which he
reveals his name, etc. That's just the upshot of the message.
The
text was a shit sandwich. Niceness, bomb drop, niceness. Sickening
niceness in amongst the stinkiest nonsense. I am sad, yes I am,
because I try and be brave now and again and I just get knocked back.
No, worse, I get strung along and then knocked back. I'm made to feel
silly, like it was all in my head - when I know, based on my fairly
minimal experience in this kind of thing, that it was real and it did
happen. There was something.
All
I can really say after this is...shame.
A
shame, and that poor girlfriend.
This
won't stop me being bold and boosting myself up in the future, but it
may knock me for a while now...
Bartender,
maybe we'll meet again. Probably not. But if we do, I'll be sure to
tell you off in person. xoxo
#Alevelresults.
21 August 2016 • #alevelresults, a level results, a levels, college, life, memories, results, results day, school, uni
5
years ago (almost to the day, cheers Timehop) I received my A Level
results. I've lied about what I got for years, and right now I can't
believe I did. I understand why, I was ashamed at the time, but then
here, in 2016, at 23, I really don't care. I own it.
I
got 3 Cs. CCC.
Sociology
C (only just off a B, my best grade, which is odd because I only took
that subject to fill timetable space), English Lit C (and I had to
retake my AS exam to get that), Drama C (B on the hideous 2.5 hour
exam, C on coursework. I was stunned).
I
was devastated when I received these grades, these bold typed capital
letters printed on thick paper, because it meant I wouldn't be going
to uni.
I'd
received a conditional offer from the University of Winchester a few
months before, and I'd visited not long after applying. It was the
only uni open day I attended that gave me THAT FEEL. The feeling I
needed, the buzz. I was at home there. I walked down the main street
of West Downs Student Village and I knew, I knew I had to be there. I
couldn't not be.
Winchester
required BBC from me, which was very generous of them, according to
all my super-academic and generally genius friends. I, however, found
that daunting. I was great at essays, at coursework, at Drama performances, at
contributing in classes – but exams? No. I couldn't do exams. I'd
choke and crumble and cry. The enormous clock would stare at me as I
sat at that teeny wobbly desk in the local church where we took our
exams; the papers in front of me would slip and shriek under my
hands, knowing I was useless and would cover them in mindless rambles
and messy thoughts. I maintain that that's why I did as poorly as I
did. Well, I thought I did poorly, when in fact 3 Cs is decent and I
shouldn't have been upset. I should have been proud of myself.
Anyway,
I am actually a little grateful that I had a minor breakdown on
Results Day. Yes, I did. I broke right down. I cried and cried, while
my clever friends cheered and hugged, having got everything they
needed – I felt them slipping away from me, no, pulled, I felt them
racing away, fleeing, to their new homes and new lives.
I
wailed down the phone to the university while frantically refreshing
the infernally frozen UCAS web page in the college computer suite.
'I'm
sorry, I dropped grades, I failed, is my place gone? I didn't meet
the offer!'
Then
the kind fella on the phone in Winchester said the magic words, after
I finally got my panicked words out: 'Oh, don't worry. We're still
having you! Yeah, don't worry. Just a formality. We always wanted you. Welcome to Winchester! See you in
September.'
Y'know
why I'm happy I broke down like that? Because it made me see. I
realised just how badly I wanted it. I wanted to go to university.
I'd been doubting it for some time before Results Day, considering
apprenticeships and low-level work-up jobs...but when it came down to
it, uni was something I desperately wanted. I wanted – needed –
that phase of my life to happen.
Having
said that, remember my darling younger readers: it's not everything. That was just my experience, that was what I wanted to do with my life at that point.
Your results are not you. They don't define you. They don't have a
say in what you do with your life. Just remember a) the Clearing
process, if you desperately want that uni life, b) retakes,
apprenticeships, jobs, travelling OPTIONS ALL OF THE OPTIONS, and c)
there's no rush. There's no rush to get anywhere, to do anything;
just do you, be you. You can't go wrong.
- Oh, quick shout-out to the future Creative Writing students at the University
of Winchester – in October 2016, for just one day (at present), you
will be taught about professional writing, specifically blogging, by
ME. I cannot wait to meet you all and rock out in some seminars with
you. I'll bring the snacks. Whoever brings me a coffee gets an
instant First*.
*I
have no power to give Firsts or grades of any description. I will
just love you a lot.
Another customer.
15 August 2016 • bookshop, conversation, creative writing, customer, gracie actually writes, inspired, job, life, real life, work
'Excuse
me, dear?'
'Hi
there! Sorry, I was reading...perks of the job, you know! Can I
help?'
I
had finished two books at this point. I'd done all my jobs for the
day, and it was only me in this quiet little shop. I ate my
sandwiches behind the desk, springing up whenever a customer walked
in, shoving the sandwich bag under the till. At this moment, however,
I was truly absorbed. I was learning about grief – it's a thing
with feathers. Then the woman had appeared. I didn't notice her
coming in. She just...happened.
'Quite
alright. I snuck up on you! Yes, I was wondering if you had any pets
books?'
'Oh,
like How To guides, that kind of thing?'
'No,
just books about pets. See, I don't have a pet these days, I'm too
old for one really, but I like reading about them!'
'You're
not too old, surely! You know the RSPCA does a special weekly
adoption deal? We tried to get my Grandad on it. My sister is also a
volunteer with Blue Cross, she cuddles cats two hours a week, you
could probably...'
'Oh
no, if I adopted an animal I'd have to keep it!'
'True,
I think that's what they aim for actually!'
This
woman was thin, bent over slightly; grey hair, wide but tired eyes.
She had the nicest white lace top on, and as she stood talking to me
she was keeping carefully within herself. She shone quietly.
'So
did your grandad do that adoption thing? How old is he?'
'He
wouldn't, though we tried to convince him to. He's 79!'
'Oh,
79, really?'
I
couldn't tell how old this woman could be – but that's not saying
much, I have very poor judgement with ages. I can't say how old a
small child might be, I'll always say 'under 10'. I can't tell who's
my age and who's older. I get embarrassed when I assume someone is
older than me and they're actually younger. It's a minefield. I hate
guessing ages, too. That's the worst challenge you can pose in a
conversation. That, and asking about a person's faith. Or sexuality.
'Yep,
you wouldn't know it though. He's a spritely fella!'
'Well
I'm 86, dear.'
Her
eyes crinkle, condense and come apart as she smiles. She's shaking
her head, as if she's ashamed of her age. Nobody should ever be
ashamed of their age. We can't control it. We have to own it.
'So
I'm 86, you see, and I recently lost a cat.'
'Oh,
no! I would go mad if I lost my cat. He's my best friend, he really
is. I'm so sorry.'
'Yes
well, I lost him and I'd lost my husband, and my father...it happens,
at my age.'
I'm
lost for words. Then she says it.
'At
my age, at 86, I really can't love anything any more.'
What
can I possibly say to that? I fall down holes as I process the
statement. Love is essential. Love is not the meaning of life, no,
but it's important. It's something we should all have – within us
and around us. I love love. So hearing this...said so casually, like
she's reached the final stage of grief and she's putting her heart
away in a little jewellery box in her bedroom, on her husband's side
of the bed...
'So
that's why I buy pet books. So I can read about pets. But I can't
have one.'
The Magic Number.
12 August 2016 • casual relationship, Grace Talks Sex, gracie actually has opinions, LGBT, LGBTQ, magic number, relationships, sex, sex positive, sexist, taboo
Does
your magic number matter?
We've
all had those chats with friends, usually over drinks obvs, when a game of 'Never Have I Ever' gets pointed and slurry...yeah, it's that chat about our
number. Y'know. That number. No, not your mobile number. Not your
age. Your, ermm, 'magic
number'. Get me now?
Yes,
the magic number. Your number of sexual partners. Yeah.
This
is a fun topic of conversation – provided it is a conversation
between friends you trust and not with nosy strangers trying to chat
you up on the dance floor, and that there is enough of a mutual
(spoken or unspoken) understanding between you that no matter what
your friend's magic number is, big or small, you will NOT judge them
for it. That information will not taint your opinion of them; it will
not alter your perception or ignite any unpleasantness.
When
I was at uni, I had a lot of friends in halls or shared houses who
would compile lists that all house mates could contribute to as and
when, e.g. the list in the kitchen of each house mate or visitor's
allergies/food preferences, or the times they each took the bins
out...and then of course, there were the 'funny' lists, too. The most
common was always the Chunder Chart...and the Shag Chart.
Some
of my friends were absolutely diligent in their updating of the Shag
Chart. One guy I knew even raced out of his bedroom wrapped in a
duvet, with a slight semi, to add a notch to his section of the
chart. He then got a round of high-fives and returned to his room for
round 2. The main rule of the Shag Chart was simple: each individual
you shag in your flat/house, not each shag. For instance, if you bring
someone home from a night out once, then that's one tally mark. If
you have a long-term partner who visits every weekend and spends the
greater proportion of that weekend in your bed then they get one mark
too, and no more. Them's the rules, kids. It was very strict, and fair.
Now, that
was in 2011. If anything I feel that sexuality is ten times more open
and just acceptable than it was back then...y'know? Back then
having a Shag Chart was 'casual classic bantz' but also a bit of a
thrill as we students had been so tame – and maybe repressed –
until then in our family homes and quiet towns. Most of us could
count the amount of times we'd got laid on one hand. Freshers
Fortnight turned all of that around.
Five
years on, in 2016, sex is more of a talked about concept and, in some cases, issue.
People feel they can be more open and give detail of certain
encounters or experiences among friends – or online for the world
to hear and read about! *waves to fellow sex-positive bloggers &
vloggers*
I
personally have always felt that the Magic Number concept is fraught
with terror when it really needn't be.
As
a woman I am frequently made to feel like a hideous nympho freak for
having and enjoying sex. Let alone having and enjoying sex with more
than one other human in my entire life. Then on the flip side, men
are considered 'weird' or worse if they only bonk the one person and
not a never-ending stream of conquests.
This
hideous double-standard always makes me think of a school friend's
Bebo 'skin' back in 2003, all pink and glittery and sarcastic: a
girl kisses 2 guyz, she a hoe – a guy bangs 2 gurlz, he's a ledge??
That's
how things feel if you're straight, anyway – LGBTQ friends, please
enlighten me, is this an issue in your communities?
I am on the verge of starting up an Adam Hills-style 'don't be a dick' rant, I know, but I really cannot say it enough: your Magic Number, big or small or middling or non-existent, does not matter. If you enjoyed each encounter, or perhaps didn't but learned something from it, or (I'm so sorry if this is the case) you feel you need to scratch a digit or two off due to nastiness, then fine. To each their own. Do you. Never be ashamed or embarrassed. Never let someone make you feel ashamed or embarrassed. I don't know, it can all get so silly and so OTT; please be good to yourself, that's all.
How do YOU feel about this? Have you ever been made to feel 'slutty', or 'frigid' because of your Magic Number? Do you even know what the number is or do you not count? ANY OPINIONS WELCOME, I am such a hoe for opinions...thank you, friends!
Recent Reads: My Holiday in July.
9 August 2016 • Alice Oseman, book, book reviews, books, Emma Gannon, girl lost in the city, gracie actually reads, holiday, Holly Bourne, non-fiction, poolside, reading, reviews, UKYA, YA, YA fiction, young adult fiction
I
really enjoyed my gal Emma Oulton's Bustle post about reading 8 books in 8 days on holiday – so much so that it somewhat inspired
this post! Another Recent Reads, this time all books featured being
read on my 5 day holiday to the gorgeous island of Majorca!
Ctrl
Alt Delete: How I Grew Up Online, by
Emma Gannon.
The
perfect start to my holiday. I took this out and opened it for the
very first time when we were on the plane, having resisted reading
any the night before, and by the time we landed I was over halfway
through. It was speaking to me on every level. Full review to come,
with next level gushing and some cringe-tastic anecdotes, don't y'all
worry!
I
kept saying, to my dad and grandad, that my friend wrote the book. I
referred to it as 'my friend Emma's book'. Because that's how Emma,
the girl lost in the city who is doing pretty darn well if that's
still the case, feels to me. Like an old school friend, who inspires
me every Sunday via email and most days via tweet and blog.
If
I Was Your Girl, by Meredith
Russo.
I
rarely get attached to, no I mean invested in, stories written in an
alien place to me. Ermm, I promise I'm not a Brexit supporter (eww)
or one of those ignorant mindless xenophobes (what even, tho, guys)
but I can't help it, I just feel more comfortable and content reading
a contemporary story set in the UK. American tales can get me going,
but they have to be properly cracking to do so, it seems. I'm working
on it...
Moving
on from my shameful literary small-mindedness, I LOVED THIS BOOK.
Holy shit, it was powerful as can be and gorgeous, just dripping with
feeling and beauty. Just, read it guys. ASAP. It opened my eyes and
warmed (and hurt) my heart.
What's
A Girl Gotta Do? by Holly
Bourne.
This
inspired a recent post – a post it took me ages to work up the nerve to actually...post. I know, rare for me, right? I tend to go
in all guns blazing and eccentricities out in the open!
I
thoroughly enjoyed the third in the Spinster Club trilogy. I love
that it's a 3-parter that isn't like, a strict traditional 3-parter.
You can pick up any of these books and read, it doesn't really
totally properly matter the order. But obvs it's best to obey the
publication dates appropriately.
I
knew I'd love this. I knew it. Holly said at an event recently that
she was worried about writing this instalment in the girls' story,
because she knew Lottie would be the biggest ask – and maybe the
biggest pain in the arse?! – but whoa, she slayed. It was worth the
wait. I always knew Lottie was my fave.
Holly Bourne is winning at social media recently. From her mad trend on Twitter #IAmAFeminist to her epic YouTube collabs - I particularly loved her video with my excellent friend Stevie. Oh, and the one with Hannah Witton. Also the one with gorgeous Amber. ALL OF THE VIDEOS.
Holly Bourne is winning at social media recently. From her mad trend on Twitter #IAmAFeminist to her epic YouTube collabs - I particularly loved her video with my excellent friend Stevie. Oh, and the one with Hannah Witton. Also the one with gorgeous Amber. ALL OF THE VIDEOS.
This
book officially came out on Monday 1st
August. What a lovely day that was. A book was released, and I turned 23. An excellent collision of events. I am more than happy to
share my day with Lottie's expulsion into bookshops.
*the cover in my pic is a PROOF that I was lucky enough to receive. See here for the actual gorgeous proper cover!*
*the cover in my pic is a PROOF that I was lucky enough to receive. See here for the actual gorgeous proper cover!*
Radio
Silence, by
Alice Oseman.
I
have no clue why this took me so long to read. I started it when it
was released, months
ago,
and yet I had to put it aside for a while and pick it back up on
holiday. I'll say this was because I needed to treat it with care and
allow it maximum time and concentration for the perfect story to sink
in and affect me – oh wait, that's 100% true. I just didn't realise
it when I left it less-than-half-finished a few months back. When I
finally picked it up again, I stormed through 300 pages in 2 days.
I bloody love Alice Oseman. She is everything I wanna be. A published author, a happy graduate who hilariously documented most of her worst uni experiences on Twitter, and Lauren James' best friend. I recently attended a talk the two of them hosted at YALC (YALC, OMG YALC) and they blew my mind repeatedly.
I bloody love Alice Oseman. She is everything I wanna be. A published author, a happy graduate who hilariously documented most of her worst uni experiences on Twitter, and Lauren James' best friend. I recently attended a talk the two of them hosted at YALC (YALC, OMG YALC) and they blew my mind repeatedly.
Back to the book. I am usually a bit irritated by the use of social media in contemporary
novels. It rubs me up the wrong way, for some reason. It's mostly
because I hate reading the word 'Facebook' in a book. It's like a
First World modern day phobia. However, Alice aced it. Smashed it.
This book was everything. The social media was crucial and perfect,
her take on it all was spot on and brilliant. Like, yeah.
So, those were the books I read by the pool at the luxurious hotel in Majorca. When I wasn't drinking gin on the balcony and playing cards with my Dad & Grandad, I was reading. It was a magical holiday. Again, please? I'd happily re-read each of these if need be!
So, those were the books I read by the pool at the luxurious hotel in Majorca. When I wasn't drinking gin on the balcony and playing cards with my Dad & Grandad, I was reading. It was a magical holiday. Again, please? I'd happily re-read each of these if need be!
Taking up residence in the Idiot Nation.
7 August 2016 • American Idiot, american idiot musical, Billy Joe Armstrong, fangirl, gracie gets dramatic, Green Day, london, memories, music, musical, Newton Faulkner, review, teenager, theatre, west end
I
recently purchased the album American Idiot by Green Day. As in, I
went into HMV and bought the actual physical CD in its plastic case,
with security wrapping around it and a track list on the back. I did
that. I took it home and ripped off the packaging and put it in my
laptop's disc drive. Now all of that, that series of events, that is
retro in the extreme, no? Well, it seemed fitting. I couldn't just
click and download this particular album. I had to have it in my
modest 'miscellaneous CDs' box on the shelf by my bed – although
now I'm driving again it'll have to go in the car! – and
I had to take my time bringing it home and putting it onto my iPod. I
had to make it a ceremonial moment. Because, my friends, what I'm
getting at here in this seemingly endless paragraph of nonsense
is...this album is important to me.
The
reason I bought my own copy of American Idiot, finally, was because
I had booked in to see the epic stage show at the Arts Theatre in
London.
But I'll get to that in a minute. First, let's go back in time
and hear why Gracie loves the old school Green Day so freakin' much.
This
album followed me around as a teenager. And has done some more as an
adult. Although I never owned it myself, all of my friends seemed to.
And every 'emo kid', 'scene kid' at my school, hell, even the chavs
loved it. It was played in classrooms on Sony Eriksson phones before
the teacher came in, and when we were heading home to chat to each
other some more on MSN Messenger. My
best friend would often nudge me in Maths classes and sing quietly,
calling me an Australian Idiot, and we'd giggle. The
only song I could ever play on electric guitar, it seemed, was Wake
Me Up When September Ends. Some
family friends had a cracking mini music festival in their back
garden for a few years in a row, and one of the acts sang a mash-up
of Green Day and Oasis.
At 16, my first boyfriend and I would find that Boulevard of Broken Dreams would inexplicably always come on the iPod speakers beside his bed as we laid there, cramped and cuddling, after a solid 10 minutes of sexy time.
At 16, my first boyfriend and I would find that Boulevard of Broken Dreams would inexplicably always come on the iPod speakers beside his bed as we laid there, cramped and cuddling, after a solid 10 minutes of sexy time.
When
I had just turned 19 I went to my first (and last) music festival,
Reading 2012. I camped with my not-boyfriend (not-but-kinda-was) and
other lovely friends; we got Early Bird tickets and were there
Wednesday to Sunday. It was a weird and slightly hideous experience generally,
but a highlight was when Green Day took to the 'secret stage' or
whatever it was as a surprise act. We were knocking back beers at
10am Friday when suddenly we heard the unmistakable guitar strum ring
out across the campsite. We tore off immediately because we all
needed to see Billy Joe in the flesh and let our inner teen selves
rock out.
The
glee club at my uni (no, I was not part of that, as if) sang
Whatshername at their end of year showcase, and I fancied the guy
who led it.
Second
year of uni, still 19, I had a disastrously anti-climatic one-nighter
with a guy who'd stopped in on his way home from seeing the original
production in London. When I stupidly asked 'So it's a jukebox musical? Is it like a Mamma Mia
thing? Like, a band, in a musical?' he replied: 'yeah sure, take
Mamma Mia, kick it in the balls, and you're almost there with this
show.'
Aha,
this brings me to the show. A few friends of mine have seen it,
including my gal Clare. I've heard nothing but rave reviews. I was
always interested, I always peered at the posters outside the Arts
Theatre when walking past into Orbital Comics. Nothing spurred me
into buying a ticket, that is until...Newton. Ah, that lovely fella.
I saw him live recently for the second time and he'd just announced
he was taking over the role of Johnny on the tour – alas, none of
the tour dates worked for me and every show was a couple million
miles away from me, it wasn't meant to be. But then they announced
they'd return to London and BOOM, I was there.
Shout-out
to my dedicated and excellent theatre buddy Jim @YAYeahYeah, he is a
wizard when it comes to theatre trips and tickets. I don't know how
he did it, but we got Row D seats for £20 each. Pretty darn sweet.
So the first time I saw this show, Newton wasn't performing due to illness. I had the weirdest feeling as we entered the theatre, almost as if I knew - even though I didn't know for sure...it was a nasty premonition, really. Sure enough, there were posters up saying the role of Johnny would be played by Lawrence Libor that night. I felt a little deflated (and actually decided right there and then that I simply had to return and see Newton someday) but carried on into the theatre. I am so happy I did. Lawrence was a treat - for the eyes and the ears! He looked young and sensitive, yet tormented by the dark forces. His acting was supreme, and the voice was exceptional. He did the trick for me - I didn't even mind getting the late train home that night, because I was high on his performance. Same with his supporting cast, of course, the gang of fellas the show centres around and of course the gorgeous gals who tempt and try them throughout, all magical.
This meant I was fully prepared to see the show again, two weeks later, thanks to LOVETheatre's 15-hour £15 flash sale (Row F on a Saturday night for £15 each? Pretty effing sweet, no? I tell you, that one deal is worth the endless offer emails I now receive from the LOVETheatre guys). I saw the lovely Newton, tossing his perfect little shot of dreads about, literally climbing the walls and lending his unique vibes to the now old-school songs. I knew it would be odd at first, seeing him being someone else - someone who stuck their middle fingers up a lot and never showered and took drugs - but I properly loved it and believed the performance.
The three key lads were my favourites. Them, and St Jimmy - he was a delightfully wicked (and totally sexy) metaphor of a character. Tunny, the war hero, played by Alexis Gerred, was immensely unreal. His voice exploded from him, and it was magical. Also the whole way through I was wondering why I felt I knew Will, played by Steve Rushton, so then I looked him up and realised he is a mega star who happened to play in yet another band I loved as a teen. What a cowinkydink.
I am so excited to have a ticket to see this epic show a third time in September, again thanks to my marvellous friend Jim who abused the 15-hour £15 sale as well to get me the perfect birthday present.
Highlights (are insanely hard to pick because the entire show was a highlight. It was an endless stream of excitement, like whoa): The song and arrangement of Give Me Novacaine, the fighting and the, ermm, not-fighting, were perfection. The badass women in the show, throwing the men about when they needed a wake up call. The throwing of stuff, which happened a lot.
And yes, NF in his little black boxers was a highlight too. I guess. Yeah.
My absolute favourite thing about seeing this show? That there were moments, there were certain songs, when you could hear the artist belting them out onstage and we, the audience, were singing along oh-so quietly. During Boulevard of Broken Dreams for instance, and Wake Me Up When September Ends, all around me I was hearing the loveliest, lightest yet most intense whispering of the words. Because we were swept away and in our element. So I must thank the gorgeous cast for that.
See you in September, idiots!
So the first time I saw this show, Newton wasn't performing due to illness. I had the weirdest feeling as we entered the theatre, almost as if I knew - even though I didn't know for sure...it was a nasty premonition, really. Sure enough, there were posters up saying the role of Johnny would be played by Lawrence Libor that night. I felt a little deflated (and actually decided right there and then that I simply had to return and see Newton someday) but carried on into the theatre. I am so happy I did. Lawrence was a treat - for the eyes and the ears! He looked young and sensitive, yet tormented by the dark forces. His acting was supreme, and the voice was exceptional. He did the trick for me - I didn't even mind getting the late train home that night, because I was high on his performance. Same with his supporting cast, of course, the gang of fellas the show centres around and of course the gorgeous gals who tempt and try them throughout, all magical.
This meant I was fully prepared to see the show again, two weeks later, thanks to LOVETheatre's 15-hour £15 flash sale (Row F on a Saturday night for £15 each? Pretty effing sweet, no? I tell you, that one deal is worth the endless offer emails I now receive from the LOVETheatre guys). I saw the lovely Newton, tossing his perfect little shot of dreads about, literally climbing the walls and lending his unique vibes to the now old-school songs. I knew it would be odd at first, seeing him being someone else - someone who stuck their middle fingers up a lot and never showered and took drugs - but I properly loved it and believed the performance.
The three key lads were my favourites. Them, and St Jimmy - he was a delightfully wicked (and totally sexy) metaphor of a character. Tunny, the war hero, played by Alexis Gerred, was immensely unreal. His voice exploded from him, and it was magical. Also the whole way through I was wondering why I felt I knew Will, played by Steve Rushton, so then I looked him up and realised he is a mega star who happened to play in yet another band I loved as a teen. What a cowinkydink.
Highlights (are insanely hard to pick because the entire show was a highlight. It was an endless stream of excitement, like whoa): The song and arrangement of Give Me Novacaine, the fighting and the, ermm, not-fighting, were perfection. The badass women in the show, throwing the men about when they needed a wake up call. The throwing of stuff, which happened a lot.
And yes, NF in his little black boxers was a highlight too. I guess. Yeah.
My absolute favourite thing about seeing this show? That there were moments, there were certain songs, when you could hear the artist belting them out onstage and we, the audience, were singing along oh-so quietly. During Boulevard of Broken Dreams for instance, and Wake Me Up When September Ends, all around me I was hearing the loveliest, lightest yet most intense whispering of the words. Because we were swept away and in our element. So I must thank the gorgeous cast for that.
See you in September, idiots!
(All photos belong to americanidiotthemusical.co.uk, except the top one which is mine!)
Flying high and dry.
5 August 2016 • doing me, dry spell, female masturbation, Grace Talks Sex, gracie actually has opinions, gracie's life, life, me, sex, taboo, wanking
I'm in the midst of...wait, no, I'm not in the midst of anything. That's the point I'm making. Well, I believe what's affecting me at the moment is called 'a dry spell'. Now that's always sounded a bit sad and gross to me, but oh well. For lack of a better expression, I am in a dry spell. Spelling dry.
This is not a disaster for me, oh no - I don't know if any of you saw this somewhat controversial but mega important blog post, but if you did then you know I can handle myself. As it were. But still, it would be rather lovely to have someone else helping me out. *ahem*
I recently read Laura Jane Williams' 'Becoming' and it astounded me in its brilliance, its rawness...but then I astounded myself with my ability to relate to it. Even though I haven't ever spent time in an Italian convent, or flown to New York to confess my love for a man, or taken a vow of celibacy...but I may as well have, right now. However I am not that religious or committed to anything.
I'm getting to my point guys, bear with...
I'm getting to my point guys, bear with...
This dry spell is actually somewhat self-inflicted.
Let me explain. I have been taking care of myself recently. And no, that isn't only in reference to my manic wanking. It's also a general thing. For the past 8 months, it has been all about me. Doing me (again, I don't mean just the she-bopping). It was only last year, amidst another medical nightmare, and after a bit of counselling, that I realised just how little I thought of myself. More importantly, how I didn't prioritise myself. I came second to everyone else in my life - even, in some cases, the people who bullied me. At times especially the people who bullied me.
They say illnesses give you perspective; that when they rip the roof off your safe place and shove you headfirst into the shit, they are actually doing the tiniest bit of good because they shine a light on what matters - and what really doesn't. For me, the light shone on...me.
Since this startling realisation, I have deliberately gone out of my way to make myself happy, first. If anyone else gets a few good vibes in the process, so much the better.
In my relentless pursuit of fun and me-time, I have done the following things...
-- Seen mad amounts of theatre, despite the cost. With friends, and alone. A highlight was when I saw a matinee of Wicked in London, just me. It was literally magical.
-- Written (most of) a book. It's currently being tweaked and polished within an inch of its life, and then who knows? I may just send it to someone and make it a real, legit thing.
-- Blogged so so much more. Which I know y'all love, right?
-- Got a new job. I finally acknowledged - no, admitted - that I wasn't happy in my former workplace. I needed to do something that suited me better and made me endlessly happy. Thus, I became a bookseller.
-- I've made my own Netflix account and included my family in it, giving them all accounts and linking it up (painstakingly) on the family home TV.
-- I've started looking into more tattoos, more artists. Emailing and booking. Things I really want. Things that make my body more my own space. Body positivity has been a big thing I've been working on in recent months, and it feels pretty sweet.
-- I read some bloody excellent books.
There are so many more things I've done, and the majority of them can be found in my previous post. The one I wrote on my birthday, because clearly I have a next level blogging addiction. But I knew that already.
So, my dry spell has actually been quite pleasant and rewarding. Would you believe it?
Since this startling realisation, I have deliberately gone out of my way to make myself happy, first. If anyone else gets a few good vibes in the process, so much the better.
In my relentless pursuit of fun and me-time, I have done the following things...
-- Seen mad amounts of theatre, despite the cost. With friends, and alone. A highlight was when I saw a matinee of Wicked in London, just me. It was literally magical.
-- Written (most of) a book. It's currently being tweaked and polished within an inch of its life, and then who knows? I may just send it to someone and make it a real, legit thing.
-- Blogged so so much more. Which I know y'all love, right?
-- Got a new job. I finally acknowledged - no, admitted - that I wasn't happy in my former workplace. I needed to do something that suited me better and made me endlessly happy. Thus, I became a bookseller.
-- I've made my own Netflix account and included my family in it, giving them all accounts and linking it up (painstakingly) on the family home TV.
-- I've started looking into more tattoos, more artists. Emailing and booking. Things I really want. Things that make my body more my own space. Body positivity has been a big thing I've been working on in recent months, and it feels pretty sweet.
-- I read some bloody excellent books.
There are so many more things I've done, and the majority of them can be found in my previous post. The one I wrote on my birthday, because clearly I have a next level blogging addiction. But I knew that already.
So, my dry spell has actually been quite pleasant and rewarding. Would you believe it?
If it helps you to get your head around this, readers, yes I do miss sex. I really do. I've almost forgotten what it feels like. But I haven't had time for it! I haven't prioritised it. Maybe sometime in the near future I will, again, like I used to. Maybe. But for now? I'm doing me. In every respect.
*winks*
Happy Birthday Me, Nobody Likes You When You're 23.
1 August 2016 • 22, 23, birthday, future, gracie's life, last year, memories, next year, year
Thing that happened when I was 22.
I recovered from my second lot of brain surgery. My family and I had our first Christmas without Grandma. I spent New Year's Eve in London, in a sparkly silver dress, with my uni friends, drinking vodka and orange juice. My little sis turned 18, and I treated her to a big surprise day out. I got another tattoo. I went to Berlin for the second time. The family, we four, went to Disneyland Paris. I started writing for The Olive Fox. I visited London approximately 104 times, and 70 of those times I stayed overnight. I stuck the middle finger up at the girl who bullied my sis at school. I actually got along with and firmly befriended a friend's perfect son - despite me being ridiculously bad with kids.
I saw 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang', 'Matilda: The Musical' (2nd time), 'Beyond The Fence', 'Wicked' (3rd time), 'American Idiot', Kenneth Brannagh's 'Romeo & Juliet'. Also 'Avenue Q', Vincent & Flavia's last hurrah dance show, and several other plays at the lovely Eastbourne Theatres.
I saw my 3 all-time favourite artists - Newton Faulkner, Joshua Radin, and Dallas Green - live. I started back at work in the cafe. I got a dream job, I became a bookseller at my local Waterstones.
I attended dozens upon dozens of incredible book events; launches, drinks, signings, panels. I met authors I idolised, and a lot of them became friends of mine. I realised the magical phenomenon that is book mail. My blog surpassed 200,000 views.
The weekend leading up to my 23rd birthday, I attended YALC for the very first time and realised it is everything I want and everything I someday hope to be.
I took a moth in my bare hands and put it out a window - I did this on the evening of July 31st, and I swear it may be my biggest achievement of being 22.
It's been a heck of a year. I still have a way to go before I'm 25, thankfully, which as I've said before in a post is supposedly the year you have to get your shit together (?!). I'm not the best at remembering what happens at what age, my concept of time is terrible (and I realised this yet again when writing this post, whoa), but hopefully the year of 23 will be a good one. One I remember clearly.
Things that will definitely be happening when I am 23.
- I'll guest lecture at my alma mater, the University of Winchester, on a module entitled Professional Writing.
- My reconstruction surgery. Possibly.
- I'll be driving again. After 2 years of having my licence held by the DVLA. (I called them on my 23rd birthday, today, and got this news. Best present ever? Maybe.)
Things that I hope will be happening when I am 23.
I'll stop biting my nails. I'll go to Australia and see my family as part of that graduation solo trip I planned so many years ago and never got to do.
I'll see the Harry Potter & The Cursed Child play.
I'll get an agent. And maybe a publishing deal situation.
I will keep loving myself, my body and my mind.
It's been a heck of a year. I still have a way to go before I'm 25, thankfully, which as I've said before in a post is supposedly the year you have to get your shit together (?!). I'm not the best at remembering what happens at what age, my concept of time is terrible (and I realised this yet again when writing this post, whoa), but hopefully the year of 23 will be a good one. One I remember clearly.
Things that will definitely be happening when I am 23.
- I'll guest lecture at my alma mater, the University of Winchester, on a module entitled Professional Writing.
- My reconstruction surgery. Possibly.
- I'll be driving again. After 2 years of having my licence held by the DVLA. (I called them on my 23rd birthday, today, and got this news. Best present ever? Maybe.)
Things that I hope will be happening when I am 23.
I'll stop biting my nails. I'll go to Australia and see my family as part of that graduation solo trip I planned so many years ago and never got to do.
I'll see the Harry Potter & The Cursed Child play.
I'll get an agent. And maybe a publishing deal situation.
I will keep loving myself, my body and my mind.
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