The Gallery: Pride

I struggled with the seven deadly sins theme for the Sticky Fingers gallery this week.

Unfortunately I didn't have time to think about, or take a photograph of, all seven deadly sins.

One 'sin' that I've been thinking about a lot is pride. Is it really sinful to be proud? The British don't like to brag about their successes (clearly this is a sweeping generalisation). 

You see, something wonderful has happened and I want to take pride in it, but I'm worried that it will look like I'm bragging or being big-headed about it. Is anyone else interested? Does anyone else care? It's important to me though and I am proud, so I will share.

Earlier this year I received an email. This email was sent to anyone that had read at Word Soup, either as an invited performer or at one of the open mic slots. Word Soup is Preston's live literature night. I have been in the audience for almost all of the monthly performances and thoroughly enjoyed them. I even plucked up the courage to read in an open mic slot a couple of months ago. I read a 93 word piece of flash fiction in one breath. As I walked off stage I felt rather unwell!

We were asked to submit a piece of writing to be read at the first anniversary of Word Soup. This piece would also be included in a 'best of' book. I submitted the piece I wrote about my Dad, 'My Old Man'.

To my utter amazement and delight my piece was chosen. Last night I was on the bill for Word Soup. Here I am on the poster. Yes, I know it's not strictly a photograph, but it is a picture of sorts.

Initially I felt like a fraud, a chancer. I felt like I shouldn't be up there. People were going to pay to hear me (and others) speak. Holy Moly. 

After some soul-searching I decided that I had every right to be there. I had been invited. I rehearsed my reading so that I wouldn't cry as I read it. I practised reading slowly and breathing.

It paid off. I read last night, on a stage, into a microphone. People laughed in the appropriate places. At the end they applauded and wiped away tears. I was lucky to have Andy and my lovely writing group and writing course friends there to support me.

I was asked if I would like to read at another literature event. Next month the book will be launched - how exciting! 

I'm under no illusions that I am now a writer, or that I am special.

But...

Yes, I am proud.

.

The Gallery: Pride

A Carnival, a Bath, Soup and Pygmies

Firstly, in case you haven't seen it, the best of the British Mummy Bloggers Hallowe'en carnival is being hosted by Hot Cross Mum. Head over there for some parenting horror stories!

In other news the Great Toy Guide just gets bigger and better. We have been testing reusable advent calendars. Those reviews are coming soon. You can now find the GTG on Twitter too.

The Calico household tried some of the Tinti natural bath products, including popping bath candy. You can read my review here.

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Finally, I mentioned in an earlier post that I had printed out a short story that I had written. I was planning to take it to Word Soup, Preston's live literature night. Well, I took it last week and it stayed in my bag the whole night.

Last night I went to a mini Word Soup event. It was primarily a poetry evening, but other people read prose at the open mic. I plucked up courage during the interval and put my name down for a spot in the second half.

When I was introduced I stood up and made my way to the microphone. I told the audience that this was the first time I had read any of my work in public. I took a deep breath and read my story. Towards the end I struggled to keep my breathing regular. I read the last line and with shaking hands I folded my 750 words. The applause lasted until I sat down.

At the end of the night several people came over to tell me they had enjoyed my story, that they couldn't believe how confidently I read and that I should definitely carry on writing. I was in shock! Complete strangers were so kind and supportive.

I originally called my little story 'Halloween Party', but later changed my mind to 'Playing With Fire'. It is particularly apt for this time of year anyway. I'm delighted to say that it was published today on The Pygmy Giant and you can read it here if you like.

A Carnival, a Bath, Soup and Pygmies

I'm a Stay At Home Mum (SAHM)

I had a lovely night out tonight at Word Soup, Preston's premier live literature event. Well, that's what they call it, and it's true!

In the interval a young woman at the next table turned her chair round to say hello. She didn't want to be sat on her own. Mel was a journalism student, 20, who was live-tweeting the event.

She was very friendly, although I guessed we didn't have a great deal in common. Then she asked me a question. A question I'm still not used to answering.

She asked me 'what do you do?'.

In the past I would usually say 'I'm an accountant', sometimes I would say 'I work in accounts'. I would use the latter when I suspected the questioner would ask me if I would prepare their accounts. 'I'm not that sort of accountant' I'd say. 'I work in industry' I'd have to explain. 'I manage an accounts department'. It's easier not to say 'accountant' sometimes.

More recently I was able to say 'I'm on maternity leave', then 'I'm an accountant' or whatever.

Now I'm a stay at home mum. That's what I am. It's what I've always wanted to be.

So why do I feel awkward saying it out loud to people? I'm not ashamed, or am I?

Perhaps I associate 'stay at home mum' with 'housewife'. It's a connotation that makes me uncomfortable because of the negative way these roles are portrayed by the media. The stereotypical stay at home mum sits on her lazy fat backside all day watching Jeremy Kyle.

This is not what I do. Unless Presley and Cash are both asleep, I am looking after them. I'm feeding them, washing them, reading to them, playing with them and cuddling them.

I'm doing an important job. There's no job more important than raising children. What I really mean is there's no job more important to me than raising my children.

Back to tonight. I said 'I'm a stay at home mum'. I followed it up by saying that my boys were two and one so I had my hands full. I think I said this to justify my existence. Mel, as it turned out, loves babies. She also looked genuinely surprised when I said I was 39. She said I was the youngest 39 year old she had ever seen.

I knew we'd get on.

Am I on my own in feeling slightly strange when I have to say out loud that I'm a stay at home mum? How do you answer the question 'what do you do?'?

I'm a Stay At Home Mum (SAHM)