Meditations on the art of suck

A new season of ‘So You Think You Can Dance?’ rolls around, and this year, instead of just gazing dreamily at the contestants from the comfort of my couch, I went out and joined some dance classes at one of those fashionable gyms nearby. Hip Hop/Music Video and Street Jazz, two hours a week – just another part of my ‘Abby as a functional adult’ plans for the summer.

Now, something that you need to know about me is that I’m a fast learner. My whole life, I’ve been able to pick things up pretty quick – from games and sports, to school subjects, to new concepts and ideas, I study hard and I get them right. I may not have grace or natural flair, or ever be the best, but I’m competent, always.

And now I suck.

I was a pre-teen ballerina, and leapt and twirled all over the place. There are photos of me with my hair caught back in tight little plaits, winning trophies and all that, but I’m telling you, whatever natural ability I had has completely vanished in the, umm, 15 years since then. Because I really do suck. I stumble over every step; my feet go right when I need them to go left; my arms flail randomly when they need to hit precise angles. Every other girl in the class bends and snaps and picks it up in three seconds flat, and meanwhile it takes me 3/4 of the class just to shuffle along in vaguely the right routine. I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not.

At first, I felt lost and bewildered, and then kind of angry at my own body, but then I realised (as I messed up the step-step-lunge-turn for a fifth time) that It’s OK. I may not be used to it, but it’s OK for me to suck at something I’ve never done before. It’s OK for me to be worse than everyone else – no matter how much I wish I could just be perfect. I mean, this is probably the first time in 5 years I’ve instructed my body to move – and I mean really move, not just from the couch to my desk. I don’t know how to adjust to dance timing, I don’t know how to pick up routines, and I sure as hell don’t know how to do that awesome leaning-back-head-snap-bounce thing.

And it’s OK. I’m having fun, my heartrate is rising above, umm, sleeping level for a change, and those 8 beats I manage to get by the end of class? They feel pretty damn awesome. Now, I could use some big extended metaphor here, and talk about how I’ve forced myself to forget how much I sucked at writing when I started out, and the 5 years it’s taken me to get where I am – on way more than 2 hrs a week – and how diligence and perseverance are the whole battle when taking on something new…

…But I have to go take a shower and collapse now. Next week, the awesome leaning-back-head-snap-bounce thing will be mine!

Crystalised

Sometimes I find I have a limited number of words. If I’m writing a novel, (a dreaded first draft, at least), then my blogging falls off, I can’t mange other journalism, even decent emails to anyone wither into few-line updates and twitter-like bursts. I’m in the other world, trying to give that character thoughts and actions; my own seem secondary. Chalk it up as another not-too-healthy writing habit I’m developing, along with all-day pajama-fests, hermit-like spells, and over-reliance on HIMYM as short spells of distraction. 

Must. Do. Better. 

Anyway, here’s a band I’ve been swooning over lately, a new London group called the XX. Their debut album is wonderful, one of those slow-grow, intense affairs that really lingers. I think it’s coming out next month, but I got a preview thanks to one of the stack of puffy envelopes that cascade through our door every day (the bounty of living with someone who still is in the music journalism game. Oh, freebies, I remember thee).

I know things are quiet here…

… but I never shut up over at Twitter. Follow me!

A morning smile

Glee

Mike Barthel has an excellent essay up about the promise of Glee, a new show which they cruelly piloted last week but won’t be showing until fall.

“…So much of the culture of the 00s was and is tied up with the particular kind of economic prosperity that we can now mark as part of the past, and while the destruction of that culture does not negate the good things that came out of it, such desctruction does make it very hard for pop creators to regard it as normal. Almost every single significant piece of pop culture from the previous part of this decade would, if it were created today, either look very different or much less relevent. Almost everyone on television was affluent–not even middle class, but affluent–and the shiny bliss that 00s pop does so well reeks, as it was intended to do, of money money money….Which is why I liked the first episode of Glee so much: it is the first TV series that’s about this decade rather than a part of this decade. ..”

As usual, Mike takes a pop culture moment and makes me think about it in an entirely new way, which the best cultural critics do. His blogging is sporadic, but definitely worth a visit.

This time last year…

 

Another spring, another city. In 2007, it was Cambridge, Massachusetts; 2008, Montreal, Quebec, and now, despite years of protest and resistance, I’m spending 2009 in London, England. Maybe it was good I held out so long, because it meant I travelled far, and met all kinds of people, but I’ve been feeling the desire to nest more  and not live out of my suitcase for once. Which means, come July, I’ll be moving into a shiny new Shoreditch flat with one of my best friends for (deep breath) a whole year.

A year! I haven’t been in one place that long since I was 21, back in the depths of Sussex, working part-time as a receptionist in the local alternative health clinic (because in my village, it doesn’t count as health unless there’s reiki, homeopathy and acupuncture on the books). And then along came my whim to use my life savings to go cross the Atlantic and, well, live a little. And then along came that first book deal…

Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing this past week: pounding the pavements, fainting at London rental prices, and toiling on that next book of mine. Plus, reading vast amounts of apartment therapy in preparation for my move-in, and reveling in the first pretty dresses of the season.

(I need to start taking photos again.)

The c-word

So far, I think I’ve managed to avoid a diatribe about critical perspectives on female-centric literature, aka, the chick-lit wars. Basically, as a) a woman, who b) reads, and c) writes what is generally thought of as chick-lit, it’s hard not for me to start fuming when people make sweeping, ill-informed, hugely derogatory statements about the genre I not only love, but pretty much spend hours every day working on. It’s cultural elitism, but with a handy sexist edge, so usually, I just raise my eyebrows, heave a sigh of disdain, and move on without raising my blood pressure too high.

And then I read Jincy Willett’s review of ‘Secrets to Happiness‘ in the New York Times. Now, I eagerly snapped up an advance copy of this book, because Sarah Dunn’s ‘The Big Love’ was one of the best of the early(ish) wave of chick-lit – a ’small’ book in terms of plot, but big on character, nuance, and lovely lines. And ‘Secrets to Happiness’ is wonderful too, in a darkly depressing way. I read it in one sitting, on a cold New York day, and then promptly despaired about the crappy morals and self-justification of all the disappointing people in the world. But in a good way!

Anyway, back to Jincy… She likes the book, I think, but only because she’s certain that it can’t possibly be chick-lit. “..Besides, it’s not about shoes. And the shopping is for books, at the Strand. Also, unlike chick lit, chick TV and chick movies, “Secrets to Happiness” is actually funny.” 

And thus in one fell swoop, she ensures her review has absolutely no validity. It’s like me saying, ‘I liked Battlestar Galactica, but despite the way it was packaged, it’s not sci-fi. Besides, it’s not about aliens! Also, unlike sci-fi movies, books, and TV, BSG is actually entertaining.’ I mean, not only is that clearly incoherent, but it willfully misinterprets what ’sci-fi’ actually is in order to let me and my apparent anti-sci-fi bias justify liking the show.

Raised eyebrows. Disdainful sigh. Moving on.

A space/time anomaly

Star Trek at the IMAX: the only time that the line for the men’s bathroom will be five times as long as the women’s.

New site, cover, general awesomeness.

Today is very exciting, because it’s the day my shiny new website goes live. No, not Sophomore Switch (although go check it out!), but my Abby McDonald author homepage. See! Here! And, drumroll, it also showcases the UK cover for SophSwitch too, aka, Life Swap. It was a lot of fun coming up with a site design, but tricky too, because September sees me branching out from being a YA author with the launch of my debut adult novel, The Popularity Rules, which is being published by Arrow, a Random House imprint here in the UK.

Now, I’ve blogged a tiny bit about PopRules before (and, umm, will be blogging a TON about it in future), and a few people have asked me if my adult stuff will be suitable for teen readers too. The good news is…

Perhaps.

Yes, I know that’s not quite a definite answer. Sorry! See, obviously, it’s aimed at an older market – while Sophomore Switch and Boys & Bears are for 13, 14+, The Popularity Rules is an adult release, and will be aimed at 18-35 women. The characters in the book are in their late twenties, so the themes, language, and content are all more adult. BUT I think that if you enjoyed Sophomore Switch, and are reasonably mature (and over, say, 15), then The Popularity Rules shouldn’t offend/corrupt/shock you. Plus, you might just pick up some of the cross-over hints I’ve thrown in to (a familiar character from Sophomore Switch makes an appearance, and there might just be a reference to Tasha and her hot-tub exploits).

Anyway, go check out the site, report back if there are any bugs, and stay tuned for more!

(Also, congrats to Kate at Read This Book for winning the Veronicas competition! Only, umm, a month behind schedule, but let me know your details, and I’ll send your prizes off sometime before July, I promise!)

Properly Epic