If Having Children was like Writing Books

The life of a writer is peppered with misunderstandings. 

For example, well-meaning people have often attributed my voluntary childless existence to the fact that I am a writer. Perhaps there is a belief that the focus, dedication and endurance required of motherhood has been, in my case, channeled into writing instead.

They will speak of my current work in progress as my latest child or else mention my 'babies' to mean books. 

Yet as many writers and mothers will tell you, these two passions are entirely different and mutually exclusive - I know many authors who are also mothers, one doesn't replace the other and vice-versa. 

Perhaps the allusion to books as babies originates from age old beliefs that women are meant to be mothers first.  And if they are not...then it is assumed that it is because they have fulfilled a need through another means. Note that one does not often hear of a male writer's literary babies, the book/baby metaphor is mostly used with women. 

Being spoken to about my literary babies does not enchant me. I see no parallel between writing and being a mother. 

A mother's journey is a social, family- and friend-seeking journey.  Writing is a solitary endeavor, one of isolation. Solitude is as crucial to creating a book as it is for many creative pursuits.

Writers are a poorly understood group of people and like many creative minds are prone to mental illness and suicide. Consider that some forms of psychosis involve a fixed belief in an imaginary world that lasts months or years.  This is similar to what the novelist goes through to write their book.

Writers choose the path less traveled because that is part of their nature.  On the other hand, having children is still a common, universal path. It is a well understood behavior and in some countries, it is still socially expected.

It is reductive also to compare the two.  Mothers may well be offended by the comparison, and right they are!  A book is not a living person.

As a writer who has been doubted and questioned for my choices in the past, and who has lived the journey so far, I also find it simplistic and offensive when the writer's journey is construed and interpreted as what it is not. Especially by those who know little about it. 

The sum of it is that you need to be in the shoes of a writer to know what it feels like, in the same way you would have to be a mother to know what it feels like. 

Anyway, the comparison led me to humorously imagine what mothering really would be like if having children was like writing a novel....

So here we go - if having children was like writing books:


* There would be PUBLIC online reviews and ratings for how well you are doing as a mother.  This may include blatant disparaging comments like how your previous kid was better than the current one, how your abilities as a mother have declined over time etc...

* People who have never had children, or never taken care of kids (non-writers) would be seen as authorities on your child, and these people's public review or word of mouth would determine other people's perception of you as a mother.

Let's see how this would look like: 

Remember all these are public... How do you feel? Would you be ready to keep doing it? 

Read on...

* You would not get paid by the government for child support; you would be seen as an eccentric who needed to prove their worth as a mother and compete with other mothers in order to receive some support grant for your efforts.

* People would find you annoying/repetitive/boastful/vain/freaking boisterous for posting pics of your child on social media.

* Some people would not want to know about your child unless the child had won some award or been recommended in some way by some friend or legitimate authority.

* You would be a minority - few other people would have had children and so few would understand your journey.   (Yes, only a small percentage of the world's individuals actually do write a book!)

* Some people would always see you as a wannabe and never treat you seriously as a mother.

* Schools (aka bookstores) would refuse to take in your child based on your method of birthing.

* You would not get paid a cent by your full-time employer for choosing to take a few months off from work to realize what you see as your natural calling - aka have a baby; nor would they hold your job for you.  (Writing is my calling - I know I could never ask for 6 months off work, partly paid, to write books and then return. That is a dream.)

* Some people would ask you, "but, have you been a mother before?" to mean that you can't seriously intend to be a mother otherwise (aka -  Are you published? Are you going to publish it?)

* It would often take years for your child to be born, and  in that time, there would be zero physical evidence of your long journey and so you would receive no support, and people would wonder whether you are at all having a child or dabbling with words, and whether this child is happening at all, or if you are just a FAKE.

* People would ask whether you have had a traditional hospital birth with REAL medical staff or a self-run home birth with a midwife, and then... treat you and your child differently based on the method used to birth it; they may choose to have nothing to do with your child for that same reason.

* You could have children at a very old age... at 70 or 80; you could have one child per year or more... 

* You would want 10 or 25 of them; three or four would never be enough for all that passion inside you; you would crave the opportunity to create children non-stop.

* Talking deeply and meaningfully about your children would be something you would limit or never do, as most people would not understand what you are going through since, like writing a book, it would be a relatively rare endeavor  - if you are lucky you would have a couple of people who know of your journey and these people would 'get you'. If you are lucky. 

* You would not enjoy a yearly celebratory day dedicated to you where everyone glorifies how mothers change the world and bring meaning to their children's lives - nobody would really care about you being a mother until you are DEAD and sometimes never; and you would be ok with that!  ( Writers have and do change lives... Often they also change the world but no day is dedicated to them...)

* Strangers all over the world would know about your child and be touched by it; though you may never hear of them.

* Strangers all over the world would know of you.

* If you are lucky, strangers would remember you and your child long after you die.

And there you have it, the comparison seems almost silly now that one reflects on it.  We could substitute writing here with any other creative activity. 

Victor Hugo and the Joker

Batman first, and now the upcoming Suicide Squad. As consumers of books and cinema, we love our Joker. Love his deviancy, his devilish mind. A grand villain shines in a graphic novel. He makes a film.

It is a fact - and I will let you discover that on your own - that when the Joker was imagined, he was based, at least physically, on this guy here. This guy, his name is Gwynplaine and he existed long before in Victor Hugo's wonderful novel, L'Homme Qui Rit - the man who laughs.

The plot of L'Homme Qui Rit is one of survival, love and identity. Gwynplaine's character is a far-cry from the Joker he has become. Yes, they both have that eternal mouth slit, revealing a somewhat grotesque smile, but their natures are entirely opposites. Sure, they are both outcasts of society, they probably both see clearly the world's injustices, but popular culture has obscured their differences, at least for those who have not read Victor Hugo.

The Joker

Courtesy DC Wikia

It is unfortunate. Unfortunate that a character who possessed not a shred of criminal behavior is known only today through his psychopathic offspring. Because Gwynplaine was not unlike Victor Hugo's Jean Valjean in Les Miserables - Jean Valjean who time and time again redeems himself, demonstrating endless humanity and selflessness. In the same manner, Gwynplaine who initially errs in the plot of L'Homme Qui Rit, and allows himself to be flattered by fate reversals, becomes, at the end of the novel, utterly self-sacrificing, placing humankind, love and friendship above everything.

For me this is never more true as when Gwynplaine speaks up in the House of Lords. He is himself a Lord, has been from birth, until he was abducted as a child, defaced by comprachicos (child buyers), and abandoned to die. He survived. He lived for years with a hermit named Ursus and his dog, both entertaining the masses in 17th century England. The crowds, poor and rich, come in droves to see that permanent smile upon his face. To them he is a clown and were he to weep inside, they still would believe he is laughing.

Gwynplaine and Dea entertain the crowds

Found again through Queen Anne's intervention, by some miracle of fate, Gwynplaine experiences a reversal of fortune. Once again, he is Lord. He is wealthy. But Gwynplaine has enough conscience to speak his mind and he attempts to enact change. Gwynplaine, who knows and understands the sufferings of the world, having endured for years, addresses the House of Lords and explains what he has seen.

Gwynplaine addresses the Chamber of the Lords, 19th century illustration

This is Victor Hugo speaking, make no mistake. Victor Hugo, after all, is more than any author, the friend of the poors. And so for me, it was one of the gem passages in L'Homme Qui Rit.

And addressing himself haughtily to Gwynplaine:

- Who are you? Where do you come from?

Gwynplaine replied:

- From the abyss. Who am I? I am misery. Mylords, I wish to speak with you.

There was a shudder, and a silence. Gwynplaine continued.

- Mylords, you are above. It is well. One must believe that God has his reasons for this. You have the power, the opulence, the joy, the sun sits immobile upon your zenith, the authority without boundaries, the enjoyment free of sharing, the immense oversight of others. So be it. But there is something that exists beneath you. And above you perhaps. Mylords, I come to bring you the news. Humankind exists. 

I am one who comes from the depths. 
Mylords, you are great and wealthy. It is perilous. You take advantage of the night. But be on your guard, there is a great power, an aurora. The dawn can not be vanquished. She will come. She comes. She has in her, the spring of the irresistible day. And who would prevent this sling from tossing the sun into the sky? The sun, it gives the right. You, you embody privilege. Be afraid. 

The true master of the house will strike at the door. 
What is the father of privilege?
Fate.
And who is her son?
Abuse.

Neither fate nor abuse are solid. They have, one and the other, an adverse tomorrow.
I come to warn you.

I come to denounce your happiness. It is made of the unhappiness of others.
You have everything, and this everything is composed of the nothing of others.

Mylords, I am the desperate lawyer, and I plead a lost cause.
This cause, God will win it again. 
Me, I am nothing but a voice.
Humankind is a mouth of which I am the cry.
You will hear me. 

More than ever today, Gwynplaine and his cause are relevant. But his honest message has been buried.
The Joker, like Daesh, they are both extreme examples of dissatisfied outcasts, pariahs of society who, outraged by a corrupt universe, rebel through crime and bring nothing other than suffering and outrage. They hurt innocents and leave the infrastructures they wish to topple unchanged or more manipulative and powerful than ever. They reinforce schisms and intolerance.
They are figures we understand as evil because they are evil. And in fighting evil we forget the root and causes.

Gwynplaine, like Victor Hugo, understands this root, he only speaks his truth. He threatens nothing. He says:

I come to denounce your happiness. It is made of the unhappiness of others.

You have everything, and this everything is composed of the nothing of others.

Yet like the Lords who end up laughing at him, we laugh every day and every moment that this truth is encountered and ignored.

I wanted to give homage to Gwynplaine in this post because for me it was important. The Joker has one nature, Gwynplaine has quite another.

Victor Hugo,drawing

The Year I Tie the Knot

I haven't written much on life for a while and it leaves one to wonder whether I may have gotten lost somewhere in 15th century Venice, while scribing The Mascherari. Fear not, the twenty-first century is well and truly my reality.

I think.

Since the end of 2014 is looming fast, I thought it might be a good idea to express my gratitude for the wonderful things that are coming my way next year.

Because 2015 sure promises to be a freaking ride!

January

So firstly, The Mascherari will be available on Paperback. (Did I say this post would only be about 'life'? Too bad. I lied.) 356 pages of time travel set in 15th C Venice on cream paper.  I am working hard at it right now.

With this, can I say how grateful I am for having writer friends? I counted over twenty on Facebook the other day and felt truly blessed. It's wonderful to connect with like-minded people who love history, love writing and go through the same hardships, the same fears, the same hopes and damn, who just love reading! And to think that three years ago, I only had a couple writer friends. I love the surprises that life brings along the way.

Since I am on the topic of books, I'll mention another historical novel. This time it's one classic beast written by an Australian journalist in the 19th century. For the Term of His Natural Life is one of the darkest novels I've read and it's very much in my mind at the moment as I'll be heading to Tasmania (where the novel is set) in early January and am looking forward to visiting Hobart and Port Arthur.

This is a huge deal for me. In my twenty-nine years in Australia, since arriving at aged 10, I've never seen Tasmania. I can't wait! What a great start to the year.

March

Still on the subject of books and writing and writers, I am very much looking forward to attending the first Historical Novel Society Australasia Conference and to meeting some special, talented people. Oh my goodness, and I get to meet Colin Falconer in the flesh! That's The Colin Falconer who has written over 30 books and is one of my favorite historical novelists and an AMAZING human being.

May 

2015 is also doubly special as I'll be tying the knot with my partner of over 5 years. Oh my Lord Poseidon, that's like, 6 months away...

I've not even got a dress.

We have chosen the venue in Brisbane so that's a start. I am on the lookout for a good photographer but I'm not too worried: given my partner's background is film, the reception will likely be the equivalent of a large film crew. No kidding. That includes my lovely friend make-up artist, Billie Weston.

She did this to me five years ago:

I am fondly looking forward to my wedding day (that I haven't really planned yet...) and to seeing my friends again.

Because you know what? I do have an invite list. Invite lists are always a pain when you are young but when you are turning 40 next year (oh my God, did I say that?), invite lists are easy. The only difficult part is that I'll be missing out on the presence of so many people who live overseas and who I've never met in person and only wish I could.

You reach an age where it becomes obvious who you want in your life and who you want to share your special experiences with.

Which brings me to the inevitable...

October

I am indeed turning 40 next year. There's no turning back. I'll never wear 9-inch heels again. (Ok, maybe just a little bit.)

Like, WOW.

Me? Cute little me? Asian shorty me? 40 years old. Like, Wow.

I remember as a kid when someone told me they were 40. I would think they were ancient. (Like bloody old.)

And now I think, are you kidding, that's just the start of my adventure! :)

Because another upcoming joy for 2015 is Summer. Summer and all the love I have for this wonderful seaside place called Coogee and which has been my home for over 14 months.

I am immensely grateful to live in a place I could only dream of ten years ago. Grateful, for every walk I take along the magical ocean and every sunset and wave that paint a picture perfect landscape every second of the day.

I can't tell you how much I love this place.

And having unveiled sun-bathed Coogee, I'll get to the point. The point, the point, the point, is that...

And I feel a little embarrassed revealing this,

This summer, thanks to this shopping-porn-of-a-site called SammyDress, I actually have a bikini to wear for each day of the week. How cool is that? I have a Sky blue and leopard print bikini, a flimsy orange bikini that would make a Brazilian babe salivate, a classic white and red striped bikini, a halter neck snake-skin bikini, a very 80s dark green bikini with gold metal rings, a bling (and wog-ish) Gold & Black bikini, and a hippie style pastel print bikini. I'm all set!

Because you only freaking live once!

And there comes the icing on the cake: I also know what I'm getting for Xmas. These are the funnest and least pretentious presents I've ever received because let's face it: weddings are expensive.

So present number one is swimming goggles - to see underwater and swim and shit. (And like, for pretending I'm a mermaid in my orange bikini while swimming around Coogee. It all makes sense now!)

And present number two -  is a blowtorch.

With butane gas.

So that I can burn the shit out of my creme brulee.

Because I am SO making crème brûlée all over 2015.

And Croquembouche.

Maybe.

Four with a Five Wing

Yes, it's all true. I'm a loner. 

From the age of five, when I preferred to roam the playground alone, lost in thoughts, rather than play with other children, right up to my insistence, as an adult, on having lunch by myself every day at work - despite invitations from co-workers that I do like - I mostly enjoy being alone.

I live in my head, and I imagine things that make me wonder, at times, if the likes of Salvador Dali and Patricia Highsmith have not found a corner of my brain from which they command me to do their bidding.

Over almost four decades, I have had to surmount extremes in introversion and sensitivity, in order to function 'normally' in a predominantly extroverted world that abounds with stimulus.

Beneath the seemingly aloof, collected veneer, I am constantly adjusting, recovering, and moderating my own - often violent - reactions to what I perceive as overbearing, crippling and vivid stimulus, all around me.  I am getting better at it...

Human micro-expressions, voice tones, traffic noise, bright lights, weather changes, intonations of conflict, loud music - the world can be an overly jarring place, and only in the comfort of my own mind or else, in nature's embrace, can I find true peace.

Living this life can be exhausting and I am often physically tired, in need of an escape, or else riddled with migraines.

Call me precious. One day I will find a balance!

My Enneagram type is Four. Many writers who have delved into the ancient Sufi philosophy which is the Enneagram, will discover that they are Fours. As such, it is hardly unique.

Still, I could not help but smile at this apt comic interpretations by Clare Cherikoff:

And then there is this, which is my subtype:

"The Four with a Five Wing"

 It is so spot on that I just had to share some quotes from: http://enneagram.tribe.net/thread/beb08410-b129-4c19-b32a-0ede58786629

Healthy, gifted individuals of this subtype are probably the most profoundly creative of all the types because they combine intuition with insight, emotional sensitivity with intellectual comprehension, frequently with stunningly original, even prophetic, results. 

 This is where I hope to be someday: prophetic; but I am not there, yet. Some of my novel characters are certainly prophetic, and so I can relate to this. This statement accurately encapsulates my aspirations.

Four with a Five-wing burn brighter than Fours with a Three-wing, but at the risk of burning themselves out faster.

 Hence the migraines. Hence the recurring exhaustion with everything, and with living...

Average persons of this subtype are given not merely to self-absorption, but to philosophical and religious speculation. Their emotional world is the dominant reality, but with a strong intellectual cast. People of this subtype tend to be extreme loners, more lacking in social connectedness than the other subtype.  

This entire post is an example of the said self-absorption.  

Thus, their artistic expressions more completely substitute for the person than in Fours with a Three-wing. 

 This last point is interesting. There have been situations where, by no fault of my own, I have fooled people into thinking that they know me, when all they actually know is my artistic expression (whether in writing or visually expressed, especially through clothing). Humans are awfully simplistic and will use all manner of heuristics, judgments or else incorporate prejudices of all sorts in order to arrive at an opinion of someone. 

These people also frequently have an otherworldly, ethereal quality about them; they are extremely independent and unconventional to the point of eccentricity. They also tend to be secretive, intensely preoccupied with their thoughts 

 Are you kidding? I live in my head; I float outside of my body; no, wait...do I have a body? 

and purposely enigmatic in their self-expressions. 

*Smiles* 
Let us just say, that if I do not wish to share something with someone, I won't.  At the same time,  I can make it appear as though I have just shared a large part of myself, while in fact, I have revealed nothing. 

Their creative ideas may also be somewhat unusual, possibly even surreal 

I swim in the surreal and so I completely agree with this. 

 Members of this subtype care little for communicating with those who cannot understand them. 

Most people can't and won't suffer an eccentric (and they are absolutely justified). I would much rather not burden them. 

The Myth of Medusa and Female-Assisted Patriarchy

Perseus and the Gorgon

by Laurent-Honore Marqueste (1903)

Our society is quick to denounce the horrifying decrees promulgated against Afghan women by the Taliban. We lament the unjust punishment of raped women in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan. We cry in outrage when we hear of yet another victim of gang-rape in India. The beliefs and mechanisms that underpin the appalling treatment of women in many parts of the world are many and varied. They cannot be outlined here and that is not the purpose of this post.

This post is about patriarchy. Yet it is not your standard feminist post. Far from it. It is about denouncing the women who assist patriarchy.

How does a woman in India assist patriarchy? 
By privileging a boy's education. By telling her daughter through actions or words that she is worthless. By raising sons who feel entitled to better treatment than girls. By allowing a son to grow up believing that he is a little king, and that he deserves more than women, or worse, can do whatever he likes to a woman, including beating her to a pulp or savagely raping her with his male friends.

How does a woman in Africa assist patriarchy? 
By perpetuating the cruel practice of female circumcision. In parts of Africa, especially Somalia, the women are indoctrinated to believe that a daughter's worth for marriage and her chastity depends upon her being circumcised. It is the women who take an active, aggressive role in circumcising their daughters. It is women who tell their uncircumcised daughters or daughters-in-law that they are filthy and not fit to be a wife unless they have been brutally mutilated.

How does a woman in any part of the world, including the secular Western world, assist with patriarchy? 
By happily labeling another woman a 'slut' when it appears that this other woman naturally solicits male attention. It is often the case that such a label is born of envy or insecurity. Its true crime, is that it publicly invites the social scorn of their sister, while supporting the patriarchal belief that sexually desirable or sexually active women have no place in this world, and that only a man has rights over his pleasure and sexuality.

How does a woman in any work place or organisation assist patriarchy? 
By undermining her own female co-workers or potential female employees because she, without realising it, has long internalised social beliefs that certain skills are best acquired by the male gender. There is a doubt that exists within her about her own ability as a woman to master certain technical or other traditionally male-dominated skills, and it is this internal doubt that she projects upon her sisters such that she comes to undermine them even where they are perfectly capable.
How else?
By doing what many men do so well: that is, by assuming that her female co-workers could not have achieved what they have on merit; that if they have at all delivered, it must have come primarily through some male aid or worse, through the practice of some female guile to acquire the assistance of others while doing nothing herself.

These are all forms of female-assisted patriarchy and female-assisted sexist attitudes. They serve the outdated male beliefs that women are not as important, valuable, skilled and trustworthy as men. They reduce women to manipulative, unfit and beguiling monsters. They reduce women to the gorgon, Medusa.

Do you know the tale of Medusa?

Yes, you must remember the Greek tale of Medusa. She was this hideous female with snake-like streams for hair and one look upon her face was thought to petrify the onlooker such that he or she turned to stone. It was Perseus who, with the help of Athena, managed to kill Medusa.

But do you know the real tale of Medusa?

Before she became a gorgon, Medusa was a beautiful girl. Her beauty was such that even the goddess Athena envied it.

Athena soon found out something horrible. She discovered that the God Poseidon had raped Medusa. Being enamored of Poseidon herself, she saw it fit to punish Medusa. She turned her into a gorgon. Perhaps Athena thought that it was Medusa's fault if Poseidon had not been able to control his legendary urges and added Medusa to his long list of sexual conquests. But never mind that Poseidon was a serial rapist, Athena cast the entire blame on Medusa. In so doing, she no doubt appeased her fractured ego and took her revenge on a rival. And so it is when insecure women blame other women: they assist patriarchy.

Just like her Indian and Pakistani sisters who receive no justice for rape, Medusa was turned into a monster whose fate was to be reviled and avoided. Besides, it is impossible to engage a gorgon in conversation if one is soon cast to stone upon looking at her. Medusa was fated for social isolation. There is a word for that. Ostracism. Ostracism was her ultimate punishment. Even today, ostracism is a familiar mode of punishment for women who dare raise the ire of their jealous sisters. When the word is out against them, ostracised women are ignored, unfriended and perpetually removed from invitation lists.

Returning to our Greek legend... Our patriarchal hero, Perseus, had sworn to kill Medusa, this monster who inspired so much fear. And so it is when women are seen as nothing but monsters.

Not content with having turned Medusa into a gorgon, Athena also took it upon herself to assist Perseus in killing her.

There are many forms of female-assisted patriarchy but the one that really stood out for me was the story of Medusa. I always felt sorry for her and the unjust punishment meted out to her. When I look at the image in this post, the photo of Marqueste's sculpture, it represents for me all that is ugly and horrifying about the treatment of women at the hands of patriarchy.  I feel only pity for Medusa. Her misery could have been avoided if a certain ocean deity could have learnt better manners as a child and then, as an adult, kept his staff in place where it belonged (and I don't mean his trident). But without a doubt, her misery could have been avoided if Athena had not been so spiteful about Poseidon's slight and if she had not been so intent on casting the fault upon Medusa.

Can you think of other ways in which women assist patriarchy? I can think of many. In fact I can think of instances where women have turned out to be even more patriarchal than men.

How do we stop this? Because ultimately, whether we like it or not, some women are part of a vicious cycle that perpetuates patriarchal behaviors.

So what can we do? It is hard. Education is a big factor. We need to raise educated, strong women who are confident and not embarrassed with archaic modes of thought. At a social level, we educate them to shun traditional male-favouring attitudes. They must, in turn, not grow to favour their sons over their daughters. But most importantly, we give them confidence in themselves as individuals. We teach them the joy of being women, women who can overcome their insecurities. We give them a belief that life is filled with opportunities and we give them these opportunities whenever it is in our power and in their best interests.

We teach them to give, just as we expect them to be spiritually generous toward their own sisters.

We teach them to protect their own sisters, rather than fear them in the same way that generations of men have feared Medusa.

The Insecure Male Chauvinist Guide to Being a Man

This is for laughs but you must admit there are some truths to it!

The Insecure Male Chauvinist Guide to Being a Man in the Corporate World

1. Never miss an opportunity to show that you know more than others. Remember, knowledge is manliness!
2. Never miss an opportunity to put a woman back in her place by doing 1.
3. If a woman is silent, she obviously doesn't know anything.
4. If a woman backs down to keep peace and let's you have the last word, she was wrong anyway.
5. If a man backs down to keep peace and let's you have the last word, he's a true friend. Plus you know he's sort of right anyway.
6. Don't back down.
7. If you are speaking with a woman and a man interrupts, give him your immediate attention. The bitch can wait.
8. If a woman shares an idea, don't listen, don't think, don't breathe; just disagree.
9. If you have disagreed with a woman's idea and realise that you were wrong, distract her, improve the idea and then suggest it as your own.
10. If you want to save face in a meeting, just disagree the next time a woman speaks. Instant confidence booster!
11. If a man has just demonstrated that they know better than you, immediately turn towards a woman and show her how much you know. Order will be restored!
11. If a woman speaks up in a group, make sure you talk over her.
12. If another man talks over a woman's voice in a group, never ever point out to him that, "Hey dude, she was speaking." You'll end up sounding weak and stupid. Remember, he's your  mate. Mates come first.
13. Raise your voice, it makes you seem more confident (and manly!)  It seems that banging your fists on your chest is no longer socially acceptable...but raising your voice until a woman's voice is barely audible is a great compromise.
14. Do not be seen to be undermining another woman's ability. After you have hijacked her meeting and said all you wanted to say to assert your power and knowledge, turn towards her and make sure you condescend with "What do you think?" or "Do you have anything to add?"
15. Don't be seen to appreciate another woman at work. It's demeaning. You're a man for heaven's sake. Put her down in front of other colleagues. Make jokes at her expense and never, ever give her a compliment in front of other males.
16. When in doubt, disagree with what a woman says.
17. Ditch this guide the moment a woman becomes your boss.
18. Now go home and do what your wife tells you.

Party Time - Why People Stand You Up

This is an acerbic post directed at no one in particular. Although it is Father's Day tomorrow and I've no plans to make an appearance in the family home...

Ever wondered why people stand you up?

You’ve invited them to countless parties and social gatherings and they just don’t show up for one reason or another...

Social anxiety disorder, double bookings, pregnancy, labour, illness, tiredness and child minding aside, there are other less obvious reasons why your guests often decline or simply do not show up.

      They are introverted - Amazing how many social event organisers simply do not understand this reason but it really is one of the most valid and common reasons why guests would choose to avoid social gatherings. Here is a reminder of what introversion is all about.

            Venue - You chose a venue that is far too inaccessible and inconvenient for them to get to based on their standards of inconvenience (not yours!) Yes, I know, you took great pains to choose the venue and had your friends’ best interest at heart but you may be mistaken thinking the venue is easy for them to get to. That may not be the case.

      They are sick of giving – whoooops, that was blunt. But it really is a valid reason. Let’s face it, it’s always about you, your birthday, your anniversary, you being the center of attention, your going to-and-fros, you organising an audience of admirers, you wanting others to meet at a particular time/place of your choice, you wanting them to make the effort of bringing in gifts and what not.  It does not take idiot savant syndrome to identify a salient pattern here. Yep, it's all about you. After a while…only masochists or individuals who have no life of their own can put up with this mindless one-sided giving.

      You hurt their feelings at the last social event. Ok, they did come to your party last time and you were not exactly a very good host. Hell, you came one hour late while your guests waited, you did not offer them anything to drink, you did not thank them for coming, you did not even try to talk to them or ensure they felt included…I could go on.  Again, remember they are supposed to be your friend, not a masochist.

      You're an Advice Dispensing Machine - At gatherings in the past, your guests or relatives have been left wondering whether this is a social reunion or a counselling appointment. They've barely sat down and you spare them none of your endless wisdom, dispensing advice every ten minutes about how they should do their hair, what they should do with their life, what they have done 'wrong' so far with their life. Has it ever occurred to you that you might not have all the answers? And that your guests are weary of your insecure attempts at justifying your own choices in life?

      Let’s face it, you are not really their friend.  By what logic do you expect a person to give of their time to support you socially if you berate, embarrass or insult them on a regular basis? By what logic do you expect a person to give of their time for you if you cannot spare five seconds or less to say something positive or encouraging to them? By what logic do you expect a person to be there for you, when you were clearly never there for them? Not going to happen.

      You are a User: Part 1 – It's official, you like to surround yourself with attractive, seemingly successful or influential girls and/or guys and be seen with them to raise your social profile. And you think no one has noticed this?

      You are a user: Part 2 – No one likes to show up to a party knowing that they are simply there to be used for making their host feel good especially when that host has zero interest in them.  The only time you can expect this form of selfless adulation is at your wedding. Grow up.

      Your guests are jealous of you – You have a new job, you are soon heading on a holiday, you have a brand new <insert something your friends value here> and happen to be bursting with joy. It’s time to celebrate your life with your friends. Yay! After all, that’s what friends are for. Yes?  Sadly, jealousy often rears its ugly head. Your happiness may make your friends realise that they are missing out on something.  By choosing to avoid the social gathering, they avoid seeing you happy and it’s less painful for them.   

So go on,  have a party.

The Pitfalls of Schooling

Grade 1, Where it all Began

Believe or not, I have an OP of 1.

My cohort represented the first Queensland students who, in 1992, ditched the old "TE score" only to be stratified into a pear-shape according to our core subject results. Based on this new system of ranking high school graduates, I was one of the first Queenslanders to sit in the top 2% of this fine pear.

Having had no social life during the last years of High School, I found myself evidently obtaining Very High Achievements in English, Economics, Maths I, Maths II, Chemistry and Physics.

I knew two conflicting things back then:
> I was going to be a Nasa engineer (hell yeah!)
> I was a dreamer and I had no idea what to do with myself

But considering approval and praise were showered from left, right and center, I did not question this second notion, preferring to forge ahead with my obscure Nasa fantasies and indulging in my mathematical geekiness.

At this point, my well-intentioned father interceded, suggesting I become a doctor. After all, isn't that what people did, back then, with an Op of 1? Enter Medicine or Law? But, proud of my technical bend and secretly horrified of disease, I decided to pursue Engineering.

I had in fact found an Engineering course where the university entry restrictions were comparatively high, requiring an Op of 3, and promptly applied to it, convinced that my admission would serve as yet another confirmation that I was brilliant.

In truth, I had not delved very deeply into what would actually give me a fulfilling career. I chose pride over happiness.

My Op 1 soon spread in the community much to the delight of my school. I was suddenly visited by a local newspaper. I remember posing for a photo. In my two hands, I held an absurd plastic plane that I had assembled with my brother so that the journo could take snaps at this eccentric prodigy who promised to one day, design a fancy new satellite launcher. I'm sure the journalist thought that I was a nut case. I shudder with shame.

Avionics Engineering came with its perks. My swipe card gave me access to a private lab on the top floor of the Electrical and Electronics Engineering building. I could while the hours on a flight simulator. With a co-pilot, I got to fly a Cessna twice and later, a helicopter. As a group, we flew to Melbourne and attended the Aviation show in Avalon. I was also the only girl in my class of 25, something which assured me the respect of most lecturers.

But if truth be known, the degree was in its inception and all attempts were made at making it so difficult so as to render life hell for all concerned. In the first semester, I had 12 subjects. And on average, I had 8 subjects per semester. (This has today been reduced to 4). I was practically a zombie, again with little social life compared to many.

When I look back on this, I understand that my choices in those days were a dangerous combination of pride, perfectionism, a high need for achievement, a tendency towards compliance which I had inherited from a strict Catholic upbringing, and a strong desire for approval. Finally, I had as a young adult, little understanding about what I wanted from life.

During this engineering degree that through sheer grit, I did complete, I found that I could solve complex engineering problems, program microchips, I could research and design a strategic defence system a la Star Wars, I could calculate the fuel requirements of any rocket for escape velocity and map the trajectory of a ballistic missile with Matlab software...yet, while the pride I derived (and still do) in solving problems kept me satisfied, still, I had no incentive, no desire, no procedure for delving deeply into myself to truly understand what sort of work would actually make me happy.

Glad that's all over with.

But I think that's the problem with education and with any upbringing that teaches intelligence over path-to-happiness.

So in the end, I am of the opinion that aside from the social contact it affords, the literacy and the basic mathematical skills that it encourages, school matters very little. Schooling and learning (or choosing to learn) are two very different things.