On books... I Was Here

I Was Here by Gayle Forman

One of the pleasant problems of working in the publishing industry is that it is not uncommon to be faced with a saturation of quality literature when a new trend arises.  I have found this to be particularly so for YA – in recent years, I’ve been fortunate enough to read some absolutely top-notch paranormal fiction, dystopian fiction, and now, the ubiquitous “real-lit”.  The problem that I find in this is that once I’ve read three of four books in a rising genre, I have a tendency to become bored and even jaded.  This is natural; after all, a trend is necessarily impermanent, and the great strength of literature lies in its diversity.  However, it does leave me worried that some superbly talented authors may miss out on the recognition and success that they deserve, simply because their work appears too late into a trend that is already waning.

Months ago, when I first read the manuscript for I Was Here, I was absolutely stunned.  In the time between then and now, I read a number of other real-lit YA books, including The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Noggin, Will Grayson Will Grayson, and of course, The Fault in Our Stars.  Now that I’m preparing, finally, to sell I Was Here into February 2015, I found myself fretting that perhaps the book was overstated in my remembered estimation; maybe it was merely the first outstanding book I’d read in a genre that has become incredibly popular and introduced some phenomenal books to the reading public.  Quite apart from this, I was also concerned that I’d forgotten bits and pieces of the book – I remember the main plot, and I remember how it made me feel, but I couldn’t recall the names of the characters, and I worried that I may have inadvertently mixed up parts of the story with other real-lit books (another hazard of literary trends).  So yesterday afternoon, while the rain drummed quietly outside, I sat down on the couch to re-read it.

In a bizarre simultaneity, the experience of reading the book felt both familiar and new.  Before I was two chapters in, I remembered why I adored the main character, why I felt pain when she did, why I begged her to hold on and rejoiced when she did.  And yet, the experience was also fresh, even in a reading climate soaked with real-lit – with good real-lit.

The story follows Cody, a teenage girl a couple of years out of high school.  Her best friend, Meg, had moved away for college the previous year, the friendship had cooled, and then, shockingly and seemingly out of the blue, Meg committed suicide.  Cody is devastated, bewildered, and furious both with Meg and herself – how could she be Meg’s best friend and not know that something was wrong?  Cody offers to help Meg’s distraught parents by travelling to Meg’s college share-house and collecting her belongings, but what she discovers there leads her to believe that Meg may have been talked or coerced into suicide.  She embarks on an investigation, bordering on obsessive vendetta, that turns into something utterly unexpected both for Cody and for the reader.

From the first sentence, Gayle Forman’s incredible writing talent is undeniable.  Every character in the book is so real, so perfectly imperfect, that I am half-convinced that the events in the book must somewhere have actually happened.  The dialogue, the settings, the language, are all faultless.  The plot moves both subtly and deceptively, twisting sharply at times, but softly enough to draw the compelled reader along.

The force of this book hit me like a juggernaut.  It is beautiful, heartbreaking, uplifting, enduring, and for me, profoundly close.  As someone who suffers from mental illness, and has a beloved friend affected by depression, I am in the unusual position of being able to strongly identify with both Meg and Cody – evoking remembered feelings of both desperation and terror.  It cut to the core, and yet even as I was shedding tears at the end of the book (for the second time), it made me feel hopeful – supremely, warmly, hopeful.  Yes, Meg took her own life, which is utterly and unmistakably tragic, but in the climactic scene when Cody chooses life, hope resonates and illuminates fiercely.

I don’t believe this book is only for readers who know depression.  This book is for anyone who has ever loved, who has ever been worried about a friend, who has ever had even a single moment without hope.  This book should be read by everyone – it will convince you that even in the darkest night, hope is an enduring flame that never needs to be – and never should be – extinguished.  This book is immense.

There are many parents who worry about their teens reading books dealing with depression and suicide, and I believe this concern is completely reasonable.  But the first thing I did after finishing I Was Here was to call my best friend.  We made a pact right there – no matter how great the darkness, no matter how deep the chasm, and no matter if it seems like the end is inevitable, we will always, always, call for help.

I Was Here is a book that will change lives.  It changed mine.


~



This book will be available from February 1st, 2015 - please support the Australian book industry and buy at your local bookstore, or if you would like to buy online, please consider an Australian online store such as Booktopia or Dymocks.


with love from the lit dancer


artemis

On dance... and coming home

Well, I think it's finally official - I'm back!  After taking 4 months off pole, I've been back for one and a half terms and I'm having a great time.  I dropped down two levels after the break - from Advanced to Intermediate 3 - which has been brilliant as I now have the opportunity to do some solid work on "easier" core moves.  Yes, I can do a static V, but until my inverts are even on both sides and I can lift rather than jump into a shoulder mount, I'm happy to stay at this level.  This is probably the biggest lesson I've learned since my return - there really is no point in jumping up through the levels as fast as you can.  Sure, it's an amazing feeling to finally be able to say "I'm in Advanced", but my advanced moves were messy and hasty, because I didn't have a solid base of intermediate skills on which to build them.  In hindsight, I can see that I really was cheating myself.

This is one of the many lessons I learned after coming back from the break; here are a few more...

There will always be someone better than you.  Seriously, unless you're a world champion (which I never will be, and I wouldn't want to be anyway), there will always be dancers with better tricks, better transitions, better floorwork, better stage presence, flatter abs... I used to find this rather depressing but lately I've come to think of it as reassuring in a way.  I've come to realise that I can be a good dancer without being the best.  I'm not ever going to be Stacey, and that's ok ;)

sigh... :)


Learning another style of dance alongside pole is SERIOUSLY beneficial.  While I was having a break from pole, I took up beginner ballet, and it's the best decision I've made since deciding to start pole in the first place!  It's given me more leg strength, better balance, better posture, and severely better lines.  Plus it's just been really nice to start from the bottom again, and to be in a class where nobody knows what they're doing and there are no expectations.  Ballet is so very different from pole; the correct posture in ballet is pretty much exactly the opposite to pole - bum in, ribs closed, slight lean forward, feet turned out.  That was VERY hard to get used to!!  But it's made me think about my pole moves in another way entirely.

You will get a lot more accomplished if you keep a training diary.  I can't even count how many times in the past I would show up to studio time, do the warm-up, do a couple of moves, fluff around a lot in between, maybe do the class routine a few times, chat for a long time to various people, do a half-hearted stretch, and then go home feeling like I hadn't really done anything - because I hadn't!!  Since I've come back, I've been keeping a training diary to try to motivate myself.  Here's a page from last Sunday:

Turns out when you have a big list of things to do and you're ticking off each one, you don't have time to fluff around!  There was also an unexpected benefit - before the diary, I would get hung up on not being able to achieve a move, so I would try it over and over again throughout studio time and obsess over the fact that I still hadn't got it.  Not surprisingly, this led to me wasting time, getting dispirited, and more often than not, very sore!  Now I have a limit on how many times I will try a move (usually 3-5) in one practice session, and if I haven't got it, then it's time to move on because I have too much else to do!  And I don't have to worry that it'll never happen, because I know that it's in my diary and I'll be reminded to try it again the next week.  It's a simple change, but has made a huge difference to my training and my mood.  Another great thing about the diary is that I can flip back through it to look at moves that I've achieved, and give them a quick practice every so often to make sure they're still solid.

Diversify!  Practice in heels, sneakers, bare feet, with hair up, hair out, on brass, chrome, titanium, on 38mm, 42mm, 45mm, 50mm (yes, seriously, give it a try) on carpet, floorboards, without air-con, without grip aid, on static, spinning (or alternate between both) - are you getting the message here??  Mix it up!  You don't have to spend a whole practice session sans Dry Hands, but at least give it a try - especially if you're thinking of competing.  The chillest dancers at comps are the ones who've practiced in all conditions and know what to expect.

Finish every move properly, even when you're practicing.  If there's one thing you want to have drilled into your head, it's polished transitions and completed moves.  If and when you get to performance stage, you'll be stressing so much about your tricks that you won't have time to think about transitions and finishing moves - if you've got that part on auto-pilot, it's one less thing to worry about.  And trust me, transitions can make or break a performance.

Seriously - don't rush!  I know I already said this at the beginning, but it's kind of heartbreaking to watch intermediate girls throwing themselves into moves in the hopes of just scraping through into the next level.  Believe me, I know you want to get to advanced, but I cannot emphasise enough - it is so incredibly important to have your core moves perfected before you move up.  If you can do an aerial invert some of the time, and only at the beginning of class before you're tired, and you kinda have to swing into it, then you haven't got it yet!  If you can do it five times in a row at the end of class, then it's yours.  Remember, pole dance is a dangerous sport - would you go rock climbing without a rope if you weren't 100% sure of your capability?  Then don't risk the same thing with pole!  Now I know we like to push ourselves as dancers, so here are a few tips if you're bored at your current level but not really ready to move up yet:
- Try to perfect your transitions and lines.  There's more to a trick than just the trick itself; have a look at how you get into the move, how you hold it, your extensions, and how you exit the move.  Try to smooth everything out, and if you're feeling adventurous (and it's safe!), try to exit the move differently - e.g. if you're doing an outside leg hang, instead of going back into an ankle grab to come down, try pulling up and going into an open jamilla.
- Repetition!  Did your teacher ask the class to do the move three times?  Do it four times.  There's almost always time to get in at least one extra attempt while your teacher is helping others out, and it's great for building up your endurance.  Just make sure that you're doing it safely.
- Have you done the move on both sides?  Ok, but really, have you done it on both sides?  An equal number of times?  With an equal amount of effort?  This is so incredibly important.  It's a particular kind of embarrassment when your teacher shows you a combo in an advanced routine and you can't do it because part of the combo requires you to do a move on your "bad" side.  Did you know that I did a shoulder mount on my left shoulder for the first time last Sunday?  I have been pole dancing for over four years.  Seriously.  That is not good - learn from my mistakes, kids!
- Ask your teacher if they can show you a slightly more advanced variation of the moves you're learning in class.  If you don't want to make a big deal of it, just have a quiet chat to the teacher at the start of class, or message them outside of class time.

The pole dance world needs more curvy role models.  I know they're out there, but I want to see more of them (and one day, I want to be one).  I'm not slagging off skinny girls at all - the most important thing is to be healthy and happy regardless of your shape - but the fact remains that at professional performance/teacher level, curvy girls are few and far between, and I would like that to change.

There is a fine line between hard work and stupidity.  How many times have you heard that girl burst into the studio, saying "oh my GAWD, I'm soooo tired, I've done sixteen hours of pole this week, and eight hours of conditioning, and I went for a twenty kilometre run this morning, and I have eleven competitions in the next six weeks..."  You know what?  Good for her.  If she can maintain that kind of insane training schedule, then that's nice.  But you know what else?  YOU DON'T HAVE TO.  Your body has its own requirements and limitations, and once you tip over that point, your training will stop being effective and will start to become detrimental to your health.  And remember, everyone has different things going on in their lives outside of dance that can make a huge difference to their stamina.  There are so many other factors - stress, workload, family, medication, illness, age, injuries - it's very unlikely that two people are going to be able to keep the same training schedule.  That doesn't make you better or worse; just different.  Find your own balance.  One of my friends does 2-3 pole classes, two studio sessions, crossfit, and conditioning every week.  She can maintain this.  I can't.  I can do two pole classes, one studio session, one ballet class, and the occasional conditioning (stretch) class, and that's my maximum.  I don't consider myself to be any less hard-working than she is; it's just that my limit is different and if I push myself any harder it will be damaging.  It really is all about quality, not quantity - make the time count!

Work hard, be nice to each other, and have fun!  Remember why you started pole dance - for a lot of us, it was something cheeky, a new form of exercise, and massively, incredibly, hilariously, FUN!  Don't lose that!  Whether you're a competitor, performer, or just enjoy coming to class each week to lose yourself in the fun of pole, take the time to remind yourself why you love to dance - that's the best advice I can give you.

 


with love from the lit dancer

artemis xx

On dance... and taking a break

Dear Pole,

We need to talk.

I think it’s pretty obvious that things aren’t great between us; things haven’t been great between us for quite some time now.  I’ve been trying to convince myself for a long time that it’s just a rough patch, that if I just keep working harder then I’ll get through it and things will suddenly become wonderful again.  But I think I need to stop lying to myself.

Pole, you and I used to have something amazing.  When I first met you, I was a nervous and bored young woman who had very little upper body strength and a yearning for something more in my life.  As soon as I met you, I fell head-over-heels in love.  In you, I found confidence, strength, ambition, and beauty of movement that I had never experienced before.  I was driven to improve myself, to learn, and to seek challenges.  Most of all, I had fun.  That first lesson, almost four years ago, when my four girlfriends and I walked into the studio at Parramatta, looked at each other and said, “oh dear lord, what have we got ourselves into?” was the start of a hilarious and joyous love affair.  We puffed our way through Zahra’s warm-up (while thinking that here was clearly one of the coolest chicks in existence), giggled our way through class, which mostly consisted of us just trying to hang on to the poles, and left the studio feeling exhilarated and energetic.  Over the following year we improved rapidly, made new friends, learned new moves, and had a fantastic time along the way.  Different people came and went for their own reasons, but I stayed true to you, believing that here was a passion that would never fade; here was a dream that would define the rest of my life.

I don’t remember exactly when things started to go sour.  It was certainly long after I started competing and performing; I remember the first shows – an equal mixture of terror, hope, and giddy excitement.  I remember my third show, walking off backstage afterwards and whispering to myself “Oh my god, they loved me; I nailed it!!”  I had never felt this sort of wondrous satisfaction before, or indeed, since.  Neither was it when I struggled to move up from Intermediate 3 to Advanced Intro – although that was a long and difficult task.  It wasn’t when I was rejected for showcases and competitions, or when I did less-than-stellar shows, although these were almost certainly contributors.

No, I can’t pinpoint it, but at some point a slow descent began; a slide into a painful place, where instead of pole being a light in my life that radiated joy and satisfaction, it began to become a light that shone on all my faults, and highlighted my own self-doubts.  Of course there had always been dancers at much higher levels than me; there will always be; but I started comparing myself to them in a way that, rather than motivating me to reach higher, only served to magnify how lacking I was in so many ways.  Instead of merely admiring a beautiful slim dancer, I would notice how much fatter I was than her.  Instead of simply marvelling at a dancer’s strength and grace, I would berate myself on my comparative weakness and clumsiness.  And, most of all, when I would hear praise being heaped upon so-and-so because she’s only been dancing for x number of months and yet she’s already in advanced, I would fly into a rage at myself for being so far behind.  If these girls could all become incredible dancers in such a short amount of time, why on earth couldn’t I?  Of course, for a long time I assured myself that every dancer is different, but eventually the negativity overwhelmed me and I became convinced, irrationally, that my differences were due to laziness, to heaviness, to an innate defect of propensity to failure that I could only beat out of myself through hard work and dedication.

Not surprisingly, this worked, for a little while.  Ten+ hours per week of dance is bound to see a leap in strength and skill, at first.  I was ecstatic that I had apparently found the answer, and I was prepared to sacrifice, if not everything, at least many hitherto important aspects of my life in pursuit of the ultimate goal – To Be As Good As The Other Girls.  But as the months wore on, and turned into a year, and then two, my body began to give up.  I’m lucky that I’ve only ever had relatively minor injuries from overuse, and that I’ve (hopefully) not done any permanent damage due to my unachievable and ridiculous schedule of training.

Of course, my predictable response for a long time (and even up until recently) was that I must not be working hard enough.  It didn’t occur to me that the reason I’d plateaued and even gone backwards in some areas was because my body was exhausted.  I piled on more classes, sought out private lessons with many different teachers, and continued to focus on my failings.  I started to cheat myself, and instead of continuing with a move that I was too fatigued to practice, I would simply remove it from my repertoire and hope it never came up again.  The result of this has been disastrous – I’ve ended up in advanced class, as I can technically do the required moves, but my overall skill level is patchy and inconsistent.  Instructors and peers assume that I can dance at an advanced level, but I can’t, and it’s an awful feeling when I see that they realise this.

My final resolution came to me after class tonight, although it’s been building for weeks.  Due to work and other personal commitments, I’ve not been to a class in almost 3 weeks, and I was alarmed to find that I enjoyed the time away from pole immensely.  I arrived at class tonight determined to work harder than ever, and I did.  I powered through the warm-up and stretches, I completed the technique exercises, and I tried my hardest on the combination we were taught.  But at the end of class, our teacher told us that we would each be required to get up in front of the class and perform the combination for assessment.  My heart started pounding and I began to feel physically sick.  I wanted nothing more than to be far away from that class, as I watched all of the other dancers execute the moves, not perfectly, but competently and with no major problems.  All received smiles and a happy little applause from their classmates.  I waited until last, hoping that the teacher would forget to call me.  She didn’t.  Ten other dancers had done this combination competently.  Then there was me.  A dancer of four years, much longer than most (if not all) of my classmates.  I stood up, stumbled my way through half of the combination, was told to do it again, and still couldn’t complete it.  I trudged back to my place and sat down, feeling utterly humiliated.   There was no applause for me, no smiles, and I didn’t deserve them.  I could feel the other dancers looking at me, and I imagined them feeling sorry for me, wondering how I had been dancing for so long and yet still couldn’t do a straightforward combination, and feeling so glad that it wasn’t them.  I half-heartedly practiced a few more moves and then left as soon as the clock ticked over to the end of class.

I cried tonight, not only for my own embarrassment, but because I finally realised what pole dance has become to me.  It’s shifted, slowly but surely, from a positive force in my life to a negative.  It’s become a source of overwhelming stress, rather than stress relief.  It’s no longer something that I look forward to all day, something that I leap into with gusto, something that brings me joy.  I can no longer watch my advanced friends dance without feeling ashamed of myself for not being at the same level.  I can no longer hear praise from friends and strangers without immediately telling myself, “they probably just feel sorry for you; that performance could have been much better”.  Pole is now something that I measure myself against in the most negative way, leaving me feeling inadequate and uncomfortable.  It’s become a weapon of self-harm.

So after many tears, and at 1:30am (though I’ll sleep on it), I’ve come to a decision.  Pole, I need a break from you.  I need to step back and understand truly what it is I want to do with dance.  I want to pursue ballet and lyrical dance further, away from pole, and I want to devote more time to other joys like writing, reading, and music.  I want to spend more time with my long-suffering and ever-supportive boyfriend, who has quietly put up with the drama, the spending, the glitter, and most of all, the absences, for far too long.

I need to heal my body and my mind, and that’s going to take a little bit of time.

I will not say goodbye, pole, because I will come back.  You’re a part of my life, and I never want to remove you from it completely.  I just need to step away for a while, and find my own strength, so that when I come back, you can once again be a light in my life.

Suzie, Amber, Stacey, Bailey, Belle, Pixie, Amarli, Zahra, and many others – thank you for being such inspirational and incredible teachers.  My pole friends, you are all amazing – keep on being so.

Back soon :)

with much love from the lit dancer

artemis xx