Why am I so Quiet?

I don’t write here as much as I used to.

This is partly because I have lots of other writing projects. Partly because I have been finishing my Grad Dip.

But mostly because I feel like most of what I have to say, is already being said.

There were a few lucky bloggers who started their blogs back when the rest of us were still using smoke signals and morse code to communicate. By the time the rest of us caught on, there were over 152,000,000 blogs in the world. To put that in content, that is approximately how many pieces of Lego Friends we suck up the vacuum cleaner each week. Especially those tiny little purple bows and brushes. They shit me.

152 million blogs.

Of course, five of those are mine. One I gave up on a long time ago, and one I will never admit is mine (yay, internet anonymity).

But how are we meant to be heard amongst so many voices?

I started From Mum to Me primarily as a record of my children’s early lives – a way to capture forever all their little quirks, and all my major mistakes. What I wrote about was ridiculously important to me, but also completely recognisable to everyone else. For the most part, parenting blogs such as this, are universal stories told with different names. And we share and read them, precisely because we can see our own experiences in someone else’s words and think ‘thank god, I thought I was the only one who did that.’

You are not alone.

If we could sum up the messages of 99.9% of all the ‘mummy’ blogs and ‘mommy blogs’ and ‘parenting blogs’ in only four words – that message would be YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

It’s a pretty powerful message, even when wrapped up in stinky nappies and glitter glue.

Because even though I started the blog for me, I kept writing for you, because of those wonderful comments and emails I get every now and then, the likes on Facebook, the private messages – the ones that say ‘thank you for making me understand I am not alone in this.’

That has been very powerful for me.

I am under no illusion that what I write is Pulitzer worthy or compellingly unique. Usually, it’s full of speling mistakes.

But while I am lazily inactive here on the blog, I do still share and post things on my Facebook account. Mostly because it’s a lot easier than thinking up funny topics and then finding the time to sit down and actually write about them.

I find it fascinating to see what really makes people jump – the things that people get excited about. I should point out that it’s never anything that I actually write. Sniff. But that’s ok, I’ve dealt with that.

The memes and links that generate the most activity is like a spotlight, pointing out the major issues that affect us all. Because we (Relentless readers) are a rather homogenous group. Roughly a third from the States, a third from Australia and the rest from across the globe like the UK, NZ and Canada. Hi everyone.

And while we are not all women (hi guys) and not all my readers are actually mums, when something spikes I can see the issues we think about. The clever meme people may have made us laugh, but they also manage to capture our concerns.

The most recent thing I posted up on Facebook was a great quote from Jennifer Garner about the fact that she has a baby bump despite not being pregnant. She totally owned it, and everyone seemed to love it.

I recently published a book 'The Brutal Truth About the Third Child' (available on Amazon here). Yeah, I actually just did that. Anyway, in the book I wrote a completely new piece called ‘What does your body really look like after three babies?’. It was quite confronting, which is probably why I never put it up on the blog.

But, like Jennifer, I like to think that my scars and wobbly bits are just a badge of honour of being a mum. I’d rather have them, than not, and I think a lot of you feel the same way too.

But if someone as lovely as Jennifer Garner is writing it, then I don’t need to, which is why I am sometimes very silent over here.

But you don’t need to be. Please keep those messages coming.

The Third Child in Foreign Lands

Faced with a list of tiresome chores and no writing mojo to be found anywhere, I decided to indulge in a little private time this morning. I did something we all do, but rarely admit to, like pee in the shower or pick your nose just to look at it.

I googled myself.

The first page was pretty much what I expected. My blogs shannonmeyerkort.com and Relentless came up, as did my profile on WeekendNotes. There was my LinkedIn profile, gathering cobwebs and dust, various reviews and old academic papers, plus lots of mentions of my Brutal Truth About the Third Child.

I was chuffed to see my Master thesis get a mention on Google Books. Zero reviews and zero stars… probably because the only copy is sitting on a shelf somewhere around here gathering dust.

I had really begun to enjoy myself. No nude photos. No websites dedicated to destroying me. No embarrassing Facebook shots that someone else had posted.

But then a site came up that I didn’t recognise, and I got a little squeezy sensation in my stomach. 

Had someone stolen my words or had they written someone awful about me?

This is precisely why they say don’t google yourself. Sometimes it’s better not to know what others are writing about you.

But I had to find out. Besides, it was in Italian.

There was a picture of me and my family (a picture they don’t have permission to use, but we’ll ignore that) and my name. I could guess at a few of the words: ironia, testimonianza, blogger Americana.

Uh, hang on.

I went back and hit the google translate button for the page. Then, in a fabulous mash of Italian and English, appeared an article that was designed to look like I had been interviewed, but really was just a bit of a cut and paste of my Brutal Truth article.

The translations are even better than my original article: "You can doze and sleep all day and as a priestess stroll touching your belly waiting for a football.”

Some of it is pretty funny because it still makes sense:

“Are you happy of nausea and vomiting because it means you can have five minutes to get you in the bathroom?”

And other parts are completely mystifying:

“Rilavi reluctantly the vestititi used with a normal detergent, throw some broken play, refreshments sheets cradle. Your son has already managed to dismantle all sure that you put in the house and survived, so it is not necessary to reposition the newcomer.”

I liked how the Italians automatically assumed I had sons.

The French version of my ‘Letter of Apology to my Middle Child’ described it as “a mother issu[ing] an apology letter to his middle child”. And I thought I had difficulty with French pronouns.

“Shannon notes that this has forged the character of its small second. She teases threats, disputes, compromises. All you seem to want, and that is so hard to give is my complete attention. It's hard because I have three children, a house to manage and my writing."

“Shannon reassures: "I see the fire in you and I know you traceras your own way, despite your place mid or maybe because of this site?"

I particularly liked being referred to as an ‘its’. Thanks French people.

The Portuguese translation of The Brutal Truth was possibly my favourite, especially how they introduced me:

“Shannon Meyerkort is a writer, blogger and mother of three girls under seven years. His love for writing is not simple, because it implies that you are sitting to do so.”

I love how they aren’t beholden to gender assumptions about mothers being women. How refreshing.

The translation seems to make things worse than they really are:

“It seems that is six months pregnant by the time we hit the second quarter. Sit persecuted and cries a lot.”

And then go a little hard-core with the language:

“People who have just given birth, begin to upset her with all the talk bullshit about babies.”

Then they go hard-core with the parenting:

“Push your child out of the crib, take them cuddly and dispose of them in a weekend.”

That’s a bit rough, even for me.

I haven’t yet ploughed deeper into the world of Google to see if the Chinese have their own translations of The Brutal Truth, but if it’s ever found - please let me know.

It is basically impossible to get a decent photo of three kids at the same time

The End is Nigh

I have a bathroom book.

It’s usually a non-fiction book, occasionally what you might call a coffee-table book, but usually a parenting book that I read after my shower, while I brush my teeth, an opportunity to learn something (but really just an excuse to delay going back downstairs again).

My current book is ‘All Joy and No Fun’ by Jennifer Senior.

I am over half way through and there are a few dog eared corners already, as I fold them down, for that inevitable point in the future when everything goes to hell and I feel the need to refer to a book to help me find a solution.

Because that’s where the solution is, right? In books.

But last night I read this:

It’s not an accident that most parenting blogs are written by mothers and fathers of small children. Part of it, yes, is that these parents are responding to the novelty of their situation. But part of it, too, is that the challenges they’re writing about are usually so generic that they’re betraying no confidences in revealing them. It does not violate your children’s privacy to say they detest peas, and it’s not a particularly poor reflection on your parenting either. Whereas writing about adolescents is different. They’re incipient adults, with idiosyncratic habits and intricate vulnerabilities; they’re unlikely to welcome daily blog posts from their mothers and fathers about their lives. Their parents are no longer inclined to share these stories, either, at least not publicly…

Apart from the bit about daily blog posts, this entire paragraph could be about me. And quite possibly, about you too.

It is something that I think about every time I lash out at my eldest daughter, every time she does something or says something that makes me want to throw something at her. She’s seven but is already behaving like a teenager. A shitty teenager.

Notice how I don’t write any of those stories? I am reluctant to share them, partly because unlike complaining about my baby throwing poo out of the shower, stories about my relationship with my eldest does reflect poorly on my parenting.

And the reason why it reflects poorly, is because I am her primary role model, and almost every hideous thing she does, can be directly traced back to something I have done or said.

I realise that at some point in the future, as all my children grow up, and can read and trawl the internet, Relentless will inevitably finish. I don’t want it to finish because I find such relief in sharing stories and also knowing that my memories have become concrete, that the special moments of being a mother to small children won’t turn to dust in my mind.

But just as Senior writes, writing generic stories about young children betrays no confidences. My kids love hearing about the dumb stuff they did when they were younger. I doubt they will feel so enamoured when they are pre-teens and the bitchy girls at school discover this blog.

So, even now as you watch the number of blog posts drop away, it is not because I don’t love writing for you (or writing for me).

It is because I am treading the fine line between sharing and over-sharing as the girls grow up.

What are your thoughts?

The Mamas and the Papas [Mamadoo]

As you may know, I recently got a gig writing hilarious posts for the Aussie shopping site Mamadoo (well I think they're hilarious, especially after four hours sleep).

And not only do I get cold hard cash (which is nice, because mostly I just get paid in 'likes' and 'I saw your blog yesterday, pretty funny' sort of thing), I get to write about things would I couldn't - or wouldn't - on Relentless.

Who would have thought there were off-topic topics on Relentless?

But I was recently asked to write a post for Dads, which is funny in itself, since I'm not a Dad. So I asked some friends who were, and not only did I get the beautiful Failure is an Option from my mate Glenn, but I also wrote Tips for First Time Dads which is full of gems from people who actually know what they are talking about. And you don't have to be a first-timer (or a Dad) to get something from it.

And so, in anticipation of Father's Day here in Australia this Sunday and in honour of all the dads in our lives (and in my case, my hubby Phill, father-in-law Terry and father Mike) I say 'here's to you, guys. Love your work!'.

Would You Like to Review My Children's Books?

A couple of years ago, stuck in the middle of school holidays with my then-five year old Bombshell, we decided that we would write a book together.

Specifically, I would write it, and she would do the illustrations. I let her choose the most important aspects of the book, such as the name of the main character (Fairy Sparkle Rose), the colour of her dresses, and the 'twist' at the end of the story. It is a story about being yourself and not following the pack.

I enjoyed it so much, I wrote another book 'How the Rainbow Got its Colours' which is a story about sharing.

Then earlier this year, obviously with the 'D' word flapping around the back of my head, I wrote a story called 'My Body My Shape' (yeah, the title is a work in progress) which is a story about loving different shapes and sizes.

I don't know why the image is doing this, but I assure you the books themselves are completely normal

Each story is aimed at 4-6 year olds. They are very simple stories, with painted illustrations by my daughters. I have simply printed them myself on Snapfish, so the production is basic.

But I have a few spare copies, and I will post them to you if you wouldn't mind reading them to your kids, and then emailing me a few lines telling me what you think. Be honest, there's no point telling me they're awesome if you actually think they're crap. If you happen to own a publishing company and you love them, then yes, I am willing to sign a contract.

It's first in, first served, so please email me your name and postal address to frommumtome@hotmail.com (email only please, don't put your personal details on Facebook)*.

Update: thanks to everyone who responded, but I have had more offers to review the books than expected,and unfortunately, there are no more copies available.

I can send packs of two books to the US or Europe (2 on offer) and packs of three books within Australia (up to five on offer). (Sorry about the discrepancy, but it costs a lot to post things across the world).


* I promise not to stalk, harass or sell your personal details to anyone. Just in case you were wondering...

It's Not Mother Guilt, Just An Observation

The last thing I hear as the cab pulls away are your cries.

The excitement I had been feeling all week sinks like a stone in my stomach. The taxi driver glances at me, assuming my moist eyes are affected by the dazzling Perth morning sun. He leans across me and snaps down my visor, leaving the top half of my face in shadow. I murmur my thanks.

I am relieved my cab driver is not a talker. I chat inanely most of the time, but right now I want to be left alone. I am alone, having left you and your sisters at home, barefoot and still in your pyjamas.

I am flying to Sydney. It used to be my home but now it is just somewhere I used to live, a place of memories, a holiday destination. Or for today, a place of work and networking.

No one is talking to me. No one wants anything. There is no fighting or whinging or singing or questions.

Instead we listen to the radio. The mystery of the missing Malaysian airlines flight is now a week old.  I feel for the Perth woman, a mother like me, whose husband is on that flight. I feel for everyone who has someone on that flight.

What is the more painful combination: hope but not knowing, or grief and certainty?

The roads ahead of us are clear and we arrive at the airport in record time. In hindsight I could have spent another thirty minutes with you and your sisters. I know you will have stopped crying by now, distracted by breakfast or TV or Mr Bun. You are happy by now, have forgotten I'm not there.

But the thing I still hear are your cries.

Why Did I Write That?

'I saw your article, Shannon.'

Normally these four words would make me swell with pride, but lately they have been making me wince.

Recently I had a story published in Offspring Magazine, a West Australian parenting and lifestyle magazine. It was about having a Caesarian section.

Back in 2007 when I was pregnant with the Bombshell I knew everything about babies. As you do when you are pregnant for the first time. I was going to have a natural labour with minimal intervention. I went to all the pre-natal classes - all of them - except the one about epidurals and c-sections, because there was no way I was ever going to have one of those. Ever.

So after I had been in labour for about 24 hours, and the doctor told me I needed an emergency Caesar my first reaction was 'no thankyou.'

In reality was probably more like, 'no way [sob], you're not cutting me open [wail], I am going to push [argh], Caesars are scary. I won't be able to walk. I won't be able to hold my baby. I will have a massive smiley face scar on my stomach forever [arghhhhh. sob. wail].'

Obviously I wasn't the first women to have this reaction, as he just gently smiled and pushed the consent form at me.

I cried the entire time.

In hindsight it was a necessary and straightforward process, but at the time it was devastating. Not only was there the (completely wrong) impression that I had already failed as a mother, but I had this misguided fear brought about by ignorance. It turns out my knowledge about Caesars were based on information from approximately 1957. A little outdated shall we say.

If I hadn't been so arrogant to assume that 'it would never happen to me', maybe I would have gone to the pre-natal class and discovered that they're really not so bad. Certainly not worth crying over.

I went on to have two more Caesars. And with the experience of the first behind me (and actually attending the class) that bit of knowledge meant that I went into it knowing it wasn't the end of the world.

So I wanted to write an article for women like me, who think (rightly or wrongly) they will never need a Caesar, and so never seek out the information. Because even if only one of those women then end up needing a Caesar, maybe she will not cry the entire time, because they will remember my article, and think 'she survived and it wasn't that bad.'

I should mention that my obstetrician did give me a photocopied page about the possibility of needing an emergency c-section. I did read it at the time, but it focused on the risks and statistics and not the experience of it. I wanted my article to focus on the experience.

Of course, a lot of the experience is terribly undignified and involves complete strangers poking, prodding, shaving, sticking things in and pulling things out of you. Looking, looking, always looking at your lady parts. Like a normal delivery, but with more cutting and tubes. And a lot more witnesses.

So I wrote my story. And in my usual style I over-shared. I talked about pubic hair and watching myself be catheterised. I wrote about the sponge bath and the naked fat bottom.  I wrote about farting.

So this is why I was shuddering when people mentioned they saw my article. Were they looking at me picturing me sweep up a pile of shaved pubic hair. 

Just like you are now.

Sorry about that.

The Brutal Truth About The Brutal Truth...

Today marks the first anniversary of 'The Brutal Truth About the Third Child'.

In a small way, writing that post changed my life.

Prior to the Brutal Truth this blog was not exactly setting the world on fire. Shocking, I know. I had a small, loyal following of readers, mainly family and friends (hi Mum!). Every time I got a comment or a new 'like' from a stranger I would jump up and down and clap my hands.

Actually, there probably wasn't much jumping because I was ridiculously pregnant with Baby Number Three. But I'm sure I clapped my hands.

Then, on what happened to be my 12th wedding anniversary, I sat down to write a tongue-in-cheek comparison of my three different pregnancies. Being a Monday, both the Bombshell and Curly Mop were in pre-primary/daycare, so apart from Baldy jumping up and down on my bladder, I had the house to myself. I remember it took half the day to write because I kept needing to go to the loo.

I hit publish and thought nothing more of it.

The next day I noticed that there had been a hundred or so hits on The Brutal Truth. That was enormous for me. My most popular post to date had been hit about 120 times over a matter of months, so this was incredible.

Over the next few days I watched as the hits mounted. The following Monday morning the tally was at 3,900. By lunchtime it was over 4,500. I checked again after dinner and it was over 5,700. I could literally sit and watch the counter click over. I became completely (and probably unhealthily) preoccupied.

See that big pointy bit? That's The Brutal Truth...

While the hits were mounting, so were the comments. Amazing comments, supportive comments: Mums who said 'Yes! So true'. Mums who said 'Thank God I stopped at two'. Mums who berated me for making them laugh out loud at work and pee a little.

There were a few negative comments, people who didn't detect my tongue firmly wedged in my cheek. People who didn't read all the way to the bottom. Well, it was a very long post.

Then something else happened to change my life.

Baldy Baby arrived, and the brutal truth about the third child became a thrilling and welcome reality.

I admit, I felt pressure to replicate the success of The Brutal Truth. All of a sudden I had this wonderful new virtual community, people who could relate to my story and possibly wanted more.

But with the new baby came the fog, and although some of my subsequent posts were relatively popular I was disappointed when the tens of thousands of people who read it, did not stick around to read any more.

It was an important lesson for me. 'Don't they like me anymore' I wailed. But then I asked myself: after I read a post that had been recommended or shared by a friend, do I click around on the blog to find more? Not usually.

It was like a literary one night stand. Luckily it felt good and there were zero regrets.

One year on, that single post is responsible for almost half of my entire hits. It's small change by the standards of the uber-bloggers but more than I ever expected for a blog with a dumb name, and it still gets hundreds of hits each and every day.

I have seen The Brutal Truth shared across the world. Someone emailed it to me once with a message 'read this, it's really funny' and I had to say 'I wrote that!'. It's even been pinned on Pinterest.
You've made it now, Shannon. Give up and die happy.

The twelve months since Baldy Baby was born have been productive for me, especially given the whole three kids thing. I had a couple of articles published in national magazines including My Child, I have been working hard at WeekendNotes, even earning a small paycheck each month.  I started dabbling in a novel and wrote two pictures books which were beautifully illustrated by The Bombshell.

Hey publishers, let me know if you want to make me an offer

I have even bigger plans for the next twelve months.

Uni starts in a couple of weeks and I am looking forward to being the daggy mature aged student in the corner again.

I have an article being published next month that mentions - amongst other things - pubic hair and bottoms. Click here if you want to read more about pubic hair.

I am also hoping to publish a kids book later this year (no pubic hair but there will be bottoms).

So thank you for sticking around with me over the past year. Thank you for making comments on my blog and on my Facebook page.
I recognise your names and it feels like family.

And that's the truth.



Update: as of December, 2013 there have been almost 150,000 hits to The Brutal Truth About the First Child. It is read by thousands of people every month, and since I don't ever plan on having a fourth child, I guess it will remain my most popular post.

Easy and innovative new fundraising ideas at www.fundraisingmums.com.au

Life Intruded

Do you think that's a good name for a novel?

If I ever get around to writing my autobiography, I think that is what I will call it. Because it will explain why despite my best of intentions (and the occasional good idea), I never got around to finishing my novel.

Life has a knack of getting in the way of my writing. And by 'life' of course, I mean 'kids'.

I wrote a while ago that this was NaNoWriMo and I was going to make a crack of getting 50,000 words of my first novel out by the end of November. Today is the 20th and I have written about 17,000 words. You do the math. Unless aliens come down and kidnap my three children and take them to the best creche in the universe - for ten days straight - there is no way I am going to make it.

I even have a good idea for a novel. Two in fact.

I spent the last two weeks of October writing a detailed plan of one novel, with character studies and a plot (though, alarmingly, no ending. That should have rung alarm bells immediately).

Then while I was standing on the corner of George and Liverpool Street in Sydney, on the last day of our holiday, I got a new idea. Two weeks of preparation went down the toilet and I ran straight into NaNoWriMo with a new story with no plan whatsoever. I do have an ending though.

And if I say so myself, it's a little bit naughty. So much so, that even if I write the damn thing, I would be reluctant to let anyone I know actually read it, unless they can't look me in the eye afterwards. Or look me in the eye with a raised eyebrow and a saucy, knowing grin.

November was always going to be a tough month for me to write with abandon. We were in Sydney for the first 3 days, then my husband was away twice for work. Less than 6 hours after he hopped on the plane for his second stint in Adelaide, the Mop was vomiting with a tummy bug. I spent the next 24 hours doing four loads of washing because I rather stupidly kept remaking the bed in between vomits. Nice... but stupid.

So, just in case you think I am giving up - I'm not. I will continue to keep going with my novel. Even if I make it to 25,000 words this year, I think it's a decent first effort.  But this is where I ask for help.  Every now and then (not every day, because I will go mental) will you drop me a line and ask how the novel is going.  Maybe a bit of external encouragement will keep me going.

And then in about a decade (don't they say it takes ten years to write a first novel?) you can all read my saucy little novel, and all stare at with me with a raised eyebrow and saucy, knowing grin.

NaNoWriMo - OMG I'm Going To Do It

Like many of us, I have a novel inside me. In the past it was just an idle dream, so blurry it was like my baby had been smearing her grubby fingers across my glasses.

Then, the other week, the idea crystallised (but I'm not telling you what it is).

November is International Novel Writing Month, so I asked my good friend Amanda Kendle - writer, blogger, mother, and social media expert - to write me a guest post and get me in the mood. 

So, if you are a wannabe novelist as well, will you join us?

November is NaNoWriMo. No, this is not related to Movember (despite the Mo) so I won't be growing a moustache, but it will be even sillier. Ridiculously crazy, in fact. NaNoWriMo (shortened to NaNo by those in the know) stands for National Novel Writing Month. In fact it's really International Novel Writing Month as people across the world take part, but I guess IntNoWriMo doesn't have the same ring to it.

As you might guess, this is a challenge where people go about writing a draft of a novel in just one month. The idea is that you should write at least 50,000 words, which works out at 1,667 words per day. This is probably a little short for most novels but it's a good chunk of it at least. The focus is on quantity rather than quality, since the biggest problem most people have with writing novels is that they never finish them. NaNo encourages you to get all those words out so that you've then got something to work with.

When Shannon asked me to write a guest post about NaNoWriMo, she was under the impression I had completed one of my novel drafts since my son was born. Unfortunately, I'm not that amazing. I've "won" NaNo (their expression for reaching 50,000 words by the end of November) just once, the year before my son came along. I've tried since, but not made it.

 

But. BUT! This year is going to be different. I've had NaNo on my to do list (with a bunch of question marks) for a few days but I've decided I'm going to do it. My son is two and a half, he sometimes (okay occasionally) sleeps through the night and on a (very) good day he even sleeps until 6am. I only work half-time so I think I can squeeze the time into the day to get my 1,667 words done. However, I am trying to use lots of the lessons I've learned from previous NaNo fails to help me to another win this time. My strategy is:

• Spend October (oops - well, the rest of October) writing a reasonably detailed outline of the novel I want to write. On my first (and curiously, successful) NaNo attempt, I had no plan at all. I got the 50,000 words done but the incredible amount of rewriting I've had to do on this (including completely restructuring it) is not something I want to do again.
• Aim to write 2,000 words each day. There will always be off days (sick child, anyone?) so you need a buffer to deal with them - there's nothing worse than trying to catch up thousands of words in a day. (Although I did once write 15,000 words in a day for this very reason. You may correctly assume that they were not very good words.)
• Be brave enough to meet up with other NaNo writers. There are groups everywhere who meet up to write together. I'm hoping to persuade Shannon here to take part, which will be a good start (don't tell her, though, that someone with three young kids is even more insane than me to try this).
• Plan a couple of mega-days where I leave the house, head somewhere without the internet, and write for three or four hours.
• Remind myself constantly that this is just a first draft and nobody needs to read it except me - I can make it more "beautiful" in the next draft.

If you're as crazy as me head over to nanowrimo.org and sign up. The website is full of great resources, a forum to meet others, and you can log your word count every day (I love watching the graph go up and up!). And happy writing.

 

 

 

Amanda Kendle is a would-be novelist, mother of one and a blogging and social media consultant; she blogs at notaballerina.com and will report on her NaNoWriMo attempt at facebook.com/amandakendleconsulting

The Write Stuff

A friend I haven't seen in a while asked me today how my writing was going.

And it made me stop and think.

On the one hand, I blog regularly... well weekly anyway.  I have some faithful followers who read my blog and tolerate my prattle on Facebook. My post The Brutal Truth About the Third Child, still garners hundreds of hits each day, after it went viral. I even found it being repinned on Pinterest the other day. Awesome, no?

I also write for Weekend Notes.  I am now ranked Number 2 (in Perth) and am finally making enough money to justify the time I spend eating my way around Perth.  I am mentoring a number of cadets as part of the writing program at WN, and even if I am not changing anyone's life, I can at least say I am part of a writing community.

Recently I got to see the proof of my first soon-to-be-published article.  In an actual magazine. Made out of paper! It is true that the subject matter of the article may not be my true love - not to suggest to dentists everywhere that surgery design doesn't float someones boat - but my real desire is to write about women's health, pregnancy, children, loss, fear, pride and the wealth of emotions and experiences that come with being a parent.

So while these little successes push me forward I can feel the yawning hole of 'not quites' and 'no thanks' pulling me back.

Even though I am technically having a 'year off' due to the arrival of Baldy Baby (maternity leave from doing nothing?) this year I submitted two articles to different magazines, and while the initial response seemed positive, their enthusiasm has dimmed, and I have to accept the fact that they probably don't want my stories. 

One article, very close to my heart, I worked on over a matter of months. It was the culmination of a Feature Writing course at uni. It contained the stories and words of some incredible people suffering the worst type of loss, and when I was told by the editor to cut the story down, first by a few hundred words, then by a thousand, I was afraid that the essence of the story would be lost.  I was told that there were 'too many quotes'. How do you edit the words of parents who have lost a child without robbing them of their chance to tell their story?

Yet, people don't become editors of national magazines without knowing how a story should be written, so I have to not only accept her criticism, but learn from it too.

I have so much to learn, yet it would seem that I cannot learn these things at uni, because that very same article earned me a Distinction and the misguided notion that it would be acceptable for publication. I felt a bit silly when the editor told me via email that the story 'read a bit like a university essay'... umm yes, that's because it was.

I read the blogs of amazing writers like Kerri Sackville and Allison Tait. I pour over them looking for answers, trying to figure out the path from blogger to writer, from amateur to professional, from fun to career.

So how do you get started?  Am I on the right path?  Do you need just one big break, or is it a series of small breaks.

Self-Promotion Sure Beats Self-Flagellation

Shift your eyes slightly to the right.  No, that's my ridiculously outdated photo that makes me look like a bug-eyed monster.  Below that.

There we go. 

Best Australian Blogs 2012 Nominee.  Yup, I thought I would put my writing on the line and nominate my blog for the national competition sponsored by the Sydney Writers' Centre.

Despite the fact that I plaster my life and the life of my children all over the internet, I am actually quite a introverted person. I realise how stupid that sounds, but blogging - any type of writing - is a very solitary pursuit and it is easy to separate the act of typing, sitting alone at the kitchen table, with the fact that my life is suddenly spilled across the net, visible to friends and strangers alike.

Self-promotion is difficult for many women, especially mums.  I am no different, but based on the extraordinary response I received to a recent post The Brutal Truth About the Third Child I thought I would nominate not only the blog to be formally judged, but I also put my hand up for The People's Choice Award.  That being you*.

So starting on Friday April 13th, if you have enjoyed reading my blog, please consider voting for me. 

I will post all the links and information closer to the date. In the meantime, keep poking around and I hope you continue to enjoy From Mum to Me.


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* 'You' in this case is the almost 30,000 people who have read my post, and re-posted and shared 'The Brutal Truth' across Facebook and the internet. 

Prior to The Brutal Truth, my blog was primarily read by a few friends and family (hi Mum!), and the odd occasion I received a comment from a 'stranger' heralded great celebration and some very girly hand waving. 

My previously most popular post 'To Three or Not to Three' had been hit about 120 times, hardly earth shattering, but as a writer it felt very satisfying. 

But there was something about the 'The Brutal Truth' that hit a chord with readers, and within a week it had been hit over 4,000 times and re-posted numerous times on Facebook.  Over the following few days I watched the views grow exponentially as it went viral across the net.  A friend told me he simply sat and watched the 'page views' counter click over one per second for hours.

Within three weeks of writing the post, it had been read over 20,000 times and now it is approaching 30,000 views, and as supportive as she is, I doubt too many of those hits are from my mum. 

It has been the most astonishing time in my writing 'career'.  Each comment has brought me great joy, even the negative ones.  Yet, as a friend pointed out, people may have criticised my parenting skills [especially joking about drinking during pregnancy], but no one has criticised my writing.

So thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my blog, and even more so to those of you who have shared the post with friends.  It shows the infinite power of the web and the wealth of support within the blogging community.

Me No Can Write

Today I just don't feel like writing.

Correction - I want to write, but the words aren't coming.  I would probably struggle to do the shopping list, and that would just involve me transferring words from one piece of paper to another.

I have already had two false starts today.  A short story for a competition needs 850 words by Wednesday.  I made it to about 200 words and gave up because I had said all I could and barely made it to a quarter of the word count.  To finish would require a lot of padding.

I also started a blog post which could have either ended up being a story about Miss Curly Mop's second birthday, or the horrid experience I had with the caterer leading up to the aforementioned birthday.  I didn't even finish the first paragraph. It's now loitering in virtual purgatory.

Why is it that when I am awake at 2am, the words rush through my mind with clarity and ease, yet when I have a few uninterrupted (waking) hours my brain is as clunky and uncooperative as this over-worked simile. Or is it a metaphor?  I don't actually care.

When will they invent the brain equivalent of a voice recorder?  Something I can stick in my ear and all the lush articulate thoughts that are coming unbidden when I am trying to sleep can simply be recorded in all their glory for the next day.  When I am awake. Dumbledore has one for his bad thoughts, why can't I have one for my stories?

Hopefully tomorrow will be a better writing day. 

[Working Title*] Yay Me

It is the end of 2011.

And while that won't make much difference to aspects of everyday life such as whether to give the kids weetbix or rice bubbles for breakfast, and who had the Dora doll first, it does mean I can take stock of the last year and see what I actually managed to achieve in terms of my journey to becoming a writer.

I started the year by finding out I had won first place in a local writing competition, run by the West Australian newspaper.  It was the first time I had won something and the first time I saw my name in print. 

And I liked it.

I still remember the phonecall saying that I had won and to look out for my story the following day.  I was so excited I was jumping up and down on the spot, not very subtle considering I was standing on the creaky floorboards.  I am sure the woman heard every single juvenile jump, not to mention the smile which was threatening to burst the phone apart. 

Then in June I applied for a writing job at Weekend Notes and started doing reviews for them, mainly restaurants and things involving food. My speciality. Seven months and 38 articles later, I am ranked in their Top 10 (Perth) writers and have even earned a few hundred dollars.  This in no way covers the cost of all the breakfasts, lunch and dinners I have been eating**, but I am prepared to overlook this as it's all in the name of research. Right?

I returned to uni this year and completed two fabulous units - Creative Non-Fiction and Feature Writing for Magazines.  Thanks to some inspirational and generous people who allowed me to tell their stories about miscarriage, grief and loss, I wrote two articles which are hopefully being considered for publication. Part of me felt unworthy of being the translator of these intense and personal stories of loss, as thankfully, I had never been in their shoes.  Yet, the response I got from the articles, from those who had lived them, made me realise that I want to spend more time writing about topics people shy away from, ones they consider too taboo, too sad or too hard.  Because there is a strength that can be gained in knowing that you are not alone.

I continued writing my blog, somewhat patchily I will admit due to a four month period of intense sickness.  This will be my 100th post for the year, which has a nice rounded feel to it.  I covered a range of topics including the renovations, Baby Number Three, returning to uni, parenting and my writing journey.  My most popular - and commented upon - posts were about my decision whether to have a third child, and the creepy man at my daughter's kindy who was acting inappropriately. A big thankyou to my friend Rachel from 'Because I Said So' whose site has been responsible for many of my referrals.

So how will I finish the year?  With another big smile on my face.  A phonecall from my Mum this morning alerted me to the fact that another of my short stories was published by the West Australian today (page 46 if you're interested).  I wasn't the winner this year, but at least they got my name right.  


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* I couldn't come up with a better title than 'Yay Me'.  I feel rather self-indulgent today, and if I cannot eat my way through another box of chocolates, at least I can blow my own trumpet for a bit.

** Sincere thanks to my partner in crime Brad, who has sacrificed many a morning to come in search of the ideal breakfast location with me (and more often than not, paid for the privilege).

The Writer's Journey - A Bump in the Road

I believe life is a journey, and within that, each of the roles we adopt take us on a path.  Some of those paths are direct, others - like my writing - tend to meander a bit.

However I have just made it one step closer to being a professional writer.

No, I haven't been published in a major magazine or literary journal (soon though, I hope).

No, I haven't accepted a contract to write my memoirs or become a columnist for a national paper.

I have been spammed.

The other day I received a comment from 'Sammy' on my post 'It's Official - I am Pregnant'.  It's a pretty old post so I thought it unusual to receive a comment.  That is, until I read it:

Congratulation Good Post
Thank you very much
Plan your Pregnancy as you like with Ovulation Kit now you can choose your time and date of pregnancy you can find me by searching on Google HOME CHECK

It was genuine spam! Some hardworking computer out there had spent the time to dig up my blog and send it a mass-produced comment in bad English.  I feel so special.  Even my own Mum, bless her, hasn't figured out how to send me comments. 

However I soon realised that the computer had not taken the time to actually read the post considering it was about announcing my pregnancy, thereby making its suggestion to buy ovulation kits a bit redundant.  That made me sad. 

Still it's a step in the right direction.
 

Eating for Two (Months)

A find myself with a small window of opportunity.  A port-hole really.

Twice a week the Blonde Bombshell and Miss Curly Mop attend daycare, a remnant of the days when I used to work outside of the house, and more recently, when I attended university.

Now uni is over for the year, I have a small window before the new baby is born where I am essentially childless twice a week.  Bliss, you might say.

I know I should be taking advantage of this opportunity and spend it writing.  Afterall, according to the banner at the top of this blog my goal is to become a professional writer.  Last time I checked, you didn't win that title like a lottery.  You actually had to write things.

But instead of utilising this time by working on one of the many story ideas pinned to the corkboard above my desk, ideas that stare at me every day, accusing me of neglecting them, I am whiling away the hours doing other important things.  Like watching Celebrity Apprentice and The Slap.

I am also eating a lot. 

This is justifiable because I am pregnant.  Luckily, I have been able to combine my love of eating and my desire to write into my sideline at Weekend Notes.

Every time I go to a restaurant, cafe, park or event I write a review and it is published online.  I even earn a few dollars.  I carry the tools of a professional writer - a digital camera and a notebook - and will snap photos of my food, and everyone else's.  Woe betide the person who tucks into their lunch before letting me take a picture.  I am amazed at how patient my friends and family are with me and my rather nasty habit. 

In turn, friends and family are amazed at just how often I am eating out these days.  It's a bit embarrassing really, but I almost feel I am a squirrel storing nuts for the winter.  This analogy can be taken two ways - you can say I am eating plenty to make a nice comfy home for baby, or you can read the desperation of a woman who knows that soon all traces of a social life will disappear for a year or three.

I'm on Page 1

For a few months now I have been posting review articles to Weekend Notes, a website that operates in a number of Australian states (and New York, go figure) providing reviews and ideas of what to do in those cities.

Go on, have a look. Scroll down a bit to Places.  Look closely at number 3 (Zanders) and 10 (Hobart St Deli) - those are my reviews!

Scroll down a bit more, to the Editor's Choice no less.  Yep, me again*.

At the risk of sounding like the complete amateur that I am, I was really chuffed to receive an email from the editor to say she had selected my Black Toms review to go on the website as the Editor's Choice.  It made an excellent day even better.  Read the story: I got to have lunch with my mum, had an excellent meal, and part of it was free.  See what I mean.  Excellent day.  And the fact that my mum got to play a starring roll in my best-yet review makes it even nicer (you can see the top of her head in one of the pictures!)

I also have (finally) made enough from writing these reviews to request my first payment**.  From the 4th working day of next month, I will finally be a paid writer.  Don't start asking for handouts yet though, I'm no Bryce Courtney.  Autographs I am happy to provide though.

As you can probably tell by the tone of this post, I am feel much better.  The morning sickness has passed, I am off all medication, and the energy of second trimester has well and truly kicked in.  So has the hunger.  I am eating constantly, which is why I am able to post so many reviews to Weekend Notes.  I am always going out and eating.  What a life!

You can probably also infer from this change of pace, that uni has finished for this semester.  I handed in my article (entitled Opportunity Lost: Men's experience of miscarriage and loss) last week and am eagerly awaiting its return.  I fully intend to submit it for publication, and when (not if) it gets accepted, I will change my banner at the top of this page.

I plan on deleting the bit in brackets that says (hopefully).


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*I'm quite aware that these change regularly, and chances are by the time you read this, my articles will have long gone.  No worries, you can still read them all here.

** I feel the need to justify my long overdue and lowly pay rate by explaining that I have been opting to take my pay monthly over 24 months... it takes a while to build a bank balance when you are talking about a few dollars per article.  But it does mean I will still be earning those few dollars in 2013!  By which time inflation would have reduced its value by about half...

Search Term Optimism

Some of you may think that blogging is simply a means for me to have a bit of a rant about a topic of my choosing. FREE MONEY.

You are absolutely right. You deserve to LIVE FOREVER.

However, for some bloggers out there, this is serious business and anyone in the know will know that you must write with SEO in mind (that's Search Engine Optimisation for all you neanderthals out there).  In other words, if you put some really speccy, searchable words upfront in your blog, like SEX, it's more likely to be at the top of the list when your potential readers hit 'search' in our friend Google (or whatever).

WIN A MILLION DOLLARS.

So, now I have been blogging for a little while I was wondering what sort of search terms people were using to wind up at my blog, by mistake that is. CAT MARRIES DOG.

Here are some of the terms people were using when they happened upon my WORLD'S BEST BLOG:

'Strap some on' I imagine there would have been some very disappointed readers out there when they happened upon my post about tradies.  After all, it doesn't take too much imagination to figure out what they were probably looking for...

'Pulme' This was one of those security check words websites get you to type in to prove you are not a computer.  There is no such word (I just checked) so I wonder what on earth readers were looking for when they typed that one into their engine...

'Where do the lost toys go?' This makes me sad, that there are people, possibly children, out there who are actively looking for an answer to this question.  I pondered it one day when I accidentally lost one of the Curly Mops toys.  I still wonder about the world of lost toys.  I hope you found your toys kids.

'The Windows to the' Not windows to the soul, or windows to the heart, just windows to the... What were they looking for?  Did they find it?  I installed a search tool on my blog (now located at the very bottom of the page) to try and figure out where they ended up, and I can't find it?  

How you you happen upon this blog?  Did you get what you were looking for?  What is THE MEANING OF LIFE? I hope to see you again soon.

Blogger 1: Shannon 0

I tried, I really did. 

I tried to be all clever and blog-professional and move from this blogspot address to my very own www.shannonmeyerkort.com address, so I could be a real blogger.  But it hasn't worked.

I can tell that it hasn't worked for you guys either, because it's not like you not to comment on news such as the (kind of obvious) bombshell I dropped last week.

Why this flurry of pseudo-professional blogging activity? This weekend I attended the 'Advanced Blogging' course run by my friend Amanda Kendle.  Although since I don't know what the DNS error message on my computer means, and cannot figure out a simple transfer of domain, I doubt I deserve the title of Advanced Blogger.  Medium blogger perhaps.  Hopefully not mediocre blogger.

The course, run through UWA Extension was brilliant.  You may remember that I attended the Basic Blogging course late last year, when From Mum to Me was born.  It's been eleven months since then, and while I may not have made a lot of headway with my dream to become a published writer in the traditional sense, I have posted over 100 blogs and been blown away by the sense of community and fun in the blogging sphere.

Keeping me sufficiently distracted to keep the nausea at bay, the course has given me pages and pages of good ideas how to promote and extend my blog.  I will be starting a Facebook page for From Mum to Me, as well as a 'Shannon Meyerkort - writer' page. It will probably be mainly pictures*.

So to promote the sense of community, and assuming that blogspot is allowing you to comment once again, I hereby invite you all to put your ten cents in and let me know how I can improve this blog.  What do you like to read about? What do you flick past or think 'I'll read that later' and then forget about?  More pictures or less pictures? Does the layout give you a headache?  Do you hate it when I ask questions?

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* It's a joke, geddit?  I haven't done much writing, so I will have to put lots of pictures up instead...

About six inches below the bread line

I'm thrilled to announce I have my first paid writing job.

I spent two hours the other day writing an article, taking some original photos and submitting it (you can read it here).  For that I will earn $1.25 a month for the next 24 months.

Yes, you read that correctly.  $30 over the next 2 years. Score.

You see, Mr Sensible came home the other day and suggested in his rather off-hand way that maybe I should get a job.  Well, he didn't say it quite like that, he merely pointed out that Young Aunty was earning a respectable income tutoring students at university and I was.. well, earning nothing.

So I did what any self-respecting job seeker should do, and I sought on Seek.  Incredibly enough there were three positions for writers in Perth, and since I had no experience in the finance sector and didn't want full time work, the only one remaining was a reviewing position for Weekend Notes (no, I hadn't heard of it either).  Their basic premise is: do something on the weekend and write about it. 

So I applied, I was accepted and now I am their 16th ranked writer (not bad since I was ranked 56th when I first started... my first piece must have been a hell of a good one).  My goal is to get in the top 10 within 8 weeks (apparently they get offered the free stuff to review). 

So here I am, finally, a honest to god, paid writer.  Now I figure all I have to do is write another 199 this week and every week thereafter, and I will be earning a decent wage.

*****
The more people who read my stories the better my ranking will be, so feel free to swing by once in a while and see what I am writing about.  I have just submitted a piece on birthday parties for kids, with any luck it will be up in a couple of days.