Millennials read!

Fair warning – today’s blog is more of a rant.

On the double edged sword that is facebook, someone shared a post that said “65% of millennials don’t know what Auschwitz is”. I vehemently hate comments like it this. Firstly – site your sources, where has this figure come from? Secondly I suspect that it’s been thrown out into the ether to make young people look bad, in a world that already excludes them, a world that is tough to navigate and is only getting tougher. Millennials are less likely to own their own home, they work more hours for less pay than their parents (proportionately) and they get a lot of bad press. And for some reason are always talked about alongside avocado’s.

I find it extremely unlikely that this ‘fact’ is correct and I’m not really sure why millennials are so disliked. If millennials don’t know what Auschwitz is, surely its an indictment of our education system and not them? Having said that, we’re of a generation where information is available to us at a touch of a button, of a swipe of a screen or a “hey siri…”. We have access to, and take full advantage of the internet. Google has become our encyclopaedia, we have access to all the information in the world. But we also read. 

Millennials lead the way in reading, and research shows we’re more likely to read of all purposes (work, school, pleasure), and we read books, articles, blogs, magazines, newspapers. My facebook newsfeed is full of information about politics, current events, environmental factors and lots of book related pages. I care about the world and want to know what is happening in more than just my small corner. 

Forbes wrote an article last year reporting on an app called Hooked. Aimed at 13-24 year olds, in two years it had been downloaded a whopping 2 million times. So what is this app, some form of social networking, right? Wrong. It sends stories via SMS to its followers so they can enjoy a good thriller on the go.

In 2018 there was a reported increase of 35% in hardback book sales in the U.K. Now, it might not be millennials buying these, granted. But book sales are booming. Guess what book Goodreads ranked as 11th out of 200 for 2018? The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris *insert gobsmacked emoji here*. The novel is said to be based on a true story, after the author was told the story by Lali Sokolov. It’s come under fire for it’s inaccuracies, but that discussion is for another day. My point is, with 400,00 copies sold in the U.K alone, and reading groups all a twitter with how good it is, how can people not know what Auschwitz is? Any person who went to a comprehensive school past 1993/1994 probably had to watch Schindler’s list.

I did a quick Google search (I promise they’re not paying me, other search engines are available), and found what I think to be the source of the original statistic, an article by the Washington Post. The figure comes from a study by the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany. They only asked 1350 people and only Americans FYI. However, many of those asked (93%) said that they felt that there should be more education around the Holocaust. I’m getting sidetracked.

My point is this: Young people are reading. A lot. Whether they’re reading fiction, articles or their newsfeeds, they’re constantly having the opportunity to learn. I’ve learnt so many valuable things from all my reading. Margaret Atwood taught me to see oppression in the world and to stand against it and Elizabeth Gaskell taught me the see struggles of social inequality in the victorian era and see how little we’ve changed. I’ve also learnt some less valuable things. Want to get rid of slugs from your vegetable garden without pesticides? Put cloves of garlic in the soil. Thank you Outlander. 

So next time you see a post implying the ignorance or laziness of millennials, maybe you’ll question it. After all 87% of facts on the internet are false…

https://www.forbes.com/sites/neilhowe/2017/01/16/millennials-a-generation-of-page-turners/#3ea728991978

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2018/04/12/two-thirds-of-millennials-dont-know-what-auschwitz-is-according-to-study-of-fading-holocaust-knowledge/?utm_term=.c1a4ba5d0282

Second time lucky for last years resolution.

When I first started this blog it was with the idea to practice my writing, putting it in the public domain and allowing others to read my story. I was overwhelmed with the response to my last post, I had some wonderful comments and to be honest, it scared me. For those who have not read it, I wrote about the upcoming release of the new Tracey Beaker book and my own experiences of being in care. It was the most personal thing I had ever shared publicly and afterward I wondered if I had anything else to say that others would want to hear. Since then, not much writing has gone on.

But with a new year, I thought it was time I tried again. My brain is full to bursting with ideas for stories, most of which I’m not ready to share with anyone. So I’m going to write about 2018. Last year was such a whirlwind of excitement and bookish love for me, and what better way is there to start the new year, than with two of my highlights of the previous year?

Last April I turned 30. Age doesn’t really mean much to me, but birthdays are a time to do something exciting. I spent the week of my birthday in Edinburgh. Diana Gabaldon wrote that the Scottish are natural born story tellers, which would explain why Edinburgh is a bibliophiles dream destination. The birth place of Harry Potter, it’s full of beautiful architecture that begs to be written about. It’s clear to see Rowling’s inspiration for scenes in Harry Potter. The entire city just oozes whimsical, magical inspiration. Although Harry Potter might be the most well known of bookish links to the city, its by no means the only one. 

The city has embraced it’s bookish charm and has an ever growing list of places to see and visit. In homage to Mary Shelley, there’s a themed bar called Frankenstein’s. From specialty cocktails to electric static charges, flashing lights and (some awful) karaoke, it’s any horror fans dream bar. The book, just like the monster, truly comes alive in this unique and impressive venue. 

Despite the excitement of every corner having some link to literature, the highlight of the trip was afternoon tea in The Signet Library. A 19th century building restored to perfection filled with books, was the most wonderful room to have afternoon tea in. The calmness that I’ve come to associate with any venue filled with books, encompasses you as you walk in. Down the centre of the room are dinning tables, surrounded by alcoves of books. We were in one of the alcoves and it took all of my restraint not to take a book off the shelf and read. Although the books surrounding us were about legal land owning (sadly these don’t feature on my TBR list), just being in the room with all those books was enough to inspire awe. 

After a wonderful week in Edinburgh, there wasn’t much I thought could top it. However in October, I got married. This was a wonderful day, preceded by the most amazing literary themed Hen-do. I could write about both for days. For now though, I want to focus on the dress. I have the privilege of having some incredibly talented and well read friends, one of which designed me the most perfect wedding dress. A 1950’s style dress in a ivory statin (with pockets, I do love a dress with pockets), it wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Jive. Except for one feature. The waist was made up of panels of material. Some of these panels contained the first pages of some of my favourite books, and they looped around the waist to meet in the middle at the back with a bow made of book pages. The books it contained were Throne of Glass, Sherlock Holmes, Jane Eyre, Little Women, Oryx and Crake and Harry Potter. 

My description probably doesn’t do it justice, so I’ll post a pic below. 

Reading is such a huge part of who I am and having those passages with me as I walked down the isle made me feel elated. My (now) husband has endless patience for my reading and it felt fitting to have books with me on my wedding day. I take a book with me wherever I go.

Having those books as part of my dress was just such a perfect way to get married. I am who I am because of those stories. I’ve become who I am because of those characters, because of the journeys I’ve been on. Sometimes you read a book that attaches it’s self to your soul and its there to stay, to become embedded in your heart, to comfort you when you’re sad and teach lessons without having to move from your armchair. Those stories and that dress bared my soul to my closest friends and family; to my fiancé. And “Reader, I married him”. 

The Story of Care Leavers

Last week Jacqueline Wilson announced the return of Tracy Beaker, the naughty, wild young girl who had an endless supply of hope to belong to a family.

The Story of Tracy Beaker was first published in 1991, when I was three and still living with my family. It follows the life of Tracy, a 10 year old who constantly gets rejected by foster families and returned to a children’s home, affectionally known as “the dumping ground”. The Dare Game, the sequel to Tracy Beaker was published 9 years later, just as I moved into a long term foster placement. The publicity around the sequel was what first brought Tracy Beaker to my attention. Jacquline Wilson actually came to my home town to talk about her work and I got to meet her. I don’t remember much about that meeting, but I remember how Wilson’s character made me feel as a foster child myself. Reflecting back now, there may have been some feelings of achievement. I had accomplished what Tracy hadn’t.

As a young person growing up in care I was enamoured with the character that Wilson had created. To me Tracy Beaker was someone who was feisty, had a wild imagination and unwilling to be someone she wasn’t to try and fit in with a family no matter how much she wanted to belong. She felt real.But the reality of growing up in care, and as Tracy discovered, belonging is a difficult thing.

Tracy had big ideas of what she would be like as an adult, of how she would right the wrongs of her life in adulthood. The new book is from the point of view of Tracy’s daughter Jess and shows the difficulties that Tracy navigates of being a single parent on a low income. The release of the book in October has got me thinking. Do children in care, ever really leave?

Obviously we do in a literal sense. We grow up, move towards independence in whatever that looks like for each individual. But being in care shapes us in a way that others don’t experience. My time in care was much smoother than Tracy’s. I had a long term placement, I was included as part of the family in all things and pushed and supported to achieve academically. Unfortunately the reality of foster care for most is much closer to what Wilson depicts. Instability, loneliness and uncertainty. As children we learn to navigate this as best we can.

Despite my wonderful placement, for most of my teenage years I struggled with loneliness. At the time I don’t think I realised what it was. My foster family were in my opinion, my family. But there were lots of things separating me from the birth children in the home. Constant meetings and reviews, for which I was pulled out of classes, missing out of family outings due to contact with my birth family, a lack of freedom to socialise. For instance I wasn’t allowed to stay at a friends house unless their parents had been police checked. This seemed completely unfair to 13 year old me. At the time I saw a ridiculousness in the idea that just because I was in care, I was somehow more at risk than my peers. For the birth children in my foster placement, all it took was a phone call between parents. I call #doublestandards

And then there’s my birth family. A lot of time had been taken away from us. Seeing family for one hour a week makes it difficult to maintain natural relationships, especially with supervised contact. They became stilted, where we wanted to make the most of our time together so avoided any ugliness or difficult conversations. The bond was there, but it felt superficial with some family. I felt I no longer belonged to my birth family in the way I had before.

There was me, stuck in the middle of two families and not really belonging to either. So I created my own family. Going to college gave me an opportunity to seek out new relationships and I found myself with a group of wonderfully clever and beautiful souled women. The natural distance that 16 and 17 year olds have with their families as they seek independence gave me this freedom guilt free. These friendships opened up new avenues and ideas to me and I felt normal. It was bliss.

But turning 18 came with the jarring new label of “care leaver”. In my opinion, it’s a stupid term but it’s shaped my identity as an adult. I’ve trained foster carers and professionals about being in care, I’ve been a voice for care leavers, and I even became a social worker in the hope that my experiences would help others. And while I’m proud of my achievements, they’re only one side of being a care leaver. The other side is relatively grim.

After living quite happily some where for 10 years and then being faced with the knowledge that you can’t stay because you’re no longer “in care” is crushing. But not feeling that you would or could live with you birth family because of the weird relationships you have doesn’t leave a care leaver with much options. I was very lucky, I got a job and my own place (a tatty little Bedsit) and lived alone. Something I’d never done before and despite all those great friends I met at college and was still good friends with, I was experiencing loneliness all over again, albeit of a different sort. But I’m an adult, and I was expected to to be able to manage this now. As if being 18 means you suddenly have a how to guide on life.

But the worst part of being a care leaver is realising that you’re not a permanent fixture in the group of people you’ve called family for 10 years. That your expectations of what it means to be family are so completely different to those around you that you feel like you’re watching a picture perfect family from out in the cold, nose pressed against the window. It reopens the wounds that grief left when you were separated from your birth family.

Being in care means you’ve had to go through some really shit times, but it also means you’ll eventually be a care leaver. Being a care leaver means it becomes part of who you are and carrying that with you through your whole life. You go through grief and loss repeatedly as you say goodbye to those you thought you belonged to, realising you never really belonged in the first place. No matter how much you want to.

So while I eagerly await the return of Tracy Beaker and wonder how Wilson portrays the life Tracy leads as an adult, I feel I already know many aspects that make up that life, because I’ve lived it.

A bookworm reviews a book!

This week I launched a Facebook page specifically to share my blog, with the intention to reach more readers. Up until then I had only shared my blog with the Litsy community and a few choice people. To reach more readers, I had to invite people to to like the page. This was the scary part, so rather than think too much about it, I just started clicking “invite”.

I really didn’t need to worry. I’ve had some wonderfully nice comments from people, who enjoyed what they read. Some even said they couldn’t wait for more. Ace! However, this is the third time I’ve started to write something and I think the idea of having friends and family reading this, has made me feel under pressure.

I really wanted to write a review of a book that I absolutely love and finished re-reading this week. But I couldn’t find the words. Which is saddening, as I have a lot to say about it. But rather than give up, and in the spirit of what this blog is for, let’s be third time lucky!

Before I go into the book, I want to give fair warning. There will be spoilers, there will be swearing and the will most definitely be evidence that I’m a hopeless romantic – which I will be infatic about denying in person! Now that’s cleared up, let’s get to it.

North and South is a novel that was first published in 1885 over twenty episodes (yes that’s the right word, I checked) in a magazine called Household Words – thank you Wikipedia. It was and is described as a social novel, but I would say it’s a gritty romance dealing with social issues. I especially studied English literature at Chichester uni because it had a Victorian Women’s Writing module.

I love the Victorian era. It was revolutionary in so many ways, what with the suffragette movement, industrial revolution and increases in knowledge around science and medicine. Without the Victorian’s we wouldn’t be where we are now. Some times I feel I was born at the wrong time and should have been around in the Victorian era. Although I’m not sure I want to give up indoor plumbing, freedom to wear trousers and the internet. But they had some cool tea cups!

My English course was when I first discovered Elizabeth Gaskell, an author ahead of her time, dealing with social issues, gender and class being the most prominent. Gaskell was ahead not only in her views but having the balls to publish them.

North and South follows a young woman, Margaret, as she moves from the idyllic south to the smokey crowded north. Here she spends some time reminiscing about what’s she’s lost, struggling to like the people and basically being bored as shit because she has nothing to do. However as time goes on, she starts to befriend some cotton mill workers and learns about the politics of masters and “hands” (workers) and the potential for a strike. She then keeps giving her opinion, despite never having worked in her life, irritating her new friends and the scowling mill owner Mr Thornton.

Despite this, Mr Thornton falls in love with Margaret who refuses him (gasp! Horror!), because according to Mr Thornton’s doting mother “she has a too good opinion of her self”. But as a feminist, I have to agree with and respect Margaret’s choice. He then vows to not go out of his way to avoid her nor see her. Except he does both of these things.

However as the novel progresses Margaret starts to see the virtues of the north and its people. Probably because everyone around her dies, and after losing both parents and her best friend, everything else looks good. When Margret’s mother dies, her brother comes over from Spain but there’s an issue with the law so it’s kept a secret. When saying goodbye at the railway station they’re seen embracing by Mr Thornton who assumes the brother is a lover (uh-oh)! This puts Mr Thornton in a foul mood and he sulks (remember he’s in love with her), especially when Margaret denies being there to a police officer. But hey, every character has their flaws.

It’s the thought of Mr Thornton’s bad opinion of her that makes Margaret see him for who he really is. A top notch bloke with a great work ethic and a kind heart. But then Margaret’s dad dies suddenly and she’s whisked away by a pompous aunt. This is the point where both could have saved a hell of a lot of trouble if they just fucking said WHAT THEY FEEL! But we’re in the 1880’s and people were much more reserved. Eventually Mr Thornton loses his mill, an after affect of the strike and randomly bumps into Margaret at a dinner party – and this is the best bit – Margaret saves his sorry ass by lending him the money to get his mill up and running! Oh and they agree to marry.

Well that’s an extensive plot summary! But here’s why I love this book. Margaret isn’t consumed with the need to get a husband, she in fact rejects two proposals of marriage, before accepting the third. And she only accepts this after she’s known Mr Thornton for two years. Bloody smart if you ask me! Unlike so many books of the time and in general, Gaskell gives her protagonist more ambition in life.

Another reason I love the book is that we get to see both sides of life. We’re introduced to the harshness of life as a poor person working in the mills through Margaret. She acts as a go between for the masters of the mills and the workers. She does this for the reader and by speaking on behalf of both to the other. She’s a social warrior who, albeit naive at first, advocates the importance of fair wages. I like that Margaret is like her author, she sees value in everyone despite gender or class.

I love that romance doesn’t take the spotlight, but yet it’s there and feels real. It’s still relevant a 130 years later. I love that everyone gets a voice. I love that the characters learn and develop to the benefit of themselves and others. And I especially love that Margaret agrees to marry Mr Thornton- who surely we can now call John?

Feel free to follow my page https://m.facebook.com/bookwormbobbie/ feedback is greatly encouraged.

Switch those lights on!

It’s been two weeks since I posted my first blog. The world hasn’t imploded (or exploded for that matter), I haven’t been scarred for life and I received some really nice and supportive comments. So with that in mind here it goes for post number two!
Lots has happened in the last fortnight that I could write about. My head is so full of mental notes for this blog and work related info that I’ve been a little bit scatty. As I mentioned before, this year I hit the big 30 and so does my partner, Dan. I had this wonderful plan to take him away as a surprise and even went into his work to speak to his team to make sure he could get the time off. In my excitement I text my friend to tell her. Except it wasn’t her who received it. I’d sent it to Dan. Surprise ruined.
Anyway, with all this info rattling around my head, I wasn’t sure what to focus on. Until yesterday. As a book lover, I follow a lot of book and reading related pages on social media. An article came up about why we shouldn’t be ashamed of “escapism reading”. For those of you who don’t know, lightweight novels, fantasy novels or novels considered to be less “academic” fall into escapism fiction and quite often these are written by women. Personally I’ve never encountered this but the article (link is below) mentioned that it’s viewed with a certain amount of condescension.
I really can’t understand why anyone would judge others for what they read. In my (humble) opinion, if someone is reading, all the better. It doesn’t matter what it is, be it classic novels, YA fiction, magazines or even blogs. This brings me on to my last fortnight. I work for a charity supporting young people, my particular role is managing a team who offer emotional health and wellbeing advice and support and sexual health education. In the last few weeks I’ve attended a lot of training, either delivering it or being a participant and the thing that comes up again and again is safeguarding. Its part and parcel of the field I work in.
On one training day we focused on sexuality and the difficulties that young people face, from unsupportive family, to hate crime, to being marginalised. On another day, the focus was around child sexual exploitation. While my organisation tries its hardest to promote positive relationships to young people, we have to warn them about these potential risks and on some level it angers me. We’re forcing young people to be responsible for their own safety, while work with perpetrators is often too little and far too late. And it’s everywhere, the recent and ongoing #MeToo campaign shows that! People are continuously abusing their positions of power.
My point is, the world is fucking depressing! It’s full of hate, violence, mistrust and often if you find something good you’ll as soon find someone wanting to take it away. I suspect it’s always been this way, but youthful ignorance has protected me from it and the older I get the more that protective shield falls away. But for all the misery in the world I can see there is beauty, hope and things to look forward to. As Dumbledore said “Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.” – Wise man, Dumbledore. I’m trying to find as many light switches as I can.
A lot of this joy for me comes from reading. I will read what I want and there is no way I will apologise to anyone for it. Except I think perhaps I have been. When someone asks what I’m reading I very rarely just give the title. My first instinct is to give a little synopsis as I want to share the adventure that I’m on. But then I will find myself saying “it’s just a way of escaping” as if I have to justify why I’m reading a young adult fiction, or fantasy. Reading is a form of escaping but should we have to justify this to people? No. The world is full of enough crap to be ashamed of doing things that make you happy. So go forth and read that fanfiction, blog, magazine and embrace the joy you get from it, share it with friends. The world can be dark, let’s turn those lights on.
https://www.bustle.com/p/escapist-fiction-is-exactly-what-you-need-sometimes-you-shouldnt-feel-bad-for-reading-it-8092788

A big adventure…

Hello and welcome to my very first blog. In it, I’ll outline my reasons for writing it and why it’s taken me so long to actually post. You might even get to know a little bit about me. By nature I’m not overly keen on sharing my views to those who don’t want to hear them, but in equal measure I’m quite opinionated. So let’s see how this goes.
In case the name of my blog hasn’t given you an inclination, I’ve always loved to read. I crave the places you can go, the people you can meet, the experiences you can have. All from sitting in a cosy armchair with a cup of tea. I don’t remember the name of the book that first captured my imagination. But I remember how it made me feel. That impulse to keep reading past my bed time, that I was part of the adventure, that I had lived in part of someone else’s life. It was addictive and sparked my reading habits for the rest of my life.
That feeling when I read a great book is something that makes me truly believe Carl Sagan, that “books are proof that humans are capable of working magic”, and growing up with Harry, Hermione and Dumbledore god damn I want to do magic. For me, a good book is one full of imagery, deals with emotions and inspires creativity. I like the clichés of good and bad, heroes winning and a bit of a love triangle, what can I say? At heart I’m a bit of a romantic.
Which brings me on to why I’m writing this blog. My entire adult life I’ve wanted to write. All my years of reading has left me with such an imagination full of untold stories just waiting to escape. But self-doubt, lack of writing practice and general laziness has them holed up in a dungeon worthy Morath in the Throne of Glass series. A blog seemed like a great way to say some of the things I have rattling around my head and practice my writing.
Writing is an extremely personal activity and as someone who takes criticisms to heart the anxiety of how what I write will be received increases. However I’m fast approaching my 30th birthday and getting published (in any way) has been sat on my bucket list since I was 17. Setting realistic targets is something that I’ve worked with people around for years but never seem to be able to do myself. Until now. I’m amending my goal to “trying” to get published. The reason for this is my lack of confidence in my ability will not let me write for fear my goal is too unachievable. On some level I figure that if it’s never going to happen, then I don’t need to make myself vulnerable by trying. I consider myself to be an intelligent person, and know that by not trying I’ll never reach my goal but that vulnerability is frightening.
We’re in a world full of keyboard warriors and negative nellies. Criticism is no longer constructive, but a way to make ourselves feel better by putting others down. One can feel that this is true away from the computer or phone as well. Why would you willingly invite this onto yourself? Well luckily I’ve found a corner of the internet that seems to be nothing but supportive. A social networking site for book lovers, Listy is wonderful (go check it out). Joining this site has increased my desire to read and branch out to other genres and makes me feel that anything I write, even if it’s rubbish, will not be trashed. It’s a confidence boosting environment, full of people aiming for their own targets.
I hope that with practice writing this blog will become second nature, that people will benefit from what I write and I can finally put my ideas in black and white. It’ll be small steps, as I set up my wordpress account several weeks ago and it’s taken this long to write anything. As always, I’m full of ideas of what to write and for now I’ll use this space to write about whatever comes to mind.

But one day, thanks to this blog, I might have written something as poignant as Margaret Atwood, or as funny as Graeme C. Simsion or even, just maybe something magical as Rowling. I’m not wanting to be rich, or a household name. But just to have written something that others enjoyed, to share a story that might inspire new writers, that would be an awfully big adventure.