Music Monday | Girl – SYML

Sometimes our bodies will hurt for some time
And the beauty in that can be hard to find

Songwriter: Brian Fennell

In February of 2010, without any background in writing — other than a Year 10 Creative Writing elective which the teacher generally slept through — I hesitantly began to turn a blinking cursor on a blank page into keystrokes that created sentences.

I was writing to save my life; I was sick, I was sad, and I was trying to make meaning out of the madness I’d found myself in.

Margaret Atwood says a word after a word after a word is power. And as I continued to write, I began to figure out what it was that I thought and felt. I began to find my own power.

Over the last ten years, I’ve written personal stories publicly about my experiences with mental health, body image, eating disorders, obsessive compulsive disorder, meditation, mindfulness, yoga and relationships. I’ve also written privately. Even occasionally had work published, at times under a pseudonym due to the content.

But I’ve kept writing. And the beauty I have found through that process has healed me in unexpected ways.

A few weeks ago, I entered an essay titled Sexy Nails, about my struggle with OCD during the COVID-19 restrictions, into the Writers Victoria Grace Marion Wilson Emerging Writers competition for creative non-fiction. Last Friday, the winners were announced.

I wouldn’t even know how to go about judging personal stories and experiences and I’m glad it was not my job. But I’m also thrilled with the judge’s comments on my entry: Sexy Nails’ weaves past and present together seamlessly, telling both the writer’s story and her grandfather’s, and shines a light on a specific chapter of history that is not often explored. By grounding the work in the physicality of her fingernails, Agafonoff takes a risky writing bet that pays off, resulting in a piece that is haunting and visceral.

The piece will be published in the October/November edition of The Victorian Writer.

https://writersvictoria.org.au/writing-life/news/announcing-the-winners-the-2020-grace-marion-wilson-emerging-writers-competition

I will keep writing — about my life, my body, my mental health and anything else I am trying to figure out. And I will find the beauty in all of it.

The End: What To Do When You Finish Writing A Book

Today I wrote two little words I wasn’t expecting to write until tomorrow. And yet, here we are. At this point.

My feet are tingling like they do when you have pins and needles, numb, as if you’ve been sitting awkwardly cutting off your circulation, but in that sweet spot, before the blood rushes back into the capillaries and it starts to sting.

The cells, the atoms in my cells, are vibrating with energy. The energy of having finished. It is a gentle excitement. Soft. Like the way you realise you are recovered. After the fact. You do not notice it at first because recovery, like writing, feels like a slog. Every step is an effort. You wade through concrete. You make progress. And you don’t. There is resistance. The task seems overwhelming and you pause at various points to take a breath. To rest. There is no ticker-tape parade upon success. No party. There might have been, if you’d noticed it at the time. But even as you were thinking your last disordered thought, even as you were writing your final sentence, you didn’t know. And then you did.

So what do you do when you finish writing a book?

  1. You write the end
  2. You drink cider in the sunshine with a friend
  3. You buy yourself some flowers
  4. You go for a run
  5. You make dinner for the family
  6. You water your plants
  7. You hug your partner
  8. You feed the cat
  9. You write a blog post
  10. You begin again, a new story

I have been finished with the story I’ve written for longer than I’ve been writing it. Soon, lovely readers, I will hand it over to you.