Period Shaming: It’s Got To Stop

red woman 1

I was at the supermarket earlier today, topping up on tampons because I have my period. As I unloaded my basket at the checkout, the woman behind the counter reached past the other items and took the tampons, saying, ‘Let’s get these scanned first, shall we?’ She smiled as if saving me from embarrassment.

Because menstruation is something to be embarrassed about, right?

Like many women, I grew up ashamed of having my period. I’d learnt it was something gross, alien and unmentionable. I was encouraged to endure in silence. Worse still, my period was often used against me whenever I made an impassioned argument about, well, anything. Because being ‘on the rag’ apparently made me irrational, emotional and my views invalid—regardless of whether I had my period or not.

I’d like to say that in the twenty or so years since I first began menstruating that things have changed. But they haven’t. In January, a young woman in India who chose not to be ashamed when blood showed through her pants was ogled by men and hidden away by other women. A runner who decided to bleed free during the 2015 London Marathon was met with debate and hysteria. Artists like Vanessa Tiegs and Petra Paul—who use menstrual blood as a medium—are vilified online and sent death threats. And then there’s Donald Trump’s fearful comments about Megyn Kelly, saying that blood was coming out of her ‘wherever’ when she questioned him about his history of sexism.

These are not rational responses to a natural monthly cycle affecting around 50% of the global population at some point in their lives. Instead, these responses are symptomatic of an insidious belief that a woman’s body is abnormal, shameful and a source of irrational behaviour.

It’s got to stop.

Because there’s nothing shameful about menstruation. Or having opinions. Or carrying tampons in a shopping basket. Or being a woman.



Inspiring Quotes from Women Writers


Hi everyone, I hope you’re all enjoying your writing and creativity. Here are a few little gems to keep the weekend writing fires burning.

‘A word after a word after a word is power.’ Margaret Atwood

‘It is perfectly okay to write garbage—as long as you edit brilliantly.’ C. J. Cherryh

‘Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.’ Barbara Kingsolver

‘When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.’ Malala Yousafzai

‘If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.’ Erica Jong

Happy writing, everyone!

The Auto Update of Doom

My writing for the past two weeks has been admittedly hard won. I’m still fighting a turn-my-brain-to-slush virus, and am also muddling my way through essays and exams for uni. So every word on the rewrite has been slow, overthought and precious.

At some point last night, while I was happily dreaming of cat-shaped slippers, my laptop undertook an auto update. Of what, I have no idea. All I know is that this morning when I flipped open my laptop, my array of word docs, scrivener files, excel sheets and google searches were all alarmingly absent.

It took another thirty seconds to discover that my past two weeks of work were gone, too.

Young student woman alone at desk with computer crying desperate suffering

Did I cry hysterically? Yep.

Did I declare the end of my writing career? Absolutely.

Is there any chocolate, biscuits or ice cream left in the house? Hell no.

So now as the crumbs are dusted off my shirt and the chocolate smudges wiped off the keyboard (and couch, pillows, walls, TV remote and carpet), I’m left to contemplate the thousands of words lost and the little rejigs that made the chapters flow better.

A friend kindly pointed out that this is an opportunity to do better, since I hadn’t been happy with my writing for the past fortnight. I know she’s right, and the manuscript will be enriched because of it.

I just need another packet of biscuits before I get started.

Inspiring Quotes from Women Writers


I met a rather lovely guy in a sociology class today, who asked me what I did when I wasn’t studying. When I told him I was a novel writer, he said, ‘Romance?’ When I politely told him I wrote fantasy, he replied, ‘Oh, magical romance.’

Now, don’t get me wrong, there is nothing harmful about a woman writing romance. Some of my favourite books are firmly seated in that genre, written by women whose ability to create story and structure leaves me in awe.  What I resent is the assumption that being a woman and a writer automatically means I write romance to the exclusion or subversion of any other genre.

Feeling a bit glum at having to discuss women’s ability to write damn good fiction no matter the genre, I used a study break to look up inspiring quotes by female writers. Naturally, there’s a lot, so I’ll be posting a few every week. This is to remind myself and others that female authors are important and valuable contributors in the writing industry, and do not deserve to be pigeonholed because of gender. Enjoy.

“What you do makes a difference, and you have to decide what kind of difference you want to make.” Jane Goodall

“Tell almost the whole story.” Anne Sexton

“Sometimes writing is running downhill, your fingers jerking behind you on the keyboard the way your legs do when they can’t quite keep up with gravity.” Rainbow Rowell

“If you want to cry, you’re not going to like my books.” Janet Evanovich

“I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” Jane Austen

“Write what should not be forgotten.” Isabel Allende

Apocalypse Dog

My Labrador, Sheldon, has an adventurous palate. Whether it’s wombat pooh, jellyfish or dead animals, he’ll generally roll in something foul and then eat it. He’ll find the smallest crumb in the tightest nook, and delight in sitting beside the dining table with foot-long drool strings in the hope that a single pea will tumble to the floor. His alternate name is Apocalypse Dog, because when zombies inevitably take over, he’ll be the one relegated to finding the food source (whether said food source will actually be suitable for human consumption is debatable).

Today I decided to do a bit of Sunday baking. I settled on a zucchini cake and, without really paying attention, chose an online recipe that for some reason used both metric and imperial measurements, plus US colloquialisms I didn’t quite have the capacity to decipher.

As an aside, let me just mention that I’ve been knocked around by a virus for the past week, and so my mental functions haven’t been particularly optimal.

Consequently, the half cup of dressing oil became french salad dressing (it was the only ‘dressing’ I had in the fridge), and the 350˚ cooking temperature resulted in the oven being ramped up to full and the timer set for almost double the baking time to compensate for my oven’s 220˚C limitation.

My only excuse is I think I had a fever.

An hour later, the kitchen was blackened with smoke and what promised to be a somewhat zesty creation (the batter had been delicious) was in fact a hardened brick.

With no other option, I presented a slightly charred portion to Sheldon, certain that at least someone would appreciate my efforts.

He buried it in the garden. With enthusiasm.

I’m still a bit dumbfounded. Only this morning, Sheldon had discovered a dead fish on the riverbank that was so badly decomposed that it looked like patient zero for the newest plague. He ate that with gusto.

But my blackened, pockmarked cake with its fusty smell and questionable green bits was headed for the bin, hitting the bottom with a dull thud of rejection.

Apparently even Apocalypse Dog has his limits.


Writer’s block is a gift

It’s the thing that wakes us at night with sweat on our skin. It’s the lump in our throats as we stare at the blinking cursor or useless pen. It’s the hammering in our hearts, the hankering in our souls, and the siren call that beckons us from our true paths—which is to write, write, write.

Sure, writer’s block leaves us feeling anxious and neurotic and as if all of our creativity is spent, but the reason we feel such anguish is because it matters. Writing matters. Down to our core, writing matters.

Through its lack, writer’s block reminds us of the joy of a beautifully turned phrase, a character in full bloom and a plot that evolves as we ourselves do. It reignites the yearning we all felt when we started writing down the words in the first place.

So next time the fear and emptiness comes, don’t take it as evidence that you’re not meant to be a writer. Don’t reduce yourself to a blank screen or bare scrap of paper. Take this pause, this pain and fury, as incontrovertible proof that writing is a part of you. You wouldn’t care so deeply otherwise.

With time, those words you love and nourish will untangle themselves, and you’ll fill the page once again.

Writing update

I head back to uni next week, so the pressure has been growing to get in as much writing as possible before my mind is yanked in multiple learning directions.

That said, the past week of writing has been good. I’ve finished overhauling the first act, which I’m pretty stoked about. I’d made the classic mistake of starting the story in the wrong place, and have consequently had to let go of entire chapters and scenes that I really loved. The overhaul has involved about 18,000 new words entering the manuscript. I’ve kept approx. 3,000 words from the original draft.

I’m now in the second chapter of act two, where I take the book in a slightly different direction. It’s been slow going. Two key characters in the first draft are being reimagined—one had admittedly been a bit of a by-the-numbers asshat, and the other an angsty manchild who even I was tired of dealing with by the end. Turning them into interesting characters with complex motivations and manipulations has been difficult. This week I’ve written multiple versions of the same scenes as I try to get a handle on them. I’m finding perhaps a 30% retention rate with this new writing.

I’ve also given myself the deadline of the 31st of May to finish the second act, and while that is still ages away, I can already feel it looming. There’s some major work to be done, and based on previous shenanigans, I’ve got about five weeks before I start calling friends and family in hysterics about my inability to handle my study load, writing and life in general. I’ll likely be under my bed for a few days with a platter of cheese and dips.

Fun times ahead!


Kelly's a lefty