We might be young, but we're not stupid

Originally published on Birdee Mag in July 2013.

Recently I had an article published in the Sun-Herald called ‘Parenting advice from a teenager’.

Now, hear me out: I don’t think teenagers are universally great or parents universally terrible – I think most people are just doing their best. And I don’t think that I am an expert of any kind.

I wrote my article on that topic because my new novel is largely based on a tricky mother/daughter relationship. I received many nice comments, but also a few rather incensed ones – largely based on the premise that it’s wildly presumptuous for me, as a teenager, to have an opinion.

The writings and opinions of young people are so often criticised – not based on their merit, but based on the age and perceived arrogance of the teenager expressing these opinions.

I don’t think that the opinions of young people lack validity by virtue of the fact that they are young. It’s actually incredibly important that they are able to express their ideas and work through concepts, even if their opinions may change with time, experience and age.

Are we supposed to emerge as adults with fully–formed beliefs without ever having the opportunity to critically examine and express our ideas? Are we supposed to just accept what we are told by older people to be the truth?

Putting your opinion out there is a fairly risky thing to do – people will eat you alive on the internet, and being told that your opinion is irrelevant can be pretty crushing. It can dissuade you from sharing your thoughts in the future, too. (Fortunately I’ve never faced anything especially bad myself.)

dont-judgeSo I’m not entirely sure why everyone feels the need to discourage critical thinking in young people.

There’s a tendency for people to assume my work as a novelist is invalid based on my age (I’m nineteen), and decide against reading my books as a result. Or, if they read my novel and don’t like it, they assume that it’s because of my youth. I don’t want to be treated any differently just because I was born in the 90s.

I’m not the kind of person who wants people to be kinder to me just because I’m young – and I didn’t want that when I was fifteen either – I would much prefer honesty. Preferably not ‘this is a good novel… for a teenager’ or ‘this novel is unreadable because the author is a teenager’. Really, I’d much rather just be seen as a ‘writer’ rather than a ‘teenage writer’, and avoid all the unfortunate assumptions.

I think it’s important that teenagers have access to safe forums and are surrounded by people who are supportive of their ideas. I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t have to accept criticism sometimes, but I do believe that the writings and opinions of teenagers should be judged based on their merit, not on the age of the writer.

It’s unfair to assume that what teenagers have to say is meaningless. Everyone deserves to be heard, and to be treated with respect. We’ve all behaved as if we know everything at some point, but we realise just how much we don’t know when we have the opportunity to hear someone else’s perspective. Really, we’re all just making it up as we go along, and nobody knows everything.

Though on the internet, we’re prone to acting like we do.

Stop buying stuff, you crazy kid!

You can buy the exact right combination of things – the perfect pair of jeans, a brand new phone, that very specific eyelash plumping mascara that costs $72 because it’s got that name in nice font on the side – and you will be complete. You will be sure of yourself. You will be beautiful. You will fit in.

You have been very effectively programmed. Thank you, advertising. Sometimes, you’re more effective than religion.

I don’t have these thoughts consciously anymore. I did when I was twelve, though. I genuinely believed black skinny jeans and high-tops would make me into some sort of tough, cool, emo teenager. They did not. Even once you’re aware that buying things will not change you, there’s still this sort of urge – this sense that you need to buy things – for the status! To be better-looking! To keep up with your peers! That weird pull; the feeling that you are just one purchase away from perfection. (But we all know the truth is that no matter how much clothing you have, it never seems like enough, and it can’t really instil any confidence in the cripplingly awkward.)

More is not better. There’s a certain point at which some specific thing you longed to buy stops being desirable, and it’s very shortly after you buy it. The sheen wears off. A new possession does not change you in any way, apart from making you a little bit poorer. And this specific thing is lumped in with all your other clothes in the corner of your room, or tucked away in the bathroom cupboard alongside all the other things you wanted so very badly, or shoved to the back of the closet to gather dust.

And it becomes stuff. Stuff is different to things. You don’t buy stuff. Stuff hangs around and gets in the way. It gets cobwebby, or becomes musty, or just goes out-of-date. Stuff eventually gets given away, or thrown out. Eventually it ends up on a rubbish tip somewhere. By this stage you’re focused on the next thing that will complete you, and you don’t think about that old stuff and where it ends up anymore.

I am not suggesting that you immediately cease purchasing things altogether and convert to freeganism (won’t someone think of the economy?!) but I think we can all benefit from thinking a bit more critically about what motivates our purchases. Mindlessly buying into consumer culture is probably not the greatest idea – the immediate gratification is an addictive thrill, but the joy of a new purchase is not a lasting one.

The more you get caught up in this cycle, the more your life is dedicated to the acquisition of money to spend on all of these things, and if that’s the sort of life you’d like, that’s fine! I’d much rather try to tackle these things head on – think critically about how advertising influences me, cut back on the things I buy to things I truly need – and have more freedom, and time. Be less distracted from the things that actually matter, like, for instance, other humans I like? Following my dreams? Which, you know, generally don’t involve the purchase of skinny jeans.

Whenever you want to buy something, think realistically about how much you’ll use it (maybe work out cost per wear, if you’re keen on maths), whether something else you own can serve its role, where it’ll eventually end up. Don’t default to shopping when you feel sad or bored. Remind yourself that acquiring things doesn’t change you, only you can do that – and you’re pretty alright at the moment anyway. Think about what experiences that money could pay for instead.

Challenge yourself not to buy anything new for a week. Luxuriate in your radicalness! You’re practically destablising capitalism, you crazy kid.

Originally published on Birdee Mag.

Are you too afraid to fly?

I’ve got this theory that everyone is at their peak when they’re a baby, brand new (I have no evidence to back this theory up. It really can’t be proved).

You’re full of magic! There is so much genius lurking in your synapses, ready to fire. You figure everything out so quickly – proprioception! Whole languages! How to manipulate your parents! You are entirely fearless during this brief, glittering period of your life, and everything is possible.

Unfortunately you have to grow up. The trouble with growing up is that you stop being this pure angelic thing entirely unto yourself, yet to be impacted by the neuroses of those around you, and start becoming a creature of our world. Our world is confusing and weird and scary at times, and you’ve got all these messages being lumped at you from all sides, and lots of these messages come from fear – the world is dangerous! Money is exceptionally difficult to acquire! Everyone is out to get you!

And then you become entirely mad just like every other living human. It’s okay; it’s a process we all go through. Unavoidable.

Curiosity and fearlessness are two highly undervalued traits that we seem to part with entirely. You arrive at your later years of high school and start being ‘realistic’ about your career prospects. You panic that your dreams are too big, downright impossible. You start having to worry about stuff… It’s awful. Fear can be a really powerful force in your life, convincing you that failure is inevitable, that you’ll disappoint your parents, that it’s not worth even having a go.

I have a photo of myself at the age of three at the beach. I’m wearing a triple j t-shirt and an exceptionally sun-smart hat – the kind with the flap at the back. I appear to be dancing. Maybe I was; I don’t remember the picture being taken. I will never be cooler than I was in that moment. I was an awesome child, which makes up for me being a decidedly mediocre adult.

Whenever I am freaking out about anything – which is more often than not – whether it’s the impossibility of a long-term writing career or a talk I have to do or how rubbish my work-in-progress novel is, I ask myself, ‘What would Young Steph do?’

Young Steph would not freak out. Young Steph would marvel at the awesomeness of Older Steph’s life. Failure would not even occur to Young Steph because Young Steph would be too busy having fun with it. Because books, and writing, and talking about books and writing? Those are the things I love (and the things Young Steph will very shortly love, when she learns to write – at age three she’s too busy being rock ‘n’ roll).

When I was fifteen and an aspiring author, I was keenly aware of the possibility of failure. I couldn’t really shut it out. But authordom was something I had been dreaming of for years, and I knew that all authors had tonnes of rejections. I figured if I started submitting to publishers then, I might be published by the time I was thirty. I could cope with that.

I didn’t get my expected result; instead I ended up with a book deal. If I’d allowed myself to be crippled by the fear of failure and rejection, nothing would’ve happened. My manuscript would’ve languished and I would’ve continued to envy ‘real’ writers and wonder ‘what if?‘.

So, when it comes to pursuing your dreams, you have options (Hint: giving up isn’t one of them! I won’t allow it!). Either get back to the core of what you want to achieve and stop thinking about the possibility of failure – instead think about how you as a kid would view your dreams: entirely possible, and pretty magic. It’s not about deluding yourself; it’s just about shifting the focus away from the negative.

Or, incorporate failure into the plan. It’s part of the journey, and the eventual successes certainly make it worthwhile. The main thing is that you don’t fear failure. The fear of it is worse than failure itself, I assure you! You will have many fabulous adventures, I can tell.

Originally published on Birdee Mag.

Everybody's Faking It

There are many things I like about reality. Like Icy Poles on hot days, the smell of rain on dirt, and when the public transportation system runs on time.

There are other things that I don’t like about reality, like the flu, and poverty, and paper cuts. One of the things I like least about being a real person in reality (which I’m fairly sure I am, though it is entirely possible we are all just in the Matrix right now) is that you are always stuck in your own head. Unless, that is, you are a ghost who has the ability to possess others. Unfortunately, I’m not (to the best of my knowledge), though that would be super awesome (and slightly immoral).

This is one of the reasons why I love stories – the ability to escape your own head for a little while and examine the world from someone else’s point of view. I’m fascinated by what the internal realities of other people’s lives are like, and am always trying to work them out. In this way, I think, stories teach us empathy. Writing allows us ways to explore other worlds and new experiences that we wouldn’t otherwise have. Stories make our world limitless.

But the trouble with always being in your own head is that you have no idea what’s going on in anyone else’s head. You probably guess at it all the time, but unless you’re Edward Cullen (I really hope you’re not), you’re likely just basing all of your guesses on external signs.

So it’s easy to see other people succeeding in life and assume that everything is wonderful for them; that they have boundless confidence and travel through the world with ease. And then freak out, because you find life pretty challenging, and they’re obviously totally fearless, and you’ll never be that excellent.

Of course this is all rubbish. We live in a society where everyone is faking it, all the time. Displaying vulnerability and letting people know that you struggle and maybe saying ‘hey, I could use some help’ is generally frowned upon. You’ve got to keep up appearances. And that’s unfortunate. Because everyone is struggling. Life is a tricky and confusing thing to navigate.

Just because your logical mind is aware that everyone is at least a little bit insecure and neurotic – that the way people present to the world is not necessarily representative of how they’re feeling – doesn’t really stop your irrational mind from continuing to freak out. It’s something you need to remind yourself of over and over again.

When I was younger I believed for a very long time that grown-ups were somehow inherently whole – that I would hit 18 and metamorphose into an Adult who Knew About Stuff and possess incredible self-assurance. I got a little bit older and realised that no-one is ever absolutely sure of themselves – that I’ll probably still be trying to work it all out for the rest of my life. And that’s okay, although disappointing to figure out after a childhood of believing in the infallibility of adults.

Unless you are a super Level 10 extrovert (in which case, good on you! Be nice to us introverted weirdo types), parties are probably a prime time for being neurotic, and assuming that you are the only person there feeling awkward and out of place because other people are smiling and obviously having a great time. I guarantee you that 9 out of 10 people in the room are entertaining a similar thought process.

Remind yourself that everyone’s too caught up feeling awkward to notice your perceived awkwardness. People are like icebergs, or socially awkward penguins. I don’t know; I’m bad at similes.

I’m great at projecting the appearance of having my act together when I’m freaking out, though, and I think it’s reassuring to be reminded: hey, even people who appear successful struggle. You’re not an outlier. Everybody’s faking it.

Originally published on Birdee Mag.

The Worst Generation Ever

Every couple of months a story runs on an evening current affairs program about how the current generation of teenagers is out of control.

They get a bit of footage of 18 year-olds stumbling about on a night out and a social commentator shakes her head and makes inane and insulting comments – like she’s never worn impractical shoes herself.

News stories about teenagers stealing and fighting and forming gangs are continually broadcast, with a special horror reserved for girls. In ads they’re given solemn voiceovers: ‘Are you really safe?’

If we’re not being demonised as randomly violent in the news – causing elderly people to side-eye us at the bus stop like we might nick off with their bag at any moment – we’re criticised for being lazy and unambitious narcissists who rely on our parents.

What’s missing from all these stories about teenagers are the voices of actual teenagers. 

What’s missing is balance, reason, and logic. All people get to hear is a select few negative and sensationalised opinions. After all, stories about teenagers doing well just wouldn’t get people watching, would they?

Fear and sensationalism sells papers and drives ad clicks. All those dumb opinion pieces are written to be deliberately controversial – the writers and publishers know they’ll get a whole lot more attention if they get people riled up.

On coffee table breakfast shows they fret over how out of control the teenagers of today are, yet if they genuinely cared about teenagers there’d be a whole lot less ‘It wasn’t like this in our day!’ and a whole lot more ‘Here’s how we can actually tackle drinking culture / sexualisation of young people / mental illness.’

I believe the media engineers negative stories about teenagers to increase fear and ad revenue, which is a great disservice to both young people and older people – surely we’re bright enough not to accept at face value the line that is fed to us. Surely we’re bright enough not to believe grandiose statements about entire sections of our population. Surely adults can remember being teenagers themselves: making mistakes, and being treated as less-than, simply because of their youth.

Comparatively, Generations Y and Z have a lot more of a voice than Generation X or the Baby Boomers did, which is great, but that voice is still massively under-represented in our media.

I would love to see a bit more truth and a bit more objectivity in the media – less hyperbole, and some actual statistics every now and then. Maybe some statistics that show us how things are improving? For example, how there are now more young people achieving higher education qualifications than ever, or that this generation has lower rates of teenage pregnancy.

I want to hear more about the great things young people are doing. I know so many teenagers who are passionate about equal marriage, and equal pay, and equal rights. We’re heading towards a much more egalitarian Australia, and that’s a wonderful thing.

I like to think that in forty years I won’t be ranting about the unsavoury youths and their blasted devil music, or believing everything I see on TV (or whatever hologram or brain implant we get information through in the future).

I like to think I’ll remember that hating on teenagers is timeless (if parents in the sixties had issues with how much young people loved The Beatles, I hate to think what their opinion of today’s music might be), and that even if technology changes, the experience of being a teenager is inherently the same.

It’s confusing and tricky. You feel distinctly at-sea and do some idiotic things, but there’s no other way to work it all out. Everyone goes through it and does their best, and I think this generation is doing a much better job than the media gives them credit for.

Originally published on Birdee Mag.

The upside of video gaming

Growing up, I obsessively played the video game The Sims.

And by ‘growing up’ I mean I played it a great deal from the age of about 8 all the way through until yesterday, when I played it for four hours before I became really, really frustrated with the lag (it’s all those damn expansion packs) and annoyed by my own lack of productivity. ‘You should be accomplishing something, Steph! You have so little time on this earth! Whatever happened to carpe diem?’ is on constant replay in my head (my internal guilt trip narrator would never use the word ‘yolo’, even ironically).

People idealise childhood as this magical time in their lives, when they didn’t have a care in the world. I think the further you move away from being a kid, the easier being a kid seems. I feel like I am still just young enough to remember things as they were. Sure, you don’t have to worry about finding a career and earning money and eating properly when you’re a kid – you’ve got your parents to look out for you. And there are lots of fun times (before you get all weird and self-conscious and emo).

But, gosh, being a kid can be downright terrifying. You’re pretty much powerless. You’re at the mercy of parents and teachers and older siblings. As you get a little older you gradually realise there’s so much terrible stuff in the world – people starving and wars going on – that you can do nothing about. It’s depressing.

Personally, I found being a kid really frustrating, largely because people treated me like a kid, and I was aware of lots of stuff I could do nothing about. Which was why I loved video games so much. I’ve never really understood action games, or those first person shooters – why on earth would I want to run over someone? Or shoot anybody? (To this day I am baffled by Grand Theft Auto.)

But the world-building ones, and the family-creating ones? I loved them. I created narratives for my characters. I lost hours and hours and hours to The Sims. It seems like a huge timewaster now, but back then, it helped me. It gave me a sense of control over a reality, even a tiny little pixel-driven one. The satisfaction of achieving something, that sense of success, was what kept me playing; it’s very hard to stop once you’re involved. There is always something else to achieve.

People claim kids being to addicted to video games is a sign of the coming apocalypse. Well, maybe they don’t use terms as dramatic as that. But still, violence has always been a problem. Apathy has always been a problem. Poor health has always been a problem – only the causes and distractions differ from decade to decade.

Video games aren’t the root of all evil, like television isn’t, like rock and roll isn’t.

I don’t think devoting years of your life to video games is a good idea, but I don’t think losing years to reading is a good idea either – I think having balance in your life and not reaching the point of addiction is important. Trying to escape into other worlds shouldn’t be what motivates you on a daily basis (perhaps that’s a bit hypocritical, as someone who, as a novelist, is pretty much a full-time escapist).

Despite all this, my video game obsession has helped me as a writer. Even though I was channelling all this imagination and creativity into a very unproductive virtual world, I was still using that imagination and creativity. I was still thinking in narratives and making up stories in my head. Eventually the limitations of video games started to frustrate me, and more of my attention was put into writing stories down. The obsession was transferred to something slightly more productive.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Mario Kart tournament play. Very important stuff.

Originally published on Birdee Mag.

I'm not impressed by remarkable youth

People are always so impressed when young people accomplish great things.

If you do something cool and you happen to be a kid, the attention isn’t focused on whatever cool thing you've done, but on the fact that you're a kid. You are a writer / musician /s martie at just 16!

On the surface, this isn't such a bad thing: we're recognising awesome young people. But if you think about it more deeply, there are a few problems with fetishizing young people’s achievements. By being surprised at the awesomeness of one particular young person, in a way, we’re assuming that most other young people are unimpressive. That one kid might be an exception, but young people generally? Well, they're lazy and entitled, right? I don't think this is the case.

Personally, I'm impressed by remarkable whoever. I don't think there's excellent young people and excellent old people – there are just people. So, in order to avoid further asking, here are some reasons why I'm not impressed by remarkable youth.

1. Age should not our primary defining characteristic. Human beings are incredibly complex, and we generally see ourselves that way - different to everybody else… unique. But obviously we can't see everybody like this (brain limitations, or something - that old 150 people theory), so we have to start categorising: women, teenagers, Twilight fans. We expect things of people at certain ages, as dictated by our society’s teachings, our upbringing, and what we’ve come to expect from previous generations, and of course this varies between towns, cities and countries. Trying to work out what you want to do with your life in your early twenties is a pretty standard ‘thing’ in middle class Australia, but in other places, 21 might be an age where people are already becoming parents. Although age is sometimes relevant, often it really is not.

2. Don’t always compare yourself to people who are the same age as you. Everyone has a different journey, and everyone has different expectations for their life, depending on their family, culture, attitudes and beliefs. There are so many different levels on which we mature as we age. Being inspired by other young people accomplishing the things you might dream of doing is awesome, but just because they've achieved something by a certain age doesn't mean you're a failure if you haven’t, too. A successful young person doesn't just 'make it' – there’s still plenty of stuff they're working out, just like you. There is no leveling up in real life, fortunately or unfortunately. You're on your own path, and your version of being 18, 27, or 103 is going to be different from everyone else's.

3. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you're not capable of great things. I refuse to believe that young people who do amazing things are the exception, and that the rest of us are lazy and useless. I believe media coverage is too often focused on out-of-control youth, which skews people's perceptions of what it’s like to be young. You don’t magically transform from an obnoxious little kid into a capable adult: you are yourself the whole time, and I think your capacity for excellence is proportionate to how much faith you have in yourself, and often how much faith you have in yourself is as a result of how much faith other people have had in you. Anyone who believes in you, whether they’re your parents, teachers, friends or mentors, is invaluable.

Originally published on Birdee Mag.

On being published as a teenager, and regret

I have often heard people say 'I'm so glad I wasn't published as a teenager' or 'I was a terrible writer when I was a teenager'. Which is valid, which is fine, but which is very irritating when they project that experience onto young people, generalising with 'teenagers are rubbish writers' or 'you'll regret being published as a teenager because you are crap/vulnerable/unprofessional'. This is something I hear from people who were not published as kids, generally speaking. This is something I hear less and less of, fortunately - people treat me enormously differently now than they did five years ago, although I hardly behave differently - but I still think it's a really curious viewpoint, and one that discourages young people from putting themselves out there. Kids don't need to be reminded that they're crap as much as you think they do. I think young people being arrogant about their abilities is not a matter of overconfidence but something borne out of deep insecurity, which is what continually putting down their skills and capacities is going to generate.

I don't think the narrative of 'you will regret having your early work published' is necessarily true, either. I think irrespective of your age when you start putting work out, you're going to experience the dread of criticism, the fear of people thinking your work is stupid and you're a rubbish writer, and as time passes and you grow and evolve as a writer/human being, you're going to cringe at what you wrote in the past (hell, I cringe at what I'm writing in the present. I'm cringing at this. I cannot spell cringing for the life of me). There is no way to avoid this. There is no age or number of words or hours of writing experience at which you are a whole and perfect writer of absolute confidence, who will win awards and write a bestseller and find universal adoration. It's a journey without end. You are always imperfect.

People will enjoy your early work and/or your later work and it's all going to be pretty random, because that's what our reality is like. You enjoy writing, you write as well as you can, you attempt to contribute whatever it is you're trying to contribute, you negotiate publishing and promotion and building a career as best you can. You will still make mistakes, you will still cringe at yourself, and your age is not necessarily going to advantage or disadvantage you. Vulnerability is unavoidable. You cannot skip being a beginner. You cannot guarantee perfection.

Additionally, people who have not published a book imagine publishing a book as this event that occurs devoid of context, some odd sort of add-on to your life. In my experience it isn't. Being published and writing professionally has hugely shaped my life. I've done a ton of speaking at festivals and in schools, I've met and learnt from many other writers and readers and kids and teachers, I've learnt a great deal from working with an editor and with a publishing house. These have helped me immensely as a writer. I would not be the same 20-year-old had I not done these things. I also have money, and the freedom some savings affords you is extraordinary. I can pay for my education. I can dedicate life hours to writing I may have had to spend in a day job. I can travel. My aim of owning my own home is marginally less absurd, despite the ongoing absurdity of property prices.

My life is much richer for being an author. I've made some poor business decisions, I cringe at things I've written, and people wrote me off as a silly kid at times (and, look, they'll probably continue to) - but I would've had awkward and embarrassing experiences anyway. I would've struggled and been confused and been silly entering a new field age 25, 35, 45 (having not been these ages yet, I base this on older people I know, who are more knowledgable and experienced, absolutely, but still self-conscious and flawed and human). If I wrote Girl Saves Boy today, it would not be the same book. If I wrote All This Could End today, it too would be different. But fixating on things you can no longer change is pointless, and in no dimension does a perfect version of those books (or any other) exist.

Girl Saves Boy was published almost four years ago, and I continue to get emails from people reading and enjoying it, including one the other week from a Year 12 English teacher who decided to set it as a text for the school's lunchtime YA book club (and who changed one of the English units to a creative writing one, partly inspired by seeing me speak at Brisbane Writers Fest). And that's wonderful. I've been very, very fortunate and I've also worked really, really hard, and I've had a lot of wonderful opportunities and experiences and I've learnt a great deal from all of it. To regret all that would be silly. To focus on the past and the flaws of my earlier work would prevent me from writing the next novel.

It is my sincerest belief that if you enjoy or feel compelled to write, you should, irrespective of your age or profession or location. If you'd like to publish, you should pursue that. If you'd rather not, your words are still worthwhile. Creative expression is a splendid thing. But don't quit writing or put it off out of fear of not being good enough, or that you will hugely regret sharing your work because 'teenagers are crap writers'. You are not less than by virtue of your age or any other factor. You still ought to write your stories if you feel a drive to. Your writing doesn't have to be serious and profound to be meaningful. 'Easy, enjoyable' reads still connect with people, still bring something to the table. I'm not going to be Hilary Mantel or Jonathan Franzen or J.K. Rowling, or even E. L. James for that matter, and you're not going to be either, but the world of fiction has room for a lot of voices, including young ones, including older ones. And guess what? You can like your own books, flawed as they are. Even if they were written when you were fifteen.

I am no longer a teenager. How very odd.

This is me bein' all reflective and wistful and stuff 'cause it's my birthday. *I'm actually still a teenager in this picture.

On Saturday I turned twenty (so did Harry Styles, incidentally. We're possibly long-lost twins. I think I have better hair). Of course, you know, I'm taking everyone else's word for it. I don't remember being born. Maybe I arrived five months ago and the aliens just implanted memories in your brains and photo-shopped pictures for various albums. Anything's possible.

This getting older thing is incredibly weird, always happening without me noticing. I can remember being a kid and thinking of twenty as an age of distant grown-upness that I could never quite imagine myself reaching. I can also remember being a kid and thinking older students were incredibly mature. It turns out grade four kids don't seem that big once you're a grade four kid yourself. For the longest time I believed sixteen to be an age of utmost maturity, largely because that was when all the important things happened in books - that's the age you find out you're a cursed fairy princess, or you fall in love with some babe, or at the very least you are a super cool teenager with a car who goes to parties. Of course none of these things happened to me. Fiction is full of fibs, it turns out.

I feel like I am actually a five-year-old and I've been involved in some sort of Freaky Friday body swap with a full-grown person and I'll be able to get back to my real life - drinking pop tops and making abstract art finger paintings - after a series of comic events. I'll let you know if this works out for me.

So, I'm no longer a teenager. It's odd. I was never especially good at being a teenager, but I don't think I'm going to be especially good at being a twenty-something either. Not to worry. Very confident I'll be an excellent eighty-something, just need to make it to eighty first.

Despite my lack of traditional teenage narrative (I still lack a license, I really don't party, I get along fine with my family, I didn't have a proper high school graduation or any formals/balls/those dressed-up events where you stand around being awkward), my teenagerdom was really pretty wonderful. So much wonderfulness I can't even recap. You know all those weird people who say 'your teenage years are the best of your life!' when you're a teenager and you really don't want to hear it? Well! Here's to proving them wrong. I reckon proper adulthood is going to be fairly awesome, too.

Things I would do differently if I had my teenage years again

I like to think I've spent my teenage years reasonably well. I'll be twenty in ten months, which is just unfathomably old, so lucky I've got ten months to prepare myself for it (I also need a new name for this blog. This one, while based on a cool song, will no longer be age-appropriate).

I did an interview recently where I was asked if I regretted publishing my novel so young, which I hadn't really thought about before (which is surprising, because I think about everything, and with great intensity). I don't regret it - I love being a writer, I've had many brilliant experiences and learnt a lot and met wonderful people, and I don't think I was any more unready for publishing a novel at fifteen than I would be now. I'm not especially old yet, but I can imagine a 20-something novice writer Steph would find publication overwhelming, too. Almost all debut novelists would. I'm not big on regretting things because I haven't done especially many things worth regretting yet, but I am plagued by thoughts of 'how might things have worked out differently if I'd taken this opportunity/made a different decision?' I generally assume that there's not a Sliding-Doors reality going somewhere and I'm a millionaire there, because I think my current reality is pretty awesome already (and being a millionaire would stress me out).

If I had my time again, I would do it all the same, to quote Big Audio Dynamite. With some slight alterations. So, in the spirit of narcissistic blog posts everywhere, here are some things I would do differently if I had my teenage years again:

1. I would never behave like a ridiculous caricature of an obnoxious teenager (occasions which I like to think were pretty rare, but you'd probably have to ask my mum if you wanted the truth). If I started over I like to think I'd have more self-awareness.
2. I would not delude myself from the ages of thirteen to sixteen that external success directly relates to being a fulfilled and self-actualized human being.
3. I would not fixate quite so heavily on being smart, and proving that I was smart.
4. I would just let myself be a weirdo introvert. Everyone acts as if we are all supposed to be extroverted and outgoing as if that is the ideal human state, but really we do need some people to be quiet and reflective and listen. Introspection is not a bad thing, and I didn't need to feel bad for being so much in my own head, since being so much in my own head is what gives me the ability to write.
5. I would not spend so much time on the internet, oh my goodness. I have been so enamored with the internet for so long and in the last two years it's occurred to me that maybe the physical world is pretty awesome too, and I've been ignoring it a bit too much. I don't know, technology is a drug.
6. I would dress better. I picked some really terrible outfits for several years there. I continue to do so. If I'd been born any other species this wouldn't be a problem, and neither would my inability to work a keyboard properly. Unless I was a monkey that scientists were training to type and choose its own outfits. In which case I would be a very disappointing monkey.
7. I would not miss quite as many opportunities out of fear or anxiety or overwhelm. The whole 'you regret the things you didn't do, not the things you did do' does not seem entirely true to me - maybe when I am on my deathbed I'll stop regretting dumb things I said and problems I dealt with badly. But I do regret things I avoided doing. As much as regret is a useless emotion.
8. I would not have given up certain things. I could've been a prodigious musician by now, gosh! I would learn, learn, learn everything. I would read more non-fiction, perhaps, and take more classes, and learn to dance.
9. I would care less what people thought of me (by 'me' I mean 'me plus all of the words I write which I regard as an extension of me against my better judgement'). This includes reading reviews.
10. If I got to go back to being thirteen, having lived through my teenage years, knowing that I managed to avoid becoming an off-the-rails teen, am doing quite well with the writing-business, and that finishing high school was ultimately not all that difficult, I can tell you absolutely and definitively: I would stress less. But there being no unknown to fear would probably take the magic out of everything. Having never travelled back in time, I cannot tell you this for sure.

You are not a number: Thoughts for year 12 kids

Interrupting my unplanned internet holiday (I'm studying again! It's time-consuming. Also, Christmas. It's the most stressful time of the year) with some words for Victorian Year 12 students, who got their ATAR (Australian Tertiary Admission Rank) today. And other recent school-leavers or marks-receivers or whoever listens to my advice.

I think when you are freaking out about something like receiving marks, and later feeling really pathetic because you didn't do as well as you hoped, it's helpful to break it down and see it for what it really is. You have likely spent the year (and one to five years before then, depending on the intensity of your school/parents) being told this is your future on the line and this is the most important number of your life and shouldn't you be studying?

Parents/teachers/assorted other adults who say these things: I don't think you are helping, I think you're just stressing a kid out. (I am saying this as someone who already stresses out. Maybe other kids need someone telling them don't mess this up. I don't think anyone really needs it constantly for a whole year, though.)

But, that's over now. Thank goodness. Let's say you have your number now, and you are disappointed. This is what I want you to remember: It is just a bunch of tests.

It is not your entire future.
It is not how intelligent you are.
It is certainly not your importance or capacity or worth as a human being.

No matter how low your marks, there are always pathways towards becoming what you want to become.
There are always other opportunities. There are always other possibilities.

Drive and motivation and creativity can count for a lot more than a single number.
No matter how low your marks, someone else likely aspired to do as well as you did.

I think perspective is important. I think I still haven't got any. I'm still disappointed my marks were only above-average after a childhood of doing really well at school. I'm still wondering whether I should publicly admit to that, admit to only-above-average.
 But I want you to know that. I want you to know that you don't need to get amazing marks to do well. (I like to think I'm doing well.) 
I think in ten years I won't care.
I think in ten years I'll be able to be honest with people. And when someone says they received 99.95 or whatever else (I doubt anyone will say this ten years out of high school, but hypothetically speaking), I won't be vague and tiptoe around the truth. I won't tie up my self-worth in external validation of my intelligence.

I don't think you should either. This is easier said than done.
I am trying to become less fixated with the idea that I need to make everyone think I am a genius.
I'm being honest on the internet, despite people who think that's a crap idea, for your benefit.

I think no matter what, know that your contribution to the world is not dependent on how well you did in high school.

Anyone who judges you based on how well you did in school is an idiot. Really.
I know plenty of smart people who didn't even finish high school.
You have no idea at this point what the trajectory of your life might be, and what adventures might be ahead of you.

You should be proud of yourself, for effort, no matter what. I know you might think effort doesn't count for much in the 'real world' (I am not sure this real world exists), and sometimes that's true. Sometimes you put a lot of time and work into something and it doesn't amount to anything, but you learn a lot from it (I know this is true in book-writing). Other times you put effort in and something wonderful results.

You are not just this number, even if that's the only thing the Admissions folks at universities take into consideration. (They do have to figure out who to let in somehow.)
You have so many intelligences that couldn't even possibly be measured on a Maths exam or in a Literature essay. (I wish novel-writing counted towards the ATAR.)
You have so many skills and passions that will lead you into interesting and fulfilling work as an adult. I don't even know you, but I know this.
You are always learning. There is so much more to know about in the world. Untold mysteries, folks! That's terrifically exciting.

And if you're happy with your marks that is really wonderful. Don't freak out too much about living up to the expectations of others, or the expectations of yourself.

You are so much more than a number. This does not decide the rest of your life. Maybe it just changes the plan slightly. We are on a spinning rock in an unpredictable universe, though, guys. The plan is bound to change.

It's super important that you know

It's okay if you haven't finished reading a book in weeks or you're really bad at staying up-to-date with your blog and Twitter and Facebook or if you don't have that many friends or if you have a lot. It's okay if you don't act like everybody else or if you do act like everybody else (if that's the true expression of you) and it's okay to feel lost and confused and ordinary/weird. Everybody does, at some point. It's okay if you feel like you're entirely alone in the world, and it's important to know that you're not. It's okay if you're having trouble writing or if you don't think you're good enough. It's important that you know that those feelings - feelings of inadequacy and isolation and everything else - are felt by everybody.

It's important to know that the perfect faces you see of the people around you, the people on the internet, the people in the magazines - that's what they want you to see, that's what they choose to reveal. And you're probably doing the exact same thing. You are jealous of other people no matter how much you wish you weren't, and other people are jealous of you, and perhaps you're even jealous of each other. And everybody wants to be happy, and everybody has things they keep to themselves, and everyone is fighting a hard battle.

Nobody is absolutely sure of themselves (and if such people exist, they must be absolute legends). And that's okay. But the person you are right now - who is fabulous and beautiful and important to the people around you in ways you can't imagine - is perfect. It doesn't matter whether you get a book deal or lose ten kilos or become rich and famous, because you will still be the same on the inside. Decide to be content right now. Strive for your dreams, absolutely, but know that you're a wonderful person regardless of what happens.

And I know I've said this before, and you've heard it from everyone else before, I'm sorry, but it can never be said enough (and everyone should keep on saying it until everyone believes it): Life's too short to keep putting yourself down. Go out and enjoy it. Follow your dreams, but love yourself right now, not once you attain some ideal you've got set up in your head.

*I originally wrote & posted this two years ago. I hope you don't mind an occasional re-run. Sometimes I run out of blogging inspiration. I think this is a nice post and worth reminding yourself of.*

How To Be Great At Everything, or just make people think you are

Whenever I leave the Writing Cave of Doom* and venture out into wider society, people who are older than me say things like 'I hate to think what I was doing at eighteen, you really have your act together!' People think I'm successful for my age! That's great.

So I have been thinking about what success means. I think success means being happy, and contributing positively to society, and having financial security. And writers are notoriously miserable, and I think they contribute to society but probably not in an easy to recognise way like, say, a doctor does, and financial security is not really something you associate with being an artist**. But some people obviously think being a writer is a good thing!

So mostly people who find out what I'm up to treat me as if I am doing quite well at life, and as if I can teach them how to fix the wayward youths. Which is nice! I like that. Unfortunately I seem to exist in a different reality to about 90% of people my age, and am not rebellious, and really I am not that concerned about wayward youths (every generation has been terrified of wayward youths, guys! Am I the only person who's noticed that teenagers have always seemed badly behaved to adults?).

Here is the thing: I actually don't have my act together. I don't know what I'm doing this year, or next year. I don't even understand how I've managed to achieve what I have already. I constantly panic that I have already peaked, or that I am not actually even remotely a smart person***. I was just as uncertain as every other kid finishing high school as to what I wanted to do with my life (I still am).

But it's pretty easy to fool people into thinking you are really great at everything. Or at least, that you know what you're doing. And if you can fool other people, you have already half-fooled yourself! Or something? I'm not qualified, I can't tell you percentages.

So! If you are a teenager or an older person who is still vaguely panicked about life, this post is for you. 

A brief, dot-point guide to giving the illusion that you are really brilliant at life and have an excellent five-year plan which you are currently implementing: 

• When you are young, people are constantly telling you that this part of your life is the most important! You will only be young once! Etc, etc! People put a lot of pressure on you to be having the best time ever and also accomplishing amazing things and also managing to fit in basic stuff like brushing your teeth twice daily. It's a lot to balance. I haven't been a middle-aged or elderly person yet, so I can't tell you whether this is the most awesome part of life, but it would be kind of depressing to admit it is, wouldn't it? Next time someone says to you "Ah, those beautiful halcyon days of my youth! You better be carpe diem-ing the hell out of life right now!", tell them that they should be treating every day of their middle-aged/elderly lives with the same value. And then wink. Because really, aren't you going to be having an awesome time your whole life? You're great at life! Of course you will!

• Realise that hardly anyone has any idea what they are doing with their life, especially when they are seventeen. Unless you are in a YA novel, in which case you are probably saving the world or marrying a vampire, either or. Good on you! Keep it up! Anyone who asks a seventeen-year-old what their five-year-plan is (except your parents/grandparents. They can ask a maximum of three times) is a mean person. When someone does ask you what your five-year plan is, it hardly matters what you say. Just say it with a lot of certainty and conviction. If you tell someone you're going to be a writer and they immediately tell you that you won't make a decent living, just start aggressively quoting Oscar Wilde at them. Shout "Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative!" There are lots of Oscar Wilde quotes that will work.

• Remind yourself, whenever you get uncertain about what you're doing or other people tell you you're not doing the right thing by choosing a certain degree or a certain job, that you're in charge of your own life. This is a lot of pressure, I know! But in the instance that you only get one go at life, wouldn't you much rather pursue your dreams than do what people tell you is a 'safe' choice? I'm not encouraging poor decision-making here, rather that you should absolutely go for whatever crazy, out-there, impossible-to-realise dream you have, sooner rather than later. Have you not seen enough motivational speeches in American movies? Come on now. You tell people that you are going to become a rockstar with enough conviction, they'll believe you. Even if you're terrified. Steph Bowe has faith in you! You don't really want the faith of someone who refers to herself in third person, but you're getting it anyway.

• Whenever you look at other people and think, "hey, they are doing so well!" realise a big part of that is probably a public face they put on. You can only really see the interior of your own life properly. If you do worry a lot that you don't know where you're going or what you're doing, but everyone else seems to have their life in order, realise there are lots of people who can relate to you. And lots of people who you can talk to about it. I think it gets easier as you get older (well I certainly hope it does!) to convince yourself that you are doing well and making good decisions, but reassurance can be useful! (People probably see you and your crazy-great Face of Confidence and think you never doubted yourself once in your life!) Pretend you know what you're doing, and everyone will pretty much be fooled.

*Writing Cave of Doom doesn't actually exist anymore, since I live in a sunny state now and my room has enormous windows. It's the most awful thing. How is one supposed to write emo stories in such cheerful weather?

**I don't actually refer to myself as an artist. I hardly even refer to myself as a writer. I say, "I've got a book out." Because I am super cool.

***Normal people want to be attractive or fit. I am insanely jealous of smart people. It's terrible!

Advice for carpe diem-ing, five year-plans or pretending to know how to live life, always appreciated!

Magical portals, giant otters, tortured young artists & other things I think about at 3a.m.

When I am up at three in the morning, I have a lot of thoughts that seem very profound and meaningful. I am sure a lot of people have these sorts of thoughts. I wonder what they did with them before the invention of this magical thing called the internet? Think of all the wise words (and by wise I mean incoherent) lost forever! Thankfully, we are living in 2012, and even though I don't document very much of my actual life on Facebook (I find those 'so-and-so is at this place, come get me stalkers!' things to be incredibly creepy), I do share a lot of weird things I think about.

If I ever get amnesia, and forget entirely who I am, I hope that my various web ramblings will help Amnesiac Steph to conclude that she is awesome.

This is 2009 Steph Bowe:

She is so cool she wears sunglasses inside, possibly at night, and a tiara with foam letters that announce her profession. Also, I think I may have originally posted this on Myspace (I must've: visible arm self-portaiture belongs nowhere else). Imagine her reading these statuses to you.

In reverse chronological order, some highlights (usually dreams and thoughts that seemed very meaningful at the time) from the last three years:

Every time I hear a strange noise in the house, I look around for something I could use as a weapon. Then I imagine the headlines. "Tortured young artist bludgeons burglar with $4 keyboard from Woolies." Need to find a better weapon.

--

I have many elaborate plans for when I am eighty. I have been respectful and made good decisions and worked hard so far, and plan to continue this way for most of my life, but when I am elderly I am going to become really obnoxious to make up for never being a foolish youth. I am going to get horrible tattoos, and start fights, and leave the water running while I brush my teeth, and possibly become a fascist dictator. It's going to be great. Only sixty one years and ten months to go.

--

Had someone consulted me before I started existing I would've asked to be a giant otter or a panda or possibly a very big dinosaur. But no one asked and I'm a human, and human existence is terribly lame compared to giant otter/panda/dinosaur existence. I would've been the greatest giant otter. So much unfulfilled potential.

--

I need a clone to answer email, and a clone to do schoolwork, and a clone to do speaking gigs, and a clone to write books, and a clone to edit books, and a clone to read books and tell me about them, and a clone to clean, and a clone to make me a cup of tea. And I will sleep, and occasionally watch videos of kitties being cute on YouTube. Of course the clones will all eventually turn against me and become Evil Stephs and take over the world, but during the brief period that they behave themselves, it'll be fairly glorious. For me at least. And it's okay, the Evil Stephs will be benevolent rulers. Or they might not be. You just can't tell with evil clones.

--

Life's too short to complain about Facebook. Life's too short for Facebook entirely. Life's too short for anything but affirming how short life is. (Oh god, I've spent thirty seconds updating this unnecessarily. Half a minute closer to death. I'm going to carpe diem the hell out of tomorrow. CARPE DIEM.)

--

On this day in 2010, my status was "When I'm meant to be doing other, important stuff, I get on Facebook and look at everybody's photos and imagine what it's like to be them. Because I find there's a massive disconnect between the way people see me and the way I feel about myself, and I wonder if that's true of other people." Oh Steph Bowe, you never change.

--

Dreamt last night I could travel into the future through a magical cardboard box. I appeared in someone's apartment, but she was very good about it and let me stay. The future was very much like the present, except television was worse and everyone was very thin. I regretted I had only travelled ten years into the future instead of twenty, because everyone looked pretty much the same.

--

I would very much like to hibernate through the entirety of winter. Life would be so much easier if I were a bear. I wouldn't have to worry about heating then. Or schoolwork. And I feel humans would be very impressed if I were a bear that wrote books. And if they didn't like me I would eat them.

--

So apparently people who have Ned Kelly tattoos are 7.7 times more likely to be murdered than people who don't. Do you think this would apply to tattoos inspired by violent fictional characters, too? I mean, if I get 'Pity' and 'Fool' tattooed on my knuckles, will this affect the likelihood of me being a bad-ass?

--

I dreamt the other night that I travelled to the future through a magical water portal. I was swimming, and a crappy 80s synth band played by the pool, and then I was in a motel room in the future. My parents who were not my parents had died in a bizarre industrial garbage disposal accident orchestrated by evil baddies. Some very suspicious government people needed my genes for the survival of the human race, and they wanted me to do something horrible but I'm not sure what it was. I agreed, because I wanted them to send me back to the past, because the future was that awful. Pretty weird.

--

I've discovered one of my old notebooks. Interesting question written inside: 'When animals are cryogenically frozen and then brought back to life, where does their soul go in between? Does the same soul inhabit the body when the animal is reanimated?'

--

Does anyone else worry they'll get a papercut on their tongue while they're licking envelopes?

--

So, Snuggies versus Doona suits? Which is better? (Not because I'm going to buy one, I just want to know your thoughts.) I'm thinking doona suits are more practical, but Snuggies can double as Halloween costumes if you want to be a funky grim reaper or something. Or if you're in a cult. It's menacing AND cosy.

--

I dreamt last night that I was in a botanical gardens/outdoor shopping centre type place, and my family were getting dental work done, and there was a sort of masquerade ball going on which I wasn't allowed into. So I was out on the lawn with all these characters from Harry Potter having magical duels. And then I went for a stroll with a guy called Thom Yorke (but it wasn't Thom Yorke of Radiohead), and he had an umbrella, despite it being night-time and not raining. We had an enlightening conversation about Julian Assange and realities not measuring up to expectations. He looked like somebody I knew, but I think it was somebody dream-me knew rather than real-me, so it must be somebody who isn't real.

--

I like to put iTunes on shuffle and flashback to all my awful musical tastes back when I was twelve. Like the first CD I bought with my own money being the Justin Timberlake one with Sexyback on it (it was THE song of 2006, okay?). And singing that Panic at the Disco song very loudly at discos. And obsessively listening to that Teddy Geiger song. And being morally opposed to My Humps and everybody else loving it. And of course flashing back to my awful musical tastes makes me flash back to my awful dress sense - always wearing fluoro board shorts under my school dress and my horrific fringe and wearing my Paris Hilton sunglasses constantly for the entirety of (I think) term two.

--

I think if I wasn't me, I'd have a strange and impossible crush on me purely for my adorable weirdness. But I'd never ask myself out. It'd be an admire-from-afar-and-never-let-anyone-know-you're-crushing sort of crush. Which is clearly the worst kind of crush.

--

Every time I go for a walk and smile at everybody and say hello, no one ever replies or even looks at me. I have come to the conclusion that I have either a) died, totally unbeknowst to me, and am now a spirit sticking around because of unfinished business and with access to Facebook or b) do not exist and am just a figment of your imagination with access to Facebook.

--

I like to go through people's Facebook photos and wonder what their lives are like. I get this funny sort of nostalgia about the memories they have there, which is weird because they aren't my memories. But it makes me feel happy and sad at the same time. Thank God I'm a writer and have being an artist as an excuse. Otherwise I'd just be creepy.

--

And these are not exactly profound thoughts, but I like them (there are actually some good things about oversharing on the internet, like being able to remember little things like these):

Just got an email from my Grade Six teacher, who read my book and loved it. Legit, you guys, Mr Wilson thought my book was excellent.

--

The ladies at the post office all oohed and ahhed over my book and it's sparkly cover. Just fyi, the ladies at the post office think I'm cool.

--

I'm so hardcore I have a hot chocolate withdrawal headache.