A Comment on Comments

A couple of weeks ago, I went on a date with a man who was very hostile. He had asked me out without knowing anything about me, but by the time I arrived at the café he had Googled me and decided he didn’t like me. I know this because he immediately began criticizing my opinion writing (he only believed in ‘facts’), my public profile (he is very ‘introverted’), and my social media use (he doesn’t even have a FB page).

He should have cancelled the date, but instead he arrived, barely looked at me, and then left after a cursory 29 minutes. I would not wish to repeat the experience.

Why am I telling you this? Because this, my friends, is why I don’t read the comments on my articles.

Reading the comments on the big websites I write for is like sitting down to coffee with someone who can’t stand me. They don’t know me, but they hate everything that I represent. I don’t want to subject myself to people who don’t like me, and so I choose to stay away.

Let me explain. Yes, there are some positive comments on big websites. But for the most part, people don’t comment a lot when they agree with an article. They might share it on their social media feeds, or press the ‘like’ button, or even message me about it, but they won’t bother logging in to the site and leaving a comment.

People log in and leave a comment most frequently when they are angry. And they are angry when they strongly disagree with the thesis of a piece. And when they strongly disagree with the thesis of a piece, they often decide the writer is a moron/an idiot/an *insert your choice of insult here*. Because angry people don’t see shades of grey. They see right and wrong, and if the writer is ‘wrong’, then they must be ‘bad’.

And so these commenters tell me how bad I am. They tell me how wrong I am. They tell me in all sorts of colourful language, with all sorts of capital letters, under all sorts of social media handles, most frequently anonymous. And they are allowed to do that, just like the dude I dated was allowed not to like me. But I didn’t have to date him, and I do not have to read the comments.
It doesn’t enrich me to read negative comments about my pieces. It frustrates me to read comments about me that are not true, and it frustrates me more that there is nothing I can do about it. And it depresses me no end to know that people like these commenters exist – people who are homophobic, anti-feminist, anti-choice, racist, or anti-whatever it is I have written about at the time.

Now, it’s true that there may be a useful comment in there somewhere. It’s true that someone may have a point of view that would enlighten or inform me. But sadly, I would have to wade through hundreds of insults to get to it, and the cost-benefit equation doesn’t add up in my favour.

When I stay away from comments, this frustration doesn’t exist. When I stay away from comments, these people don’t exist. And – whilst I know intellectually that they are still out there, just like the dude who didn’t like me still walks this earth – I don’t have to experience the frustration and sadness they bring to my life.

Happily, I still have this Facebook page, where people can leave a comment and communicate with me directly. For the most part, people are polite and friendly on my Facebook page, partly because they usually choose to visit my page if they already like my work, and partly because commenters are easily identifiable on Facebook. People are far ruder when they are shielded by anonymity than they are when you can see photos of their children.

But until such time as commenters are accountable on websites, I will continue to shield myself from their onslaughts. I am just a writer doing my job. And I would rather sit down for a coffee with someone who likes me than with someone who wants to tear me apart.

I Admitted to Not Liking Gaytimes. I Never Expected This.

In a recent Facebook post, I admitted to not liking Gaytimes. The ice cream, not the physical expression of same sex love.

But really, the reaction would have been less vitriolic if it had been the latter. I have never been subjected to such violent abuse in all my time on the net.

There was disbelief:

Denial:

Pathetic justifications:

 Outright condemnation:

I was unfollowed:

Dropped:

Begged to delete my post:

And asked to think about my mistake:

But still, in the end, Jono had the last word:

And with that, it was over.

I was asked to write for free for a funeral planning site.... and this is what happened....

Firstly, the email and my responses:

Hi Kerri,
I am researching online for possible opportunities for my client to share content with within her industry.

Her new website is (redacted).

She has been in the funeral industry for a very long time and wanted to start a truly independent resource for people going through a funeral or a tragic loss. As counselling is a huge part of that I thought your site would be a great fit.

As you are a very successful writer I wondered if you would be willing to maybe write a blog post for her site?

I understand you may get a lot of these requests from agencies looking for links but we really are after quality content sharing with or without links. We believe if we provide quality and genuine helpful advice, people will link to it when they need to.

Would love the opportunity to chat further if you are interested.

Regards,

(name redacted)

Me: What are you able to pay?

Him: Hugs and great content.

Me: Seriously, help me out here as I just don't get it. You're asking a professional writer to write for free for a funeral planning site? 

Him: Yes, I wanted to offer you a chance for more exposure to your site also.

So I turned to Twitter to vent my frustration:

And the reaction was awesome:

Yup.

Look! You can totally be a perfect parent! Just follow these easy guidelines! (sponsored)

There is SO much pressure to be a perfect mother….. but happily, it seems that things are changing. Recent research by Ski D’Lite found that only half of Australian mothers now try to be perfect parents, with the rest of us settling for ‘good enough’. It seems like ‘practically perfect’ is the new idea.

And this is awesome. We shouldn't aim for perfection. So why are half of all women still trying to get there?

I don’t at all understand the term ‘perfect mother’. It has never made any sort of sense to me. Being a mother is not a task that can be performed to perfection; it is a relationship between two people, a parent and a child. And no relationship can be perfect, because no person is perfect. There is no such things as a perfect child, and certainly no such thing as a perfect adult, so how can there possibly be the perfect relationship?

To be ‘perfect’ at motherhood makes as much sense as being ‘perfect’ at any other type of relationship. We can’t be perfect at friendship or perfect at love. It is impossible. And it shouldn't even be a goal.

What’s more, it doesn't need to be. We don’t choose our friends because they are perfect at friendship, we choose them because we love them even with their flaws. And we don’t love our partners because they are perfect, we love them because they are perfect for us.

We don’t need to be perfect parents for our kids to love us, nor do we need to be perfect for our kids to thrive.

But we can still be ‘perfect’ at many important aspects of mothering. And when you go through the checklist, you’ll be surprised at how many you get right.

This is totally me. You can't see it but I am holding the selfie stick in my teeth.

For example:

1.       Birthing: A perfect birth is one which results in all four limbs and the head of the baby being expelled from the mother’s body by the end of the birthing process. The birth may involve pain relief, water, a surgeon, a midwife, meditation, chanting, or pretty much whatever the hell you want as long as you get the baby out.

2.       Feeding your infant: Perfect feeding occurs when the infant ingests nutrition by some means. This can involve a breast, a bottle, an eye dropper, a drip, or a fairy princess with a magic cup.

3.       Feeding your older child: A perfect meal for an older child includes food that will stop them from feeling hungry. Whilst ‘healthy’ food is ideal, and organic food is lovely and all that, it is not required for every meal, and ‘food’ can include juice, meats, Vegemite sandwiches, plain noodles… anything that has calories, really.

4.       Teaching your child to sleep: A child has been correctly taught to sleep if they spend periods of each night unconscious.

5.       Potty Training: A child has been perfectly potty trained if they learn to use the toilet some time before their twelfth birthday.

6.       Dressing your child: A perfect outfit includes clothes that more or less keep the child warm/cool/protected from the elements. Style, colour, and co-ordination are utterly irrelevant.

7.       Cuddling your child: Any cuddle is a perfect cuddle.

Check out the video below... it is seriously gorgeous and a huge relief to imperfectly perfect parents like me.

This post is sponsored by Ski D’Lite yoghurt, which I buy all the time for the kids because it is delicious, now has 25% less sugar, and doesn't require cooking, spreading or dicing into small pieces. Perfect.

Keep Personal Correspondence Out Of The Public Arena - A Very Unpopular Argument

Yesterday I got into a discussion/debate with a number of commenters about a recent post in which a woman shared correspondence between her and a man she met on Tinder. The man wrote her a detailed email explaining that whilst he very much liked her, he wasn't attracted to her body because it was fat. The woman responded to him in her blog in an angry message explaining why he could kiss her arse.

I think (believe, know) the woman had every right to respond with whichever words she chose to the man in question. What alarms me is that she chose to do it publicly.

The woman is not alone. Recently Em Rusciano, a columnist I greatly admire and like personally, published a column about an awful man on Tinder who body shamed a potential date. Again, the correspondence was shared.

And Em is also not alone. This is a huge trend in social media at the moment. When people receive private correspondence that they do not like, or find hurtful or abusive, they share it online. And I'm not stupid. I understand the reasoning. There is an intense desire to shame the person involved, to expose them for the nasty piece of work they are. And there is an empowerment in shaming someone who has hurt you. It feels good to get it out in the open, and receive approbation and affirmation from countless strangers.

But that doesn't make it right. I don't believe it is okay to share personal correspondence online.

For one thing, we all make mistakes. We all hurt people. No, we are not all arseholes, but even arseholes are not arseholes all the time. If you feel it is okay to shame someone else, then you have to be prepared to be shamed yourself. And how would you feel if your own personal correspondence was shared? If you were nasty to a lover, or friend, in an unwise, unguarded moment, and they shared your text or email with the entire world?

And if you answer "I wouldn't care, because I wouldn't do that, and if I did I would deserve it," then ask yourself carefully: have you really never written anything of which you have been ashamed? Have you really never made fun of someone behind their back, or shot off an angry text, or been cruel? Have you really never done anything to which someone else could take offence?

And even if you answer no, think about this. Do we want a world where people jump online every time they are disgruntled? Where we no longer deal with personal issues between ourselves, but take them into the public arena for the world to referee? We try to teach our children to work through their differences without running to their parents or teachers, and yet what are we teaching them by racing to the internet every time when we have a dispute with another person?

If a person offends you, deal with them. Tell them how you feel. And if they continue to upset you, block them. Delete their messages. When you block someone they don't exist anymore. They are gone. It is a very powerful tool.

And obviously if they are threatening or harassing you, go to the police. Take out a restraining order. Threaten them with legal action. If a person is dangerous, you're certainly not going to protect yourself by shaming them publicly.

There are undoubtedly some situations in which disclosure is in the best interests of the public, for example when they involve authority figures or criminal activities or threats to public safety. But to have 'running to social media' as the default position for issues between two individuals creates all sorts of problems. We will become a society in which the morality is held externally, in the Greek chorus of the online world. And we will lose our personal resilience, to be able to deal with interpersonal difficulties without the assistance and intervention of a thousand strangers.

I know most people will disagree with me. But you can also rest assured that any personal correspondence sent to me will remain private. And I bet that even those who disagree with me will find that
reassuring.

THE TROLL EDITION

If there is one thing I don't want to be it's a hypocrite. I mean, there are lots of things I don't want to be. I don't want to be a leper, or a communist, or a parking officer, or a contestant on a reality show. But I also don't want to be a hypocrite. Not being a hypocrite is one of my Core Values.

And so, in giving with my Not Being A Hypocrit-ism, I must be prepared to be criticised. I make my living, in part, by writing opinion pieces, and if I am allowed to have my own opinions then other people must be allowed to have their opinions of me.

And here's the thing: not everyone will like what I write. Sometimes I write pieces that get floods of positive feedback, messages and emails and tweets and balloonagrams from the sky. (Okay, not balloonagrams, but we do like balloons here, so if you feel moved to send one, please contact me for my address.) But no matter how well received a piece is, there will always be someone who doesn't agree. No matter how much people love my writing, there will always be someone who thinks I'm shit. And no matter how many people love my work, there will always be someone who cannot stand the very sight of my name. (I must say, I'm included in that last one - I've always thought 'Kerri' was a pretty poor moniker.)

So if someone wants to express their dislike for my work, they should feel free to do so. Not that they need my permission, of course. But I'm giving it anyway (which will probably piss them right off). I genuinely, truly do not care if someone says I am a terrible writer, or that my opinions suck, or that my hair looks really bad now that it's been cut. (Oh GOD, I lie, I do care if you don't like my hair. Do you like my hair? Please tell me you like my hair!)

Obviously if someone is threatening, or brings up my family, or reveals intimate details of my life (it is MY decision when I tell you about my secret marriage to Simon Baker, NOT YOURS) I will come out fighting. But criticism, no matter how rudely expressed or laughably phrased, is absolutely fine.

So when Lana told me about some nasty comments about me on GOMI ("Get Off My Internets") recently, I was amused. We talk about it at length (well, five minutes is a length) in this video below. I also address those rumours about my divorce and my sex life with a female online personality. Exciting stuff indeed. Keep it going, GOMI!!!!!!

Why Arianna Huffington is Wrong

Arianna Huffington is an impressive woman. She is an impressive woman who continues to make money from her website, the Huffington Post, which does not pay its bloggers. Though she has staff on the payroll, she does not pay the people whose blog posts appear on her site and generate page impressions and, therefore, income.

Last night at Carriageworks Annabel Crabb asked Ms Huff why she did not pay bloggers. She responded that she didn't need to. She believes that people want to write, and they will write anyway, and she offers them a platform - much like Tumblr or Facebook - on which to express themselves. They gain valuable exposure, which is payment enough. And besides, why should she pay them? They are willing to write for free!

She also (very cleverly) pointed out that Annabel's guests on her TV show are not paid. So that's pretty much the same thing, right?

Well, let's take that point by point.

• The Huff Post is a platform, but it is not a site like Tumblr or Facebook. The latter are free-for-alls. Anyone can post, anyone can write. But the Huff Post is not a public platform. Only a select few get to write for the Huff Post. They are chosen specifically so that their words will earn income for the company. So the comparison is invalid.
  
•  Yes, many people want to write. Many people enjoy expressing themselves creatively. And yes, as Ms Huff states, they will write anyway. But writing for yourself is like painting for yourself. It's lovely to express yourself in a painting or work of art. You can't expect to be paid for that. But if someone wishes to take your painting and hang it in their own environment, so that other people will be lured into that environment and spend money, they should damn well pay for it.
  
• Not paying guests on a TV show is not the same thing as not paying a guest writer. A guest on a TV show is an interview subject, and it is anathema to journalism to pay for interviews. Whether or not Annabel pays her interviewees is utterly irrelevant. I can guarantee, however, that her producers pay the writers, the camera operators, the makeup artists, the directors, the lighting people, and everyone else involved in the making of the show. And that is the only appropriate comparison.
  
• Underpayment or non-payment of particular professions is a serious problem from a feminist perspective. Traditionally, women have engaged in roles which are performed for love, rather than money. Teaching, nursing, social work etc have been underpaid for years because the people performing those roles - usually women - will do them anyway. This does not make it right. These people who are working in fields they are passionate about deserve payment as much as people working purely for money.
  
• Yes, there are thousands of people willing to work for the Huff Post unpaid. They are willing to work unpaid because they feel they don't have a choice, because the systems in place - the systems maintained and perpetrated by the Huff Post, among others - give them no choice. And this is the very definition of exploitation: taking advantage of people who feel they have no choice.
  

Arianna Huffington is an impressive woman. But until she pays all her writers, she will not be the inspiration I am looking for.

Fuck Off - Why MC Had To Go

So Mike Carlton has been sacked resigned from his position at Fairfax.

I'm not going to comment on my feelings about that, though anyone who follows me on Twitter will know I did not exactly rent my clothes and tear my hair in lamentation.

I am aware that many of my fellow Fairfax columnists and other journos are dismayed at the precedent set by his sacking resignation. What goes on in correspondence between a columnist and a reader, they feel, should not bear any relevance to their work as a writer.

Well, I respectfully disagree.

I am a freelance writer, but write for Fairfax and other publications on a regular basis, and appear weekly on Channel 7. When I am interacting with people on social media, I represent myself, but I also, by proxy, represent the organisations that employ me.

These organisations choose to use my words and my image. They choose to use my 'brand'*. And so if my brand becomes something that they feel is discordant with their own brand, then I would expect my services to be terminated.

In other words, if I go around telling people to fuck off, if I go around hurling thinly veiled racial insults, if I am rude and disrespectful in my dealings with my readers, I would expect my brand to be compromised, and I would expect to make myself unemployable.

The thing is, every journalist and columnist in the world has experienced dissent and trolling. In the past month I've been accused of child bullying (because I criticized Bindi Irwin for telling girls how to dress), of being part of the Zionist Genocide Plot (because I expressed the view that posting images of dead children is disrespectful to grieving families), and of demonizing fathers (because I wrote a piece about a new campaign to highlight incest using Disney caricatures). Oh, and someone called me a zombie. I'm still not exactly sure why.

When I received these helpful pieces of feedback, there was just one thing I wanted to do. I wanted to tell those moronic correspondents to fuck the hell off.

But you know what? I didn't. Because a) it is isn't helpful, and it's not going to change their minds; b) I don't wish to lower myself to their level; and c) it's just rude. People are entitled to their opinions, even if those opinions are different to mine. And being rude to someone who is rude to me isn't going to help the situation one iota.

So in each and every case, I wrote the same message: "Thank you for your considered response to my opinion piece."

And if the person continued to abuse me, I used a very powerful little tool. I pressed 'block' and 'delete', and they were gone for my life.

I am far from perfect. I have allowed myself to engage in endless debates with people online when I really should have just exited quickly and stopped wasting my time. But I do try very hard to retain humour and courtesy. Because if we can't do that, then the horrible conflicts overseas that are not the responsibility of any person in this country are creeping into our own lives, and that would simply add to the tragedy.

*Yes, it's a wanky term, but you get my point..

The Tribe Has Spoken

On Saturday I returned from a twelve day trip to Club Med, Phuket, with my parents and children. We had a wonderful time. And twelve days is a long time. Long enough to have six $10 massages by the beach. Long enough to have two dresses made by a tailor down the road. Long enough to sample everything at the buffet at least once. Long enough to buy three pairs of shoes for $12 each, and a real, authentic, 100% genuine Jimmy Choo bag for, er, $20.

And long enough for my mother and I to decide that we ruled Club Med, and that we ought to decide who stayed, and who left.

Yes, by the end of our stay, we were getting a little... shall we say... intolerant. We liked our Club Med Village and we wanted to control who visited. Various guests, we decided, were not up to par. They irritated us, or they were loud, or obnoxious, and we wanted to vote them Off The Village.

It's Time For You To Go

We voted various Club Med guests Off The Village during our stay:

• The woman who wore an adult-sized version of her toddler daughter's polkadot dress. (No matchy matchy in our village!);
• The Caucasian-yet-dark-dark-chocolate-brown-skinned Donatella Versace lookalike who wore her blonde hair scraped back so tightly it made my own face hurt;
• The man who spent three entire days taking pictures of his wife in various poses around the pool, buffet table, bar, beach and - I kid you not - gift shop;
• The man who insisted upon facing the wrong way during the water-aerobics. WHY DID HE HAVE TO FACE THE WRONG WAY???
• The woman sitting by the pool squeezing her husband's back pimples;
• The woman picking her young son's nose at the breakfast table and inspecting her findings. (Seriously: a Frenchman at a neighbouring table turned around and told her sternly to arreter);
• The group of Aussie men wearing matching novelty team shirts. (Just don't);
• The couple who stripped off their matching pants and shirts to reveal male/female matching bathers. (We said no matchy matchy!);
• The little girl who ran on stage in every single performance every single night (First time was cute. So was second. Third, fourth, fifth and subsequent not so much);
• The group of 23 students who went everywhere together and giggled preposterously at the slightest provocation. (Groups of six or more are far too cheerily rambunctious and make the rest of us feel awkward and left out);
• Any people who hog the middle of the pathways so that I cannot pass at the brisk, walking-off-the-buffet-pace I prefer.

They may not have left. Hell, they may not have even known that they were voted off. But The Tribe Had Spoken, and that was all the satisfaction we needed.

Do complete strangers ever irritate you for no good reason?

Uncool - A Realisation

For the last couple of years I have been struggling with a difficult realisation.

I am uncool.

Now, I may not be uncool in the eyes of the world. Actually, I don't know how I'm viewed in the eyes of the world, and to be honest, I prefer it this way. I don't want to have my coolness status confirmed. This way, I can convince myself I'm, like, totally hip, and be cheerful in my deluded ignorance.

But I am profoundly uncool in the eyes of my children, and this saddens me quite deeply. I had always intended to be a super cool mum. My own mum was pretty cool, and I wanted to beat her at her own game. I wanted to be the kind of mum my children were proud of. The kind of mum they were proud to show their friends. The kind of mum they would want to take out clubbing. (Okay, maybe not that cool. That's kind of creepy.)

I did not write this text. But totes could have.

Instead, however, the opposite is true. My children see me as mortifying bordering on the tragic. I am banned from speaking in front of my 14 year old's friends due to general embarrassment, and am regularly chastised by my daughter for everything from dancing, to being naked, to trying to speak in rap (or, er, all three at once).

Despite my loftiest intentions, I am shockingly uncool.

I don't understand why I am such an abject failure. I have all of the outward trappings of cool. I wear jeans and cargo pants. I have tattoos, but not too many. I once had three earrings in the one ear (until, er, they all became infected). I like hip hop and The Big Bang Theory and Coke Zero and Matt Damon. I do cool things like meet famous people and go on TV and write books. And I do social media, for god sake. There is nothing cooler than social media! What on earth do my children want?

Well, they want me to stop singing and dancing, for a start, because I am 'useless' and it is 'horrible'. They wish me to stop telling jokes, because I'm not funny and it's just lame. They want me to never be naked, because that is just scary. They don't want me to swear, because swearing is rude. And they don't want me to talk about sex or puberty or any of the things that cool parents discuss with their kids. And I've dreamed of these conversations all my life, so who the hell can I possibly have them with now?

Still, being uncool is just something I have to get used to, like having wrinkles, and the fact that Simon Baker will never love me. And I'll be okay with it, eventually. I really will. Being cool isn't the most important part of parenting. It's about love, and communication, and honesty, and trust.

And besides, one day, I am going to be the coolest grandparent IN THE WORLD. And my uncool-parent children are going to be jealous as hell.

Dear David, Thanks For The Feedback

So last night was an interesting one on Twitter.

I'd had a rough day, as happens on occasion. A couple of people had disappointed me, as people are wont to do. And I was feeling a little grumpy, as was fairly understandable.

And so I tweeted about it. I guess I wanted some support. And Twitter is fairly excellent for that.

I didn't write 'I am feeling really grumpy', because that is not my style. I try to be funny, and a little lighthearted, even when I'm feeling cross.

So I wrote:

Several people have annoyabled me this morning. I feel crankalily. Why is everyone so irritadedinglyish?

Well, a couple of people Tweeted back, which was welcome, and comforting. And then this came in, from one David Oldfield, of One Nation (and Pauline Hanson) fame.

I'm annoyed by loons who screw with the English language and think it's clever or funny - your tweet is neither!

Well, I can't pretend his comment didn't smart. I wouldn't have to pretend, because it genuinely didn't. I honestly don't care what one David Oldfield thinks of my writing. I mean, obviously I'd prefer it if the entire world found me hilarious, but statistically speaking, it's unlikely that would ever happen. And, given that someone has to find me neither clever nor funny, I would rather it be David than, say, the editor of the Sydney Morning Herald, or the publisher of my next book.

Still, the entire scenario fascinated me. Why on earth would someone - a grown man, a father of two sons, a husband, a political figure, and a radio host - want to attack a person they don't even know over something so utterly unimportant? To call a perfectly harmless writer-type person a 'loon'? Putting aside the fact that he is wrong (because language, after all, is something to be played with and enjoyed), what did he get out of it?

Now, possibly I am a loon. I am certainly a loon for giving David Oldfield even more attention by writing this post. But I do wonder at the psychology of it all. And I see similar scenarios played out over and over on the internet, and every time, I wonder WHY.

I have never understood random attacks on strangers. Obviously we all have differences of opinion, and that is normal and fine and to be totally encouraged. And if David had said that he didn't like my tweet, I would have accepted that. I still wouldn't have been sure why he felt the need to mention it, but it was his prerogative. But to call someone a 'loon' is just nasty.

Still, for every David Oldfield, there are hundreds of people who are kind and loyal and caring and fun. And dozens of them tweeted their support for me last night, leaving Mr O no doubt wondering what an earth he got himself into.

And despite David Oldfield making me even more crankalily than I already was, they filled my heart with gladnesses. And I found myself happyish once more.

PLEASE note: I don't want this to degenerate into nasty comments about David Oldfield. Just comments about the post, gorgeous readers. x

Ever Criticized A Blogger???

Yesterday, the Sunday Telegraph featured an article by gossip columnist Ros Reines, in which she slammed Mummy Bloggers in general and a few key players in particular, and shot an arrow at the burgeoning field of Daddy Bloggers, too.

Now, I support Ros's right to have an opinion. We all have opinions; I've certainly formed one about her column. What I object to is the mean-spiritedness which permeated her article.

The women and man mentioned in the piece are real people. They are real people with feelings and families and insecurities and hopes, and Ros tore them down quite knowingly with her words. Remember that these people aren't doing anything to hurt anyone; one is a broadcaster and writer, and the others are bloggers. None are vicious or cruel, in fact, the worst that Ros could accuse them of was being 'self-indulgent'. So why be so unkind?

Most forms of self-expression are 'self-indulgent' to an extent - writing, music, painting, dancing, they all are external depictions of an internal state. There is nothing wrong with this. It is life. It can be art.

If we don't like someone else's self-expression, then the sensible thing to do is to stay away. If you don't like someone's music, don't listen to it. It's simple. And if you don't like someone's blog, don't read it. Easy. There's no need to be mean. Just close the screen and be gone.

But by the same token, we as writers need to stop taking criticism so personally. Not everyone will like us, and that is okay. No writer (or musician, or artist, or dancer) can appeal to everyone. I cannot think of one piece of writing in the entire world that is universally loved - not Shakespeare, not Austen, not even Marian Keyes!!!! And if Shakespeare & Austen & Marian Keyes aren't universally loved, what chance on earth do I have?

My style of writing doesn't resonate with everyone, and I really am fine with that. I try to focus on the people who do enjoy my work, and forget about the ones who don't.

People, it is OKAY not to have universal appeal. I hope that you all remember that.

And Ros Reines, with the very deepest respect, I hope you can remember that too.

There Is No Excuse

I don't get outraged a lot these days. The older I get, the more aware I am of my own flaws and limitations, and the less I judge other people. What's more, as the years go by, the more attuned I am to the dark side of the human condition, and the less surprised I am by some of the shocking things that occur.

But the Chrissie Swan saga outrages me. Not because the woman had a sneaky cigarette whilst pregnant. I mean, seriously people - do we not have more important things to worry about? She didn't beat one of her already-born children, or take to her pregnant stomach with an iron bar. She didn't mainline heroin or strap a dozen mobile phones to her stomach to send radiation to her poor helpless fetus. She didn't even smoke a pack a day. She had a few sneaky cigarettes. I mean, give me a break.

And yet the woman is required to offer a tearful apology to the entire nation because of her bad behaviour. It is outrageous. It is none of our business. NONE. It has nothing to do with you and nothing to do with me. Chrissie Swan is a 'personality'. She has made her living through media work - television, radio and newsprint. And good on her. That is incredibly hard to do and she has risen above the pack and succeeded. I admire her and I envy her.

But the fact that she has made her living through media work does not make her public property. Chrissie Swan is not Kyle Sandilands. I have listened to her radio show many times and read her columns and watched her on TV. She is respectful of other people, self-deprecating and warm. She does not deserve or invite public shredding.

As for Woman's Day, well, they ought to be ashamed of themselves. They won't be, of course, because they are a tabloid publication, and celebrate women by mocking their weight gain, pointing out their plastic surgery, speculating on their eating disorders, and celebrating their personal tragedies. Of course they're going to publish photos of yet another 'fallen' celebrity, however ridiculously fabricated the 'fall'.

I just wish they weren't pretending to believe they were doing a community service by highlighting the dangers of smoking whilst pregnant, because that is cruelly and laughably disingenuous. We all know the dangers of smoking whilst pregnant. They did it because they knew it would sell a lot of magazines, at the expense of a decent human being. And there is no excuse.

Sometimes, these days, I still get outraged.

Go On. I CAN TAKE IT!

I don't usually ask for feedback on my blog. This is for several reasons.



Artist's impression of me after receiving negative feedback.

1. I figure I really can only write the way I write. So if you tell me you don't like my writing, then I have no alternative but to curl up into a little ball and cry copious tears of rejection. And then blog the next day the same way I have always blogged.
2. If there is something I can change, and I try to change it, there are always frequently disasterous consequences. Cases in point:
   
   a) When I bought the domain name kerrisackville.com and nearly lost my entire blog whilst trying to change it over;
   
   b) When I changed my blog layout this past Sunday, and lost my entire commenting system, and spent 72 hours weeping and gnashing my teeth fixing the damn thing.
3. Inevitably, some of you will like some things that others of you ate, and some of you will hate some things that others of you love. And I will want desperately to please you all, and feel wrenched in two by the cognitive dissonance that comes from wanting to change what I also want to stay the same. If you know what I mean.
4. If there is something that you all agree you hate, and it is clear that I have to change it, then I will have to change it. And I hate change. It scares me. Bad things come out of change. (For further clarification, see point 2).

However, I am off to Melbourne tomorrow to attend the Problogger conference on Friday and Saturday, so I am in an introspective mood. More importantly, someone told me on Twitter that they didn't like the colour scheme on my blog, and that has thrown me into a state of panic and despair.

So I am asking for your feedback. What do you like about my blog? What do you dislike? What would you like to change?
You can comment on the layout. The colours. The content. The font. The commenting system. The picture of me looking sexily nonchalant as I sign a book. Anything you want. Be honest. I can take it.

Or I'll curl up into a little ball and cry copious tears of rejection.

Whatever!!!

An Open Letter of Complaint to Coles

Dear Coles,

I am writing to complain about your Coles Ultra Booster Plus Everyday Soaker with the Improved Easy to Open Cap.

Now, I've been buying your Coles Ultra Booster Plus Everyday Soaker for a while now, with the unimproved, original cap. And let me tell you, it opened just fine. You simply stuck your finger under the tab and woo hoo! Off it came. A true miracle of plastic technology. You could even put the cap back on again, too.

So you can imagine my joy when I saw the Improved Easy to Open Cap on my most recently purchased tub of Coles Ultra Booster Plus Everyday Soaker.

'Wow,' I thought, fingering the smooth white curves of the container. 'They've improved on perfection? Amazing. I mean, it was easy to open before. How much easier must it be now? Perhaps I won't even need to stick my finger on the tab anymore. Perhaps I'll just wish the cap open, and it will pop off, all by itself!'

So imagine my surprise - my profound, disappointed, surprise - to discover, upon arriving home to a mountain of laundry, that the Improved Easy to Open Cap wasn't easy to open at all. Not that it was difficult to open - I'm not saying that at all. No.

It was bloody impossible.



LIES!!! ALL LIES!!!

Yes, Coles, it has been a week now and I still have not been able to get that tub of Coles Ultra Booster Plus Everyday Soaker open. I have tried, dozens of times. And - just in case you were wondering whether I have some kind of spatial navigation disorder, or a digital manipulation disability, I have passed the tub on to four different adults of varying sizes and IQs, and they haven't been able to prise the damn thing open either.

So Coles, I have to ask you - what possessed you? You took a perfectly functional cap, altered it so that it is impenetrable, and then, just to twist the knife in further, labelled it Improved Easy to Open? What were you thinking? Was it some kind of manufacturing mistake? Or are you just trying to fuck with our minds???

Thank you in anticipation of your speedy response,

KS

Each to Her Own - Say NO to 'Sixty Minutes'

So this morning I am trying to get ready, as well as get my three kids fed, dressed, kissed and to school on time, when an ad for Sixty Minutes blasts on my TV.

"These mothers think you have it all wrong," it says, "and they have the scientific evidence to prove it."

I'm not going to provide a link to the Sixty Minutes site. I'm not going to watch Sixty Minutes. I'm really hoping you don't watch it either. Suffice it to say that the segment is about attachment parenting, and mothers who choose to breastfeed indefinitely. It's supposed to make us angry. It's supposed to pit us mothers against each other.

And I have had a gutful of it.

The media is forever trying to create Mummy Wars, with Good Mothers on one side and Bad Mothers on the other side. And you know what? It's BULLSHIT. Yes, there are bad mothers - mothers who physically or psychologically or sexually abuse their kids. Mothers who neglect their kids, who inject them with drugs, who leave them festering in their own waste for days at a time.

But most mothers, the vast, vast majority of us, are good mothers, who are just doing our best.

We all have our different ways of doing things and that is just FINE. Personally, I don't care how any other mother parents. I don't care if you breastfeed your child till they're ten, if you're both happy and comfortable about it. I don't care if you work outside the home or if your child goes to creche or if you leave the house at six every morning. I don't care if you co-sleep, or feed on demand, or put your baby on a schedule. I don't care if you carry your baby all day in a sling, or do controlled crying, or put your child on a vegan diet or give them Maccas chips for lunch. I DON'T CARE. If you love your child and are making thoughtful decisions and educating them and keeping them safe and enjoying their company then that's pretty bloody good in my books.

And I don't care what the celebrities do. I couldn't care less if Alicia Silverstone feeds her baby from her own mouth or if Suri Cruise wears high heels or if the kid is named Apple or Pax or Prince Blanket the Fifth. I DON'T CARE. If the child seems adored and nurtured then what the hell is the problem?

You know what I do care about? I care about children living in poverty. I care about child sexual abuse. I care about indigenous inequality. I care about immunisation. I care about the parents of special needs kids pushed to the limits. I care about education and the medical system and the rights of kids to have their same-sex parents marry. I DO NOT CARE HOW THOUGHTFUL, LOVING PARENTS RAISE THEIR KIDS, even if they do it differently to me.

So please please please, Sixty Minutes and every other inflammatory media outlet.... STOP. Stop trying to pit us mums against each other. We will not fall for it. We are all just doing our best.

Each to her own, people. Make it your mantra. Each to her own.

And stop the bullshit. It's enough.

A Terrible Story of Grief, Inappropriate Laughter, and Sophie Mirabella

By now most of you will have seen the footage of Simon Sheikh collapsing at the Q&A desk as Sophie Mirabella looks on in disgust. (If not, you will find it here.) By now, many of you will have judged Sophie Mirabella and expressed your own disgust at her reaction.

Well, I watched the footage yesterday, four separate times, and I'm not proud at all of my reaction, either.

Because do you know what I did when I watched the video?

I laughed. Every single time.

I didn't laugh because I found it funny. It's not funny. I have fainted, and it's the most horrible feeling. I've also been on television several times, and the idea of fainting on live TV is absolutely horrendous. I laughed because that's what I always do when I'm nervous or feeling uncomfortable. I can't help it. It's an instinctive reaction.

Before you judge me, let me reassure you - I'm not one of those people who stand by and do nothing when someone needs assistance. I have called for an ambulance on three different occasions when I've seen strangers in trouble. I've assisted elderly people who've fallen in the street. I've helped get kids out of an overturned car (truly - I'm starting to sound like Tom Cruise here). But I also have a terrible problem with inappropriate reactions.

Take, for example, a memorial service for my late sister. She was a psychologist of some repute, and my parents set up a university scholarship in her honor after she died. At the ceremony to mark the establishment of the scholarship, I became completely distracted by the minor twitching of the eye of one of the speakers. Sitting in the very front row of the university hall, I began to laugh uncontrollably. It was a matter of months since my sister's death, the speech was deeply moving, and I was laughing myself stupid. My shoulders shook and tears began to leak from my eyes.

Matters rapidly became worse. The woman sitting behind me assumed (naturally) that I was grief stricken and crying, and laid a hand soothingly on my shoulder. This did me in. I was overcome with guilt, which made me even more uncomfortable, which made me laugh even more. I considered leaving the room but didn't want to disrespect the speaker even further. So I grabbed a handful of tissues, buried my face in them, and conntinued to heave until the proceedings drew to a close.

So the moral of the story is this: don't judge people on their reactions to emotive situations. It doesn't mean they're bad or unfeeling, it just means they're uncomfortable and human.

And if you ever see me laughing in a sad situation, do not lay your kind hand on my shoulder. Just pass me the tissues and let me be.

No Problems

Some of you may know that I have a regular column in the Australian Jewish News. (And for those of you who will inevitably ask, yes I am Jewish, no I don't speak Hebrew, no I do not go to synagogue every week, no I do not celebrate Christmas. For any further questions about the Chosen People, please email me.)

So here’s the thing. In my entire eight years or so at the Jews News, I have received very little positive feedback. Only about 50% of all letters to the editor about me have been positive. In fact, exactly 50% of all letters to the editor about me have been positive. The other one was not.

The positive letter arrived by email, written by a suspiciously single monikered correspondant called ‘Cloudman’ or ‘Threeprong’ or something like that. It stated that I was a very good writer, and that ‘what Kerri does is a lot harder than it looks’. Now, this isn’t quite true, as what I do is exactly as hard as it looks, but hey, I’ll take a compliment however it comes.

The other letter, written by someone called Luby Loo or Liberty Bell or whatever was rather less flattering. ‘Kerri is pathetic, useless and crap’ it said, or words to this effect. To be honest, I couldn’t quite understand the letter, as it was very cerebral, and included the words ‘trivial’, ‘disenfranchised’ and ‘mondongo’ (okay, so not really that last one, but I’ve been dying to use ‘mondongo’ in a sentence).

So my point is, aside from Cloudman Threeprong and Luby Bell, I have no idea if anyone actually reads my columns. So in my latest column, I extended an invitation to all my readers to email me with their feedback.

Well, the Jews News only came out on Thursday, and it's early days yet, but so far there have been dozens of emails. Using 'dozens' in its minimalist sense of 'five'.

The first four emails were lovely, complimentary notes about how much the correspondant enjoys my columns. Then the fifth was a very helpful email from a man named 'Gruff Crumpet' (not his real name, though it possibly should be).

Gruff decided to provide me with some constructive feedback on my work. My latest column, he wrote, was the best, "for the simple reason that you:

a. didn't mention your children
b. didn't mention your husband and
c. didn't mention your domestic or personal travails."

So in a column about family life and the myriad of minor crises that befall me every day, the only bad bits are those about my kids, spouse and problems. Which is fine. I can totally understand. And, happily, there's still a lot in my writing left over to love. There's the font, for example. There is the impressive array of prepositions and conjunctions. And there are the occasional references to non familial nouns ('banana' comes to mind), and to topics that do not involve any personal travail on my part ('banana' also comes to mind).

So from now on, I shall try to do as Gruff Crumpet advises: Life And Other Crises, with no problems, kids or spouses.

Stay tuned, people. It's going to be great. Banana split, anyone?

The Person Critic

I’m tired of people criticizing me for being opinionated and judgemental. It’s unfair. Not the part about me being opinionated and judgemental – I am! I love passing judgements on people - their appearance, their intellects, their conversation, their personalities. This, however, isn’t something to criticize.

Think about it. You don’t condemn food critics for judging their restaurant meal. You don’t condemn book reviewers for being opinionated about what they read. And I’m doing the same thing. I’m performing a valuable service for the community.

I am a Person Critic.

Other critics get paid to pass judgements, whereas I do it for free. And I’m tired of being looked down upon simply because the work I do is unpaid. After all, my reviews, like any others, will save you time, effort and aggravation.

If you meet Kathy at a school function and are thinking of meeting for coffee, I can save you the irritation. (Her life is perfect. You’ll want to smack her). At a wedding I can help you avoid hours of boredom. (Move your seat away from Tom! He’s a Trekkie who lives with his mother!) And if you’re friendly with Darren I can save you befuddlement (He’s not deep. He’s just really confused).

Nadia? A whinger. Josh? Depressive. Ruth? Scary. And Michael? Great guy, really sweet. Just such a shame about the tracksuit pants.

Now, you’re probably thinking smugly, ‘Hey, I can be a Person Critic. Anyone can form an opinion’. Well guess what? You’re wrong.

For a start, a Person Critic needs to be very judgemental. If you’re one of those (annoying) types who accepts everyone as they are, you’re not cut out for this work. Who will listen to your opinions if you see beauty and goodness in all humankind?

On the other hand, you can’t be hypercritical and negative. A Person Critic must distinguish between those who give good value for one’s friendship dollar – so to speak - and those who don’t.

Furthermore, a Person Critic needs to be able to make rapid and accurate judgements. There’s no time to get to know your subject in all their full and rich complexity. You must meet them, form an opinion, and be ready to describe them in three adjectives or less, all within about 15 minutes. There are people waiting for you to tell them what to think.

I’m very well suited to Person Reviewing. I’m bursting with opinions. And, quite frankly, there’s no other area I’m qualified to make opinions about. Of course, I have no special expertise in people, either. However, in Person Reviewing, that doesn’t actually matter. Qualified or not, your audience will always listen to what you have to say.

The best thing about being a Person Critic is that you win either way. If your subject is interesting then you’ll enjoy meeting them. And if they’re not interesting, although you may not enjoy meeting them, you will definitely enjoy telling everyone about it afterwards.