For me, creative/intellectual energy tends to come in cycles.

There I’ll be, bounding along, bubbling over with ideas and saying yes to everything (even things that, if I applied the laws of physics, I’d know I probably don’t have time to do).

Then, out of nowhere, comes the crash. That period in which I become bogged down in anxiety and fear, unable to do anything more than mindlessly surf the internet. The more self-sabotaging my behaviour, the more anxious I become, until even the smallest tasks become a Big Freaking Deal. Much easier to dive back into the mindless activity.

Which is why I liked this post. At first I thought it was going to give me advice about stamping out procrastination. Then I realised the real point was that you can never escape procrastination entirely.

As Fabian writes:

Procrastination is part of the loop.

It costs energy and motivation and time. It costs what we call our life.
It costs the life of that girl.

It costs a whole chunk of life – an hour, a day, a week, a month – until she finally gets back to her core.
Back to what she is.
Back to what she wanted to create.
Back to her art.

Because as unbeatably enthralling as creative or intellectual work is, it’s also scary and confronting and draining. And at some point, if you’re anything like me, you’re probably going to crash.

And while you may not be able to avoid the crash entirely, you can control what you do once you’re in it.

You can accept it as the reminder that it is that your brain and body has its limits. And once you’ve given in to those limits - and this is the most important bit - you can climb back out of it again.

How do you deal with “the loop”?

Elsewhere: The Loop (The Friendly Anarchist)

I love this guest post by Melbourne writer and actor Nicole Lee, and I think you will too.

I love Lena Dunham. Say what you will, but the fact that the girl wrote, directed and acted in her own show, while at the same time managing to make a nuanced commentary on the struggle of today’s Internet drenched, recession happy, self-focussed generation - before the age of 25 no less - makes the star of HBO’s new series ‘Girls’ nothing short of a genius.

Much has been made of the ‘whiteness’ of the ‘Girls’ world over the past week. I won’t repeat all the arguments here (you can read some very compelling and insightful arguments online: Hairpin, Jezebel, Racialicious, Gawker and an entire Room For Debate on New York Times), but the general gist of it is that for a TV show that paints the Gen Y female experience with such painful clarity, the glaring absence of ‘ethnic’ (and I put that in quotation marks because everyone is ethnic to some culture or another) characters seems a sore disappointment.

I have only seen one episode, the pilot. From its opening scenario I was hooked. As an ambitious drama school graduate, I have had to take on low-paying jobs, accept parental handouts and turn my face away from more ‘stable’ opportunities in the name of becoming a fully-fledged ‘artist’. So too did I identify with the closeness of the female relationships portrayed on the show, their complex relationships with their bodies, and the strange and inexplicable relationships they have with guys - when the males of our generation have been brought up on an easily accessible diet of Internet porn, why wouldn’t you both be convinced of the dysfunctional nature of it? ‘Girls’ resembles my life closer than anything I’ve seen on television. The only other show that came close in terms of values was ‘Sex and the City’ - albeit much glossier and sexier than my life could or would ever be.

So then what’s all the fuss? Before watching the show I had read a glowing cover story in New York Magazine about the show - the brilliance of its star, the openness of her relationship with producer Judd Apatow, the comparisons to ‘Sex and the City’. At back of my mind was the criticism about the cast being all white, but for the first watch I cast it aside. So? I thought. Most American TV shows are. And yet, despite two racial stereotypes popping up (which, it could be argued, is what made the show even whiter), at the end of the half hour it did seem strange that a show about New York had gone by without a single memorable blast of colour.

I got it immediately. Lena Dunham’s characters were all white because she was trying to paint a ‘white people’s problem’. As a child of affluent artistic parents (and indeed all of the lead females are famous progeny, whether it was intentional or not) she had probably grown up around other privileged artistic kids and was portraying what she knew. In making her feature Tiny Furniture, made for an impressive $25,000, not only did she raise capital from family and friends, but her parents gave her their apartment to use and acted in it (like rowing, filmmaking is an elite sport). At Oberlin college, she studied creative writing. White kids everywhere there. Clearly she was surrounded by a supportive and affluent environment.

But on reflection I changed my mind. I had responded to the show because I identified with it. Hipsterdom and artistic lifestyles are not the realm of the white and privileged. At drama school my other ‘ethnic’ classmates were from different privileges and backgrounds, as were my white classmates. I had begun a career pursuing something much more stable but left in the hopes of becoming, much like the ironic comments of Dunham’s character Hannah in ‘Girls’, one of ‘the voice(s) of my generation’. Like the author of ‘Stuff White People Like’ Christian Lander suggests, ‘white people’ really refers to an outlook, not a racial identity: like Hannah my friends and I are ‘left-leaning, inner-city hipsters who believe (we)’re unique — despite the fact (we)’re actually all the same.’ Where was I in this picture?

For some shows, this is excusable. ‘Mad Men’, of course, is clearly about the lives of white advertising men in the 60s (although it does seem strange that only now a prominent black character as been brought in). ‘Game of Thrones,’ which I dearly love, is obviously based on a mythology whose otherness is based around dragons and ‘white walkers’ (although Starz new TV series ‘Marco Polo’, to be shot in China and based around the adventures of Kubla Khan’s court, might now soon appease those who have been wondering when the world was going to get its first English-language epic Asian historical fantasy series, myself included). ‘Friends’ and ‘Seinfeld’ were made in times when whitewashing was the norm. But with The Wire’s Baltimore, Glee’s Ohio highschools and Grey’s Anatomy’s Chicago being racially, sexual orientation and size and shape diverse, should not Girls’s 2012 New York be assorted also?

It has been odd reading about the issues of race on television and film in the US recently, because in Australia the lack of diversity casting is so widespread that it has always been the case to look towards the Northern Hemisphere for examples and support. Many times as a young actor I have been advised that of someone of colour I should go to the US to look for work, and in all honesty, the numbers look more promising. On ‘Hawaii Five-O’, two lead actors are of Korean origin; ‘Heroes’ and ‘Lost’ promoted heavily diverse ensemble casts; ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ is a pioneer of colour-blind casting; ‘The Office’, ‘Modern Family’ and ‘The Good Wife’ all offer diverse casts in all areas, including race. In Australia growing up I was spurred on by the Asian faces I saw reflected back at me in local children’s television shows; as an adult, however, I see myself rarely, if at all. Recently, the government body ABC’s high quality TV drama ‘The Slap’ observed a highly colourful and eclectic portrait of contemporary Australia; however these kinds of shows are uncommon and rare.

But it is clear that this is a systemic problem, not just one of a single network or television show. In both the US and Australia, the lack of diversity amongst casts on stage and screen means that entire cultural groups are being denied their right to be part of their nation’s story. What we want to see is not necessarily our ‘refugee’ stories or ‘slave’ stories or ‘immigration’ stories, (although these stories are valid too and deserve their own space and come with their own set of struggles and limitations - something misunderstood by ‘Girls’ staff writer Lesley Arfin in this Twitter post), but our faces as the common people; the girl who goes to college, sleeps with the wrong guy, stresses over money. Any of these characters on ‘Girls’ could be white; but just as easily they could be of African, Asian or Mediterranean descent. And it would still be the story of a girl.

There’s more to journalism than the Fairfax newspapers, women’s glossies, unpaid web content and The New Yorker… although you might not know it from the way I write here. Fortunately, freelance journalist Mitchell Jordan is here to fill you in on a whole world of (paid!) publishing opportunities that often go overlooked. And for the record… my first journalism gig? Was at a small architecture mag in my final year of university.

Over to you, Mitchell… 

We all know the magazine industry has a reputation for being fickle, but journalism graduates and aspiring writers cannot afford to turn their nose up at working for titles that make the community paper look glamorous in comparison.

Unlike a select and lucky few who, upon finishing uni, find their way through the doors (or elevators) of ACP or Pacific Magazines, many graduates – such as myself – are left wondering how they will ever break in to an industry that seems to require some sort of magic password.

During my degree, I worked on every edition of my student magazine for three years, interned at magazines including FilmInk, Yen and the no longer existent TV Hits, but none of this was enough to save me from the fate that so many journalism graduates dread: working in PR.

Years ago, I accepted the job as an assistant at a Sydney-based firm because working in an industry that was at least related to the degree I had spent three years and twelve thousand dollars studying seemed more appealing than continuing on at a call centre where abuse was the norm, not the exception, and because this firm’s clients included (albeit briefly) rock and roll bible, Rolling Stone and CNN (who, ironically, I would end up writing for five years later).

Soon enough, I realised that what I wanted most was to be on the other side of the fence. In short, I wanted to be the pitchee – not the annoying PR assistant interrupting journalists to pitch ideas for stories they had no interest in.

I continued to apply for any and every journalism job advertised, but my break came at a small publishing house in Sydney’s eastern suburbs which produced a bi-monthly magazine for the printing industry. Jealous much?

I was previously unaware that such a title even existed, let alone the fact that in Australia there are at least three different titles dedicated to this clandestine industry that is in fact the heartbeat of publishing.

My boss – a former editor at ACP – was upfront and honest. No, printing was not an industry for young people, yes it had both a commercial and technical aspect to it, but after two years he believed I could, like my successors, go on to more mainstream (and fun) things. I believed him.

For the first few months, all that mattered to me was that I was doing what I had always wanted to do: write every day, and get paid for it. There were times when the technical nature of writing about big, monstrous printing machines baffled me, but I took comfort in the knowledge that Chuck Palahniuk – a writer who I was reading a lot of at the time – had started out writing instruction manuals for fixing trucks. At least I got to write headlines and use adjectives.

And yes, whenever someone asked what I did and I replied: “Journalist” I watched their faces sink like a failed soufflé when I told them the title I worked for. Their disappointment that they were not speaking to a writer at Who was palpable, to say the least.

Yet trade magazines such as the one I worked for far outweigh mainstream, consumer titles and it’s also true that a number of now experienced journalists first cut their teeth on such publications. To potential employers, they can also demonstrate that you are able to understand complex information and distil it into engaging subject matter.

As if by way of reward, I eventually got to experience some of the glamour that those on fashion and lifestyle titles encounter when I was sent overseas on several occasions for no other purpose than to attend media conferences. Who would have thought writing for a trade title would have taken me as far as the Chateau Marmont?

Just as my boss knew would happen, I eventually outgrew my job and left both it, and Australia, behind. Now, when I talk to anyone studying or hoping to work in the media, my advice to them is not only to do as much work experience as they can to at least be sure this is an industry they want to work in, but to think outside of the square, too.

Perhaps you’ll end up writing about the transport industry, or like one journalist I met, vacuums. It might sound boring, but if writing is what you truly love then chances are you won’t even notice. At the very least, you might score a trip overseas out of it.

Andrea writes for a newspaper. ‘This is for the Living section,’ she says. I know what that means, it used to be the Women’s Pages. It’s funny that they now call it Living, as if only women are alive and other things, such as the Sports, are for the dead. ‘Living, eh?’ I say. ‘I’m the mother of two. I bake cookies.’ All true. Andrea gives me a dirty look and flicks on her machine.

So writes Margaret Atwood in Cat’s Eye. And my thought upon reading it? “Shit, that’s what I do.”

I write for the “women’s pages”. Sure, I write for other venues too – political rags and literary rags among them. But the bulk of my work comes from publications (whether online, in newspapers, of women’s lifestyle magazines) that are explicitly targeted at women.

Mostly, this is because I write a lot about gender and sociology (“social affairs” if you will), and as I’ve written about here before, women’s lifestyle magazines especially are explicitly “about” gender. I think this is a good thing. I wish we had similar ongoing, analytical* dialogues on race, class, and disability.

But I will concede that it does coincide with – if not cause – a certain marginalising of those issues. We’ll put the stuff for the ladies over here, and the important stuff somewhere else.

Today the Fairfax newspapers in Australia launched Daily Life, a new opinion website targeted at women, to which I will be a contributor. It made a lot of the Twittersphere pretty angry – see the hashtag #dailywife for a sample of the commentary.

Criticisms included: “Why do women need their own website? Why can’t we just read the regular news?” “Why is the ‘news’ on this website all about fashion and celebrities?” “If you really appreciate the work these writers do, why don‘t you just put them on the main website?”

Jessica Valenti and Hannah Mudge have both written articulately on these issues before. I’ve also thought about them plenty myself.

Like Mudge, I’ve wondered why everything pertaining to women is classified under “Life and Style”, and I’ve wondered why “lifestyle journalism” is so often boiled down to advertorial for fashion and beauty products (answer: probably because the associated advertising is what pays for writers like me). I’ve wondered if the fact that writing related to gender politics is usually published in “Life and Style” or colour magazine supplements contributes to the perception that, as one commenter recently wrote on one of Laurie Penny’s articles, female journalists write pointless “pap”.

But I also think that the visceral negative response such content receives is grounded in sexism in itself. Why are discussions of political horse races, war and even sport (all of which I enjoy - the discussions of, that is, not the practices) considered more “worthy” than discussions of why we think and feel the way we do, or the more subtle (and I think, interesting) political machinations shaping human life that don’t take place in parliament or congress? It’s not just newspaper websites that lump in discussions of feminism or sociology with beauty tips and celebrity gossip: our collective cultural psyche does too.

Over the weekend, I wrote an article for a teen magazine in which I suggested (in teen-friendly language) that rather than focusing our often well-justified anger on individual micro-political actors – that is to say, you and me – we would be better off focusing our criticisms on the systems that create those actions.

The structural criticisms of Daily Life and websites like it are perfectly valid. But that doesn’t mean that the sites themselves don’t have any redeeming features – Daily Life’s rotation of contributors includes many of my favourite Australian writers, and those women don’t write stupid, inane fluff. The fact that the site is heavily populated with those contributors shows that “stupid, inane fluff” isn’t what they’re going for.

And for me as a contributor, there’s a clear appeal in a regular gig writing about the issues that interest me, for an editor who has never asked me (directly or otherwise) to dumb myself down.

* Okay, this may be a bit utopian as a holistic analysis of some of these magazines, but it’s what I’m going for when I write for them.

Related: Ask Rachel: Why do you write for women’s magazines?
Mentoring week: Mentoring and the media industry
Are women’s magazines really that bad?

Elsewhere: Where are all the women? In Life and Style, apparently. (We Mixed Our Drinks)
Why Washington Post’s new ladyblog is wrong for women (Jessica Valenti)
The Daily Wife (The News With Nipples)
Criticism of the “women’s pages” (Women’s Page History)
Daily Life