…I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty, will I be rich? Here’s what she said to me…
Until I wrote that down, I’d never registered that my two supposed career goals as a little girl are quite so depressing. Will I be pretty, will I be rich? No, I’ll be an AIRLINE PILOT with TWELVETY DEGREES IN THE SCIENCE OF BRAAAINS, Doris, if that’s all right with you?
Ahem. I am not actually an airline pilot. I have no brain science degrees. I didn’t want to do either of those. My Que Sera Sera mum-questioning as ‘just’ a little girl would’ve basically boiled down to
Will I be Indy? Will I be Luke?
Although Imaginary Doris Mum would presumably have felt obliged to sing back
No, you can’t, Susie
Those people are fictional
- I’ve spent most of this year being an eleven-year-old redhead, a pregnant dog, and a bonkers German student on crutches. This afternoon, I’m going to wear a hat and fight crime. Tomorrow, SPACE! (Or Cardiff. Who knows.)
Being a writer is exactly like being a Jedi – only I get to be DarthVader and R2-D2 and Third Sandperson On The Left as well. Now, stand aside. This isn’t the blog post you were looking for…
Lovely author buddy Sophia Bennett has been blog-touring it up lately for her new book, The Look. You can find out what a bunch of other authorial types wanted to be when they were just little girls on her blog. (I’m not the only Indiana Jones, yay!) Then, if you like YA, I highly recommend you go and read The Look, that book with the bright pink page edges that prompted me to bellow across a Eurostar carriage ‘It’s about cancer!’, because it’s a rather excellent meditation on why plenty of real teenage girls care about bigger things than being pretty or rich.