Silent Sunday: 20th April 2014
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Author Archives: sophieblovett
Word of the Week: Relax
Today the word that sums up the week that was is:
It’s a work in progress really. We booked this week in Cyprus back in January, knowing that it would be a long hard term for Leigh and that, if all went to plan, I would’ve just finished the first draft of my second novel. The fact that we made it – to the end of winter, to the successful completion of all our deadlines, and then to this little island so very far away from Devon – is achievement enough, really. But I’m not convinced we’ve got the whole relaxing thing cracked yet.
It is beautiful here. And were Leigh and I here on our own then chilling out would not be a problem. Having Arthur with us definitely complicates things a little – not that we’d have it any other way.
It’s the first trip like this that we’ve attempted since being parents – one where doing as little as possible is the main prerogative. Last year we went on lots of adventures, but we didn’t do much staying still. Oddly enough it turns out our fifteen month old isn’t too good at that.
We could of course have put him in the crèche, and we did consider it – although it doesn’t sit too comfortably with our attachment parenting approach, nor with the fact that Leigh and Arthur have missed each other so much over the past few busy months. As it turns out he hasn’t been very well, has been teething like crazy and breastfeeding like a newborn. He also, though he had been appearing to be pretty confident and independent, has suddenly hit a wall of separation anxiety. And all in all leaving him with strangers didn’t seem like such a good idea.
So we’ve been hanging out together, and Leigh and I have been learning that all the many demands of parenthood don’t go away just because we happen to be on holiday. But we’re working as a team, and managing to grab some moments for ourselves. And Arthur, though he’s undeniably a bit more grouchy than usual, is clearly enjoying being somewhere new. With a pool. And warm air. And lots of other little people.
To be honest, however much we’ve been yearning for some chill out time I think Arthur maybe needs to be able to relax a little too. To have mummy and daddy around enjoying each other’s company, and not to have to keep to all the different schedules we impose on ourselves back home.
And if we all enjoy some time together, relaxing as best we can as a family, then hopefully by the time we go home he’ll be healthier and happier with newly recharged confidence to face the next set of challenges that lie ahead.
A Secret Playground
I seem to be developing a bit of a talent for leaving Devon just when the weather picks up and the thought of being by the sea holds particular allure. However we haven’t done a bad job of making the most of the weather here in London, and over the weekend we discovered an awesome little playground in Hyde Park where Arthur had a brilliant time hanging out with his cousins.
The playground they introduced us to was crafted in oak by sculptor Dan Cordell. It is beautiful to look at, hidden away by some tennis courts near the Albert Memorial. More importantly though it has been built in the perfect scale for little people to explore independently. Arthur loved the little slides with their wide, rounded steps, and though Leigh and I hovered over him we were impressed at how confident he was at navigating them all by himself.
Most of all though it was great for Arthur to be able to hang out with his cousins. They were so excited to see him, and even though Arthur was still struggling with his teeth and a bit of a bug they did a very impressive job of distracting him for a while at least. At the groups we go to back home he’s started to become quite fascinated with the older kids, though the feeling is rarely reciprocated. It was lovely to watch him play with older children who were just as interested in him as he was in them, and to watch the beginnings of what will hopefully be lifelong friendships with his London cousins.
Back on the train
Those of you who’ve been following my blog for a while will know that the train is most definitely my favourite way to travel. So when the storms that battered the UK earlier this year took out the train line in Dawlish, effectively cutting Devon and Cornwall off from the rest of the UK, I was pretty gutted.
It wasn’t just the inconvenience of it all, though we did have a couple of mightily stressful trips to London with Arthur in the car as a result. And though it felt a little strange, as a non-driver, to have no alternative without the help of Leigh or my parents but a long and not terribly comfortable coach journey to get out of the county, that wasn’t what bothered me most either. The thing was that I loved that train line. I’ve travelled by train all over the world, and rarely if ever have I come across such a spectacular stretch of track: as the train passed through the red cliffs, alongside the sea which was some days millpond calm, others alive with waves and spray, you knew you that there could not be many better places on the planet to be.
At first there were doubts as to whether the line would ever be restored. The damage was severe: Brunel’s sea wall had disintegrated leaving the tracks hanging like a jungle rope walk above the waves below. There was talk of the line being diverted, of giving in to the forces of nature and accepting that such a stunning journey just wasn’t meant to be. For a while I entertained the idea that I might never travel on that route again. Fortunately, though, the pessimism was unfounded.
By some miracle, the railway engineers managed to get the damage fixed and the line back up and running in just eight weeks. And so it was that for our journey up to London this weekend we were back on the train.
As we left Newton Abbot I was full of anticipation for the views that lay ahead, and the day did not disappoint. On the way to Exeter we once again passed through those majestic red cliffs, past boats resting on the mud at low tide, travelled alongside the sea which this time was millpond calm.
Arthur appreciated the views too – he was a bit too young to notice them last time we made the journey, but this trip he was pointing out the boats and water. Most of all though he appreciated being close to me and Leigh: he’s not 100% right now, with five teeth coming through as well as a nasty cough. What he needed most of all were cuddles – and those are always a bit tricky to provide when he’s strapped up in the back seat of the car.
So hurrah for the railway engineers and for the newly-restored Dawlish line. I may have always loved it, but I have also taken its precarious existence a little more for granted than I probably should. From now on I will definitely appreciate it a whole lot more every time we’re lucky enough to make that journey.
Silent Sunday: 13th April 2014
Perfect Days
Since we moved down to Devon, life has never strayed too far from perfect. There are times when it’s been hard: even before Arthur came along the challenge of juggling renovating the house with a stressful job an hour’s commute away and a husband tackling medical school as a mature student was pretty exhausting, and motherhood hasn’t exactly left me feeling any more rested. But all of that has just been part of realising our dreams, so it’s impossible to sit back and reflect without seeing it as all part of the perfection.
For as long as I can remember I’ve always dreamt of living by the sea. I never thought it would actually happen, but now it has. Whenever I walk outside my front door I feel like I’m on holiday: views like this never fail to nourish my soul, making anything seem possible even if I’ve been up all night with a teething baby.
That teething baby is of course part of the dream too. My maternal instincts kicked in way before I was old enough to have kids, but after a string of bad relationships in my twenties I thought that perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Then along came Leigh, and together we’ve made the most perfect creature I could ever have imagined. Even if sleeping through the night is not his strong point and he has instead an incredible talent for making a mess.
The third part of the master plan was the writing. I loved to write as a child, dabbled tentatively for years even after the self-doubt of adolescence kicked in, but never dared to dream I’d actually get to spend my days (or parts of them at least) writing novels whilst looking at the sea.
For the last three months my perfect days have definitely involved a good chunk of writing: whatever else me and Arthur got up to, if I could spend an hour or two losing myself in the world of my novel and chipping away at the word count goal I’d set myself then I’d be happy. If Arthur and I managed to get out into the fresh air, even better if we managed to combine that with meeting up with friends, then things were pretty damned good.
Despite all this, in our day to day lives something (or someone) has been missing. More for Arthur than me, though of course I’ve missed him too: on days when Leigh has been up and out of the house before seven Arthur has called his name excitedly as we’ve come down the stairs for breakfast an hour or two later. One day last week he started doing it in his sleep: murmuring ‘dada’ as he cosied up to me in the sling, then waking up and shouting it as if he expected to see him standing there. I know he’ll be home by dinner time, but for Arthur I think those days must seem like an eternity. And even in the evenings, although we manage to eat together most nights, Leigh is exhausted and often still has work to do.
But now it’s the holidays! And we have two whole weeks of Daddy time. I’ve finished the novel – the first draft at least – so have a little while to adjust to the different rhythms of the editing process. We have some time in London to look forward to, as well as a week by a different sea in Cyprus for our first family beach holiday. After several months of busyness and achieving, I cannot wait for some very different kinds of perfect days, ones filled with doing not very much at all apart from hanging out and enjoying each other’s company as a family.
Thank you to Sara at ‘Mum turned Mom’ for inspiring this post with her prompt ‘A Perfect Day’.
Word of the Week: Out
Today the word that sums up the week that was is:
It could just as easily have been ‘door’ – both words in Arthur’s burgeoning vocabulary that he’s using to let me know he wants to be outdoors. Permanently, I reckon, if he got his way. Which definitely bodes well for all the camping trips we have planned for this summer!
This week, though, his need for fresh air and open space has definitely saved my sanity. I’ve been in the final throes of the novel: I started the week with about six thousand words left to write, and part of me just wanted to get it done. I was impatient, and excited to see how the details would pan out. I mean, I vaguely knew what was going to happen in the end, but not until it was written would I know for sure.
But combining writing with motherhood means I’m not entirely in charge of my schedule. Writing happens when Arthur naps, and in between – well, I have no doubt it did me good to get out and about.
On Monday the grey drizzle of the weekend lingered, yet still at lunchtime Arthur had his face up against the glass doors, longing to escape. I managed to distract him till after the post lunch writing session when miraculously the cloud began to clear and we went to let off some steam around Shoalstone pool.
On Tuesday it was glorious out, and it was all I could do to force myself to sit down at my computer. The story quickly captured me of course, but once Arthur had woken up I was very glad of the lunchtime picnic we’d planned with friends at Breakwater beach.
On Wednesday I woke up knowing that today was the day: I was on the final chapter, and as I’d been drifting off to sleep the night before the closing paragraph had come to me, so all I had to do was fill in the gaps. The words flowed as soon as Arthur drifted off for his morning nap, and I finished just as he was waking up so we could both enjoy a celebratory stroll to Berry Head in the afternoon.
Yesterday the celebrations continued when we spent pretty much the whole day outdoors with some friends at Paignton Zoo. Arthur was in his element – especially when we found an area we’d not discovered before where he could get up close and personal with some friendly goats.
All in all this week’s been a bit of a whirlwind really. My brain has been on overdrive – first with the challenge of pulling the ninety thousand words of novel I’ve been writing to a satisfying close, then with the realisation that this thing that’s been giving me purpose for the last three months has ended. Having Arthur to shift my focus away from myself has been, as it always is, fantastic. And the fact that he’s wanted that focus to be on going OUT has been even better.
My book-eating boy
I have once again been struck by Arthur’s appetite for books. Not in a literal, chewing on them sense, though you’d be forgiven for thinking that with his general partiality to eating inanimate objects. No – the appetite I am referring to here is for what the books contain, the pictures and increasingly the words upon their pages.
He’s been interested in books since he was very small, enjoying being read to and curiously seeking them out as soon as he was able to move around. Now he’ll happily sit and ‘read’ to himself – carefully turning the pages, pointing at things he recognises and saying their names. But what he really, really loves is when someone reads with him.
He’s developed this super cute and utterly irresistible technique of finding a book, bringing it to me or Leigh, holding it up to us until we stop whatever we’re doing and sit down, and then climbing into our lap expectantly.
Yesterday his appetite was almost insatiable. In between writing the penultimate chapter of the novel, a lunch time beach picnic and a spot of collage making we read: Dear Zoo, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, The Snail and the Whale (twice), What can you See Spot?, Hugless Douglas finds a Hug, That’s Not my Reindeer, Eating the Rainbow, Goodnight Moon and It’s Time to Sleep my Love. Oh, and whilst we were at the beach my friend produced a book and he virtually clambered over her two boys to get into her lap ready to be read to!
I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to manage to keep this pace up, but I’m loathe to start refusing Arthur books. It makes me very happy that he enjoys not only the stories, which in our multimedia technologically savvy world could come from a multitude of sources, but that he so appreciates the tactile nature of the books themselves. I hope it’s something he manages to hold on to as he discovers all the other distractions that are on offer, and in the mean time I will do all I can to stop and read to him whenever he approaches, book in hand.
After all, quite aside from how much I enjoy it too, I’m not sure there can be many more important things I should be doing at any given moment than sharing a book with my child.
Welcome to the weekend
Come Friday evening we’re usually pretty exhausted, and last week was no exception. Arthur and I had been booked up with play dates and activities every day – though we had lots of fun it maybe would have been sensible to leave us with a bit of breathing space. With my novel deadline fast approaching I was keen to get lots of writing done too, and of course that coincided with having lots of things I wanted to add to the blog!
By the time Leigh got home at about 6.30, tired and stressed by a long commute and an irritating encounter at work, we were very tempted to go to the pub. But instead we decided to go for a walk. Leigh put Arthur in the sling, and we set off up to Berry Head to catch the last of the evening light.
Arthur loves being carried by his dada, and the stresses of the week quickly melted away for Leigh: I think it would be nigh on impossible to stay stressed with the combination of fresh air, beautiful views and baby cuddles. They carried on their bonding when we got up to the fort, examining the world around them. As usual Arthur was thrilled to be outside.
I managed to get some mama cuddles too, though that did involve quite a bit of chasing. As Arthur gets faster we’ll definitely need to teach him about cliffs!
As the sun began to disappear and thoughts of dinner set in Leigh put Arthur back in the sling to head home. It was lovely to watch him snuggle up against his dada, him calmed and Leigh reinvigorated by our little adventure.
By the time we did get home Arthur had drifted off, so he even managed to fit in a power nap before we all sat down to dinner. It was the perfect start to the weekend, a weekend that turned out to be decidedly grey and drizzly – something that made me even more glad we’d made the most of that Friday sunshine!
Truth and modesty and self-publishing
Whenever I mention I’ve written a novel and am in the process of looking for a publisher people ask whether I’ve thought about doing it myself. My response is usually that I have – briefly – but I’m pretty sure it’s not for me.
I don’t mean to be disparaging of people who have chosen to go down the self-publishing route. I know that for many it has proven to be a great way of getting their work out there: for some it has even been extremely lucrative, or has opened the doors to traditional publishing houses. On one level, if I’m honest, I think I need the validation of a publisher in order to truly be able to consider myself an author. And I definitely don’t think I’m cut out for the ruthless self-promotion it would take to do it alone.
It’s not like Lili Badger has even been out there for that long. I’ve had some brilliant feedback, and although she hasn’t found a home quite yet I’m quietly confident that when the time is right she will. Until then I would rather focusing on writing than shift over to the role of publisher. It’s an area I know little about, and I’m busy enough right now not to need that extra dimension.
I’m not naive enough to think that there will be no self-promotion involved in getting published through a traditional route. Even just the business of establishing myself as someone who writes has pushed the boundaries of my comfort zone in my attempts to get an awareness of myself and my work out there through the incredible networks that exist in social media. But I think that, for now at least, it’s gone far enough.
I believe in my work, but that doesn’t mean I would have the barefaced confidence to sell it in the way I could something written by somebody else. However much I might quietly love Lili Badger and her world, however much I might quietly believe that it is a book that should be read by teenagers and adults alike, it’s not something I’d feel confident standing alone and shouting from the rooftops. But modesty has no place in marketing. And where self-promotion can come across as vanity or arrogance, it’s a completely different matter if your work is being praised and promoted by people who have built their careers around just that.
So for now I will focus on immersing myself in the world of my second novel – I’m so looking forward to reading it in its entirety once the first draft is finished, on moving into the next phase of editing and rewriting and honing those raw words into something polished and complete. I will also continue to enjoy building my blog, a place which is satisfying any urgent desire for readers I may have whilst at the same time mapping the new world I find myself in as a writer and a mother. And hopefully before too long all these worlds will start to come together and I will be writing of my explorations in the uncharted territory of being a newly published author.
I am not so modest that I believe that day will never come, but I am modest enough to know that I need the truth of my words to be validated before I am happy to release them. And that is why – for now at least – I know that self-publishing is not the road for me.
Thank you to Sara from Mum turned Mom for inspiring this post with this week’s prompt (‘Truth is more important than modesty’ Roald Dahl).
Sophie is... 