Author Archives: sophieblovett

What’s in a name?

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There’s something Arthur’s started doing recently that is melting my heart.

He’s been saying ‘Mama’ for a few months now. Leigh and I spoke about it when it first started, a couple of weeks after he began to say ‘Dada’, and he asked me whether it wasn’t the most magical, heart rending thing to hear our son say those words. I hummed and harred and ‘sort of’ed, but in truth it wasn’t really hitting me like it was Leigh. Even when ‘Mama’ started evolving from just a sound Arthur made into a name which he clearly associated with me I didn’t feel more than the odd pang – I mean, it’s just what babies do, right?

But now, now he’s started doing this totally adorable gorgeous thing that absolutely is some kind of magic. He looks at me with this expression of total love and, in the calmest, sweetest voice repeats ‘mama mama mama mama mama’. As he says it his little face begins to break into a smile. And I become utterly at his mercy.

It’s almost like he’s trying it on for size. He’s definitely at a stage now where he’s aware of his ability to communicate, and he gets great pleasure from attaching his few words to things and realising that we understand, that our words are the same. I’ve surprised myself (again) by just how deeply I’ve felt this stage in his development – the beginning of naming.

And it’s brought to the surface a niggling naming issue that is as yet unresolved in Arthur’s world.

My Mum – one of his two Grandmothers – has a major aversion to any of the traditional grandparent names she could be called and so still, a year in, remains nameless.

I don’t entirely blame her – she’s still so full of vitality that I can’t quite see her as a Granny, or even a Nanny as her Mum has always been to me. And she’s in good company – many a glamorous grandmother has taken pains to avoid a moniker that will prematurely age them in their own eyes or those of others.

The niggle for me comes in her reluctance to take any name at all and rather to wait for Arthur to name her. I’m not an expert in early language development, but from what I do know I understand that words are acquired by mimicry. It is by hearing a word attached to a thing that a child begins to understand that that’s its name. I mean, obviously my son is a genius but I’m not sure he’s going to be able to pluck a name out of the ether.

It’s proving a little tricky for us too in referring to her. For a while she was ‘the woman who has no name’, but that joke’s wearing a little thin. I found myself addressing a thank you card earlier to ‘Grampa and…’, but the ellipsis doesn’t work so well verbally. When I pushed her on it, Mum’s response was “I’m just me!”, but I think it might confuse things grammatically if that’s how I refer to her for Arthur.

As I type that, I’m wondering if actually she’s pushing for Mimi. Which could work. It has an air of glamour about it…

So what do you reckon? Have you had any experience of babies inventing names for grandparents? Am I underestimating Arthur’s linguistic powers or should we come up with something to fall back on? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

My characters and me

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Creating characters is a curious business. I don’t really mean the early stage when I’m thinking about how they’ll work within the plot, the broad brushstrokes that give me enough to get started. But the stage I’m at now – the stage of writing rather than planning – when they begin to come to life as the story unfolds and more often than not teach me things about myself.

I think there’s a part of me in every character I create. Some more than others – and I definitely find myself borrowing plenty from people I know or have known too. But it’s a bit disconcerting when I find a character doing something, or saying something, and have the sneaking realisation that it’s a part of me that’s manifesting itself. Especially when it’s not a particularly nice or healthy characteristic. 

Having said that, my life’s changed so much over the fifteen years or so that I’d consider myself to have been an adult that there’s plenty of material. And plenty of things that can creep out onto the page that I’d never let free in the real world any more. On one level it’s actually quite cathartic – facing up to those demons that I’ve moved on from without necessarily fully acknowledging, watching where they’re taking a character who makes different choices to me and grows in different ways.

This novel is going to take me to some pretty dark places, and I’m looking forward to that and dreading it in equal measure. I’ll keep you posted as to how much more I find out about myself along the way… 

Just write

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These are words I will be saying to myself repeatedly over the coming weeks. They’re especially important in the beginning, when the characters are just beginning to take shape, the details of the plot just beginning to emerge and fill in the many gaps left by my outline plan. They were especially useful today when I finally had time to sit down at the computer after a morning at the soft play catching up with friends and an almost sleepless night comforting Arthur after his latest jabs.

I was all ready with a multitude of excuses – better, reasons – why I wasn’t going to get any writing done today. But then as Arthur was beginning to doze off and I found myself pleasantly surprised as I read over the beginning of the chapter from yesterday I could hear the words “just write” echoing in my head. So I did, and a couple of hours later swelled with satisfaction as Scrivener pinged to let me know I’d met my daily target.

“Just write” is basically the essence of the reams of advice contained in the books about writing that I read as I was preparing to take the plunge. But the advice that resonated most with me came from Maggie O’Farrell in an article she wrote for the Guardian. When I’d told friends and family that I planned to write a novel whilst I was at home looking after my firstborn they were supportive in theory, but told me that it was very unlikely that it would actually happen. I almost believed them, and then I came across that article. And it just made sense. Especially the sling and the chocolate.

I’m lucky that Arthur likes his naps – compensation maybe for him being a bit of a night owl. So when we have nothing else planned I can usually get a stint in front of the computer both morning and afternoon. I soon worked out how to feed him in the sling too which buys precious extra time. The minute he starts to get sleepy I have my square of chocolate, put him in the sling, and off we go. I know he’s safe so my mind can stay focused, and he always sleeps way better in the sling than if I try and put him down.

I know we won’t be able to go on like this forever – I’m sure at some point this year he’ll start to grow out of his naps and I’ll be looking for tips on how to write whilst caring for a toddler. But hopefully it’ll keep working for long enough for me to get this next book finished. And however tired or scatty I’m feeling I’ll be repeating my mantra: just write.

A crafty thank you

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I’ve always been pants at sending thank you cards, and always, always felt guilty about it. When Arthur was born we were sent some gorgeous gifts, but the world was such a haze back then that our friends and family were lucky to receive a text message in return.

So in the wake of Christmas and Arthur’s first birthday, and in the spirit of all those new year’s resolutions, I’ve decided it’s time to make a change.

In between various other things over the last few days I’ve been making some thank you cards to send out on behalf of Arthur. I wanted to do something personalised, something that would begin to make up for lost time if you like. I was thinking handprints, but he’s really a little little to find that fun. So instead I used his hand as a template.

We had some paper left over from wrapping his presents which seemed appropriate as well as being kinda funky, so after tracing round his hand (the trickiest bit) the first job was to draw out all the hand shapes on the back of the paper.

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Then a bit of cutting out.

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Then some sticking, a bit of stamping, and voila!

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The lettering wasn’t all as neat as that. My stamping definitely needs some practise. But all in all I was quite pleased with them – and when I showed them to Arthur he waved, which confirms at least that they look like hands.

All that remains now is to write them and get them in the post – hopefully beginning a lifetime of guilt-free thank you card sending for our little man.

The power of Scrivener

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So I’d put novel number two on hold back at the end of November when it fast became apparent that I wasn’t going to be able to focus on immersing myself in a twisted psychological thriller whilst at the same time preparing for Arthur’s first Christmas and birthday celebrations. This morning, with him tucked up in the sling and drifting off to sleep, I logged in to Scrivener with some trepidation.

I knew I had it all mapped out – character profiles, chapter by chapter summaries, a growing bank of research – but as for actually writing… I was filled with the fear of the blank page and fairly sure I’d forgotten how to do it.

But then I set my end date. And from that generated targets. And suddenly it didn’t seem such an insanely daunting task. And the lure of the green progress bar became too much to resist. And with the click of a button I’d revealed my intentions to the twitter community. And before I knew it I was writing.

It wasn’t easy, I’m not convinced it’s all that great, but I’ve made a start. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have done it without that handy little app.

http://www.literatureandlatte.com/scrivener.php

P.S.

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I almost forgot to mention the laughter. The giggles and the splutters and the belly laughs that have echoed around our home since you arrived. I was reminded as you lay on the change table watching Daddy fumble around with the wipes. You giggled at him, he laughed at you and I chuckled at you both. So much laughter. So much love.

Now you are One

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Dear Arthur,

Today you are one year, one week and one day old. This time last year we were spending most of our time in the bed where you were born, surviving on leftover Christmas cake and trying to work out how to master breastfeeding so you could start growing like you were supposed to. We were still some weeks away from taking down the tree that glowed in the corner of the living room.

This year, the tree came down on the 4th January, along with all the other decorations we’d put up for Christmas and your birthday. I think you were a bit confused. You liked the decorations – that tree, the star which sparkled above the kitchen table, the bunting with your gorgeous face printed on its triangles, and of course the balloons. Your eagerness to tell us how much you liked them even led to you vocalising some of your first words: ‘star’ and ‘balloon’ (or ‘bloon’ really). I know there’s lots more you want to tell us but there’s so much we don’t understand yet. I’m not sure if you understood us when we explained that the decorations would be going up again at the end of the year, that it was time to move on and look forward now and that you shouldn’t be sad.

I’m excited about this year. I’ve always found January a bit miserable, but it’s pretty much impossible to be miserable when you’re around. Even when you were only a few days old and we saw the world through a blur of exhaustion we could feel the magic your arrival had brought. You were our world, those first few weeks. Everything else ceased to exist and we had to learn how to live all over again. Gradually as time has passed the world has expanded so we can sense ourselves as a family within it – you, me and Daddy, at the beginning of a great big adventure.

I say the beginning, but there have been lots of adventures so far! Everyone always tells us how quickly time passes and in some ways this year has raced by. But it also feels like forever – and on the days when it’s just me and you, when I allow myself to see things through your eyes and make the most of every single second, the world seems filled with infinite possibility. I hope it always feels like that – for us but more importantly for you. I want you to know that you can do anything you want to do, be anything you want to be. It’s a cliché but its true.

You’ve already grown so much. Not just physically, though that’s pretty amazing. You’ve almost quadrupled in size since this time last year. You’re still getting a lot of your sustenance from my milk – after those tricky first few weeks we went from strength to strength and now I reckon we’re an expert breastfeeding partnership. I actually thought we would have been ready to move on by now, but like so much else I was wrong about that. You are clearly thriving on my milk, and it brings you so much comfort. It brings me comfort too.

I love to be able to hold you close, to nurture you as I did for nine long months when you were growing inside me. It keeps me strong as I let you go to get on with all that growing. Your body has got so strong and agile. You’re not quite walking yet, but I reckon that’s mainly because your peculiar one footed crawl is so efficient you’re not quite ready to let it go. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you find yourself standing, just for a few seconds. Your legs are strong enough to hold you but you don’t quite trust them yet. That cautiousness is emerging as a part of your developing personality. We reckon you probably get it from your Dad, and it’s no bad thing.

I think you’re enjoying the increasing control you have over your body and what it can do. There is glee on your face as you manipulate the stacking rings onto their post and choose exactly which toy you want to play with, and how.

Watching you play is one of my favourite things to do. You’re so thoughtful and considered, whether you’re brmming one of your cars around the rug or turning the pages in a book. You got some awesome new toys for Christmas and your birthday. You’re starting to get interested in puzzles and slowly making progress with the sorting blocks, though you seem to get terribly frustrated sometimes. I hope your frustration won’t stop you trying new things. You will master them all if you give yourself time.

One thing that really makes you happy is making music. We love listening to music at home and sing songs to calm and entertain you. And you’ve already been to lots of gigs and festivals. You quickly learnt how to make sounds from the xylophone, and as soon as you could you began to pull yourself up on the piano to bash out a tune. Not forgetting drumming on pans with wooden spoons and tables with your hands. It makes me smile watching the pleasure you get from the noise you make. I hope you continue to enjoy making music this year, and I hope I keep enjoying it too!

If there’s one thing that’s made this past year particularly amazing it’s just how much I’ve enjoyed everything about being your mum. I mean, I’ve known I wanted to be a mum for years, but actually in the last few months before you arrived I began to worry that perhaps I wasn’t ready, that I needed more time for myself.

Turns out I really didn’t need to worry. You are such completely delightful company that even in the middle of the night I cherish the time we get to hang out. I’m not saying there isn’t a part of me that longs for a full night’s sleep, but you make it more than worth my while. And in the daytime I never want to leave your side! That’s something I didn’t anticipate for sure. I think my mum (who’s still waiting for you to name her) is a bit disappointed there aren’t more babysitting opportunities. But I have become well and truly attached to you. Whether you’re napping in the sling whilst I write as you are now, playing at my feet whilst I embark on my latest craft project, cosied up under our special babywearing coat as we mission around Brixham or sleeping beside me in the bed we all share, I wouldn’t have you anywhere else.

Thank you for an incredible first year little man. I cannot wait to see what this one holds.

All my love for always, Mummy xxx