Peaks and troughs

After a positive start, I’ve been feeling a little less optimistic this week about the beginnings of this new novel. It’s not that I’m not enjoying the writing – I really am once I get into the flow. But between me struggling to get myself going in the mornings and Arthur deciding that maybe 7.30am is a bit late to start the day after all it’s been trickier and trickier to concentrate.

Instead of the 1500-ish words I’ve been aiming for, I’ve been managing about 800. And there’s been one morning again when I just couldn’t face getting up to write at all, partly because that target suddenly seemed just so completely out of my reach.

The business of target setting is a funny one, and one that (for me) is so important to get right. I am fully aware that there is an awful lot more to this novel-writing business than just getting the words out. But if you’re not even getting the words out then the likelihood of ever writing a novel is, well, slim at best. And I find that the words are much likely to be forthcoming if I have a sensible, achievable target to aim for each and every day that I sit down to write. It can’t be too low, because otherwise this first draft would drag on forever: I’ll lose momentum and consistency and probably never get it finished at all. But it can’t be too high either because otherwise (as I’ve proven to myself this week) I’ll get all defeatist about it and begin, little by little, to give up.

I had to have a serious chat with myself this morning to avoid the situation spiralling out of control. And in doing so I decided I should probably cut myself some slack.

There was no way I was going to be able to magic any more time out of the ether – not in the immediate future anyway. And with the way I’m working with this particular novel – feeling my way through it rather than sticking to a rigidly worked out plan – there was little chance that I was going to manage to squeeze many more words out of my mornings. The only solution was to aim to write less – to put back my self-imposed deadline just a little.

This means my daily word count target is just a little less daunting, and hopefully therefore will be able to do it’s job as a motivational tool rather than scaring me off. It worked this morning: in fact so much so that I wrote more than I was aiming for, building up a buffer for days when things don’t go quite as well.

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My new deadline has the added advantage of coinciding with an extended weekend trip we are taking to Florida to celebrate the wedding of one of my bestest friends: I’m hoping that in itself will be enough to motivate myself not to push things back any further.

We shall see…

But however things unfold, I think an important part of keeping going when the going gets tough is knowing when to keep on pushing forward and when to ease off a little, to allow yourself to ride the waves and find solace in the troughs as much as you revel in the peaks.

I think I’ve got the balance right now – and if not, well, I guess I’ll just need to keep tweaking until I do.

 

Writing Bubble

7/52

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“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”

We don’t get much snow down here in Devon, so when I woke up on Sunday morning to pictures of Dartmoor blanketed in white on my Facebook feed I knew we were going to have to go on a bit of a mission.

It takes about an hour to drive there from where we are on the South coast, but every time we do we tell ourselves we really should do it more often. And this time was no different.

We were not the only people whose minds had been captivated by the romance of some Valentine’s day snow: in fact we were beginning to think, as we wove our way up onto the moors behind lines of traffic through decidedly unsnowy scenery, that maybe it wasn’t such a great plan after all.

But then we turned a corner and up ahead of us we saw higher ground. Higher ground with an unmistakeable icing sugar coating, which became more convincingly wintery the further up we ventured.

Ok so it wasn’t Iceland. The ground was wet and muddy in between the patches of snow. And there were an awful lot of other cars. But this being the moors we found our own expanse of ground within minutes of parking up, and Arthur couldn’t care less that it was less than perfect. It was snow!

I got pelted with this snowball seconds after this photo was taken, but it was most definitely worth it.

Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project. 

Building blocks

The unschooling diaries: week five

One of Arthur’s favourite activities at the moment is building things with Duplo. He was given a set for his second birthday, but it took a little while for him to see the appeal (beyond eating or throwing the bricks anyway). This year, with the addition of a fire station and Batman set, he is well and truly away.

He is sometimes quite happy to build on his own, but he especially loves to direct: sitting down with me or Leigh and getting us to help him create the structures in his mind. We had a great session this week, straight after breakfast one morning.

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I’d cleared my writing goals before he’d woken up so I was free to play without worrying about my to do list. And as we played, I was fascinated to see where the building blocks of his inspiration came from: not just the plastic bricks themselves, but the characters and narratives he was drawing from the stories he loves and the world around him to weave into the little world he was creating.

It started with a hospital – the red cross emerging from the pile of bricks and Arthur making connections about what it symbolised, and where his Daddy was working. He decided batman had an ouchy, and put him to bed to be made better by the doctor/fireman. Then he wanted a fire station next to the hospital. And then he decided maybe the hospital was on fire.

As the drama unfolded, more characters were drafted in. One of his favourite films at the moment is Toy Story, and he soon asked for Woody and Buzz Lightyear to come and play too.

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They were roughly approximated from duplo bricks, but even just the suggestion of his much-loved characters was enough to enhance his play.

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Sending Buzz flying through the air ‘to infinity and beyond’ got Arthur thinking about space and rockets, one of his other current obsessions (not that you’d ever have guessed form his outfit). The fire station/hospital was soon dismantled, and in its place we built a ‘Saturn V’. With some creative use of windows we managed to include some space for passengers, and that fired his imagination even further.

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He was quite particular with his directions for building the rocket itself. The books he’s read and the videos he’s watched have given him a clear idea of the parts needed to make up a spacecraft – he is already much more knowledgeable than me!

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We both had so much fun putting together those multi-coloured bricks, and with them cementing learning and weaving new stories. Once I’d helped him lay the foundations Arthur was happy to sit and play for ages whilst I watched, utterly engrossed in the imaginary world he was continuing to create from the building blocks around him.

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Setting sail

So the whole getting up at 6am to write thing is… getting there. I’m only aiming for weekdays, and out of those I managed to get to my desk by 6.30am four out of five days in the past week.

I’m actually (whisper it) quite enjoying it once I prise myself away from under the duvet, but I still have some work to do on managing to get to bed at a reasonable hour so my brain’s in tip top writing nick: no mean feat with meetings till 9pm at least a couple of times a week and thirty-odd years of conditioning against early nights to contend with!

I certainly think it is the way to go, for lots of reasons.

But rather than dwell on those right now I’m just going to take a few moments to savour the deliciousness of embarking on the voyage of discovery that is the writing of a brand new novel.

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It’s not all plain sailing of course. The fear of the blank page can be overwhelming at times, as can the doubt that the words you’re forcing down to get rid of it are ever going to be the start of anything worth reading. But if you can quieten those niggling demons then the rewards are well worth the effort.

The leap from a few bullet pointed notes to a thousand words of prose is satisfying in itself, but it’s how it happens that delights me most. When you give yourself the time and space to listen to your characters, to let them take you by the hand and lead you through their story. I’d sort of forgotten how much fun it is.

There was a moment one morning this week when I was struggling a little to transport myself from a dark February morning with wind and rain hammering at the windows to the height of a hazy summer, and struggling even more to work out what my protagonist was up to as she meandered aimlessly into town. But then I tried to see her journey through her eyes and realised where she was headed. And with that realisation I suddenly made a lot more sense of her summer and in fact several important aspects of the person she becomes in her adult life.

Phew.

This whole novel writing adventure is, when it works, just a succession of those delicious little moments of clarity. And when it doesn’t? Well, then it’s just a matter of getting the words down, one after another, until it all starts to make sense again.

And, of course, making sure I’m awake to write them…

 

Writing Bubble

6/52

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“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”

We had a fantastic expedition up to Berry Head today. Having ventured out as little as possible yesterday, battening down the hatches whilst the wind and rain howled around the house, we were invigorated by the sight of blue sky over breakfast.

Of course by the time we had got ourselves together to leave the sunshine had turned to drizzle, and by the time we were heading up into the woods Arthur was in the middle of his first hail storm.

Undeterred, we squelched up the steps to flat(ish) ground, and he sped off on his balance bike in search of puddles. And boy did he find some.

By the time I took this photo, his wellies were full of muddy water, his trousers were soaked through to the skin, and his little hands were like ice blocks.

He, of course, was utterly delighted with himself.

Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project. 

Give a boy a box…

The unschooling diaries: week four

I ordered a new pillow for Arthur this week, and predictably it came in a box that was far bigger than it needed to be. Predictably also the box caused considerably more excitement than its contents.

The delivery arrived on recycling day, but just as we were about to dismantle it accordingly Arthur leapt in protesting “No! My train!”

Cue distraction as Leigh grabbed a crayon and began drawing on a control panel whilst Arthur watched with glee, before picking up a rectangle of cardboard that had fallen onto the floor and trying unsuccessfully to attach it to the side: “The wheels! The wheels!”. We delved into his craft corner and found a roll of masking tape I’d bought him specially – he went through a phase of wanting to tape up everything a little while ago, and now it was just what he needed to complete this job.

Once it was stuck we had to draw on the wheels themselves, and on the other side too of course. He’d also noticed, whilst delving in said craft corner, some leftover halloween decorations that he had interpreted as characters from Hotel Transylvania, his then-favourite film. He insisted they had to come on the train too, and we used the masking tape to attach them to the sides. A blue flashing light toy made the perfect lever for operating his train, and he was done.

He sat happily in his box by the front door for a while, shouting “choo choo” and “all aboard”. Then before bed he asked for a ride down the hallway, me pushing his train along the wooden floor.

The next day he was playing in the lounge, his box-train looking on whilst he built a wooden track, when he suddenly leapt up proclaiming “The carriages! I need to get the carriages!” I presumed he meant the little carriages for his brio train which have a tendency to get scattered to the four corners of the house, but when he came came back downstairs he was dragging another box behind him.

This one had started life as a robot, then turned into a spaceship, and now was being refashioned as a carriage for his train. A “sleeping carriage” to be precise.

Dolly was his first passenger, and he looked very comfortable.

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I love love love watching this imaginative play unfold, hovering nearby to facilitate its development. The whole joy to be had from a cardboard box thing is such a cliche, but so gloriously true!

The train (and its carriage) are starting to look a little battered around the edges now after some very serious playing, so they may make it into the recycling this week. But I’m sure it won’t be long until we have another creation. I can’t wait to see what it might be!

Rejigging my routine

I’ve been really rubbish at taking my own advice this week.

The first draft of my next novel is still oh-so-nearly ready to go, but I have not yet taken the plunge. I have managed to set up a new project in Scrivener – the word count target is there, and the slightly cursory deadline of the end of April. Essentially those are both contrived by how much I know I should be able to write in a day: 1500 words. And if I could do that – if every day I could sit down and just write – then in three months time I would have a novel.

Except to do that I actually need to carve out some time in my day for writing.

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People are always really impressed when I tell them I wrote two novels before my son was eighteen months old. But do you know what? That was easy. Sure I was sleep deprived, but he napped twice a day! And other than keeping this blog ticking over during novel number two I didn’t really have all that much else to do.

It’s different now.

I sat down yesterday afternoon to write. I told myself I had to make a start – it didn’t matter if it was rubbish, I just needed to get some words on the page. But they just wouldn’t come! I had the setting and the characters, I knew vaguely what was supposed to be going on in the scene – but there was just so much going on in my head that I just couldn’t focus. More than that, I just couldn’t hear what it was my characters wanted to say.

My mind kept shifting to my to do list, fretting about the press release I have to write for the Town Council, the GCSE specification I need to appraise for Ofqual, the increasing numbers of unread emails in my inbox. And in the midst of all that, my characters stayed silent.

If there is going to be a novel number three, I need to accept that things are going to have to be different this time round.

I’m really lucky that Arthur still has one nap a day – though the fact he’s finally shifted from the sling to the sofa makes it more tempting to use the time for things less static than writing! And even when I am at the computer there are so many other things I need to be getting on with. My life has taken on a new and interesting shape over the past year or so. Vague ideas I had when I first went on maternity leave – like getting more involved in my community and taking on some education consultancy work – have come to fruition. Alongside that my increasing interest in Unschooling, and general reluctance to rush Arthur into formal education, means that he’s still with me most of the time.

So I’m going to need to find some more time, somewhere.

I’ve toyed with the idea of trying to write in the evenings. I might yet be able to do that, but if my brain is starting to sag by mid-afternoon I’m not sure how much creativity it’s going to be able to muster after dark. Besides I do need to fit in spending time with my husband at some point…

So I think, despite this testing my own perception of my abilities to the limit, I’m going to have to do my writing in the mornings.

I am saying this here mainly so you lot can hold me accountable. Ordinarily, I am pretty useless in the mornings. But I figure with Leigh getting up for work at 6am and Arthur tending to sleep till 7.30 there is chunk of time crying out to be used more effectively.

It’s going to be a challenge, but I’m beginning to think it might not be impossible. And to be honest, it’s either that or something else is going to have to give. And I haven’t worked out quite what that might be yet…

So pre-dawn writing sessions here we come. Wish me luck!

 

Writing Bubble

5/52

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“A portrait of my child, once a week, every week, in 2016.”

We’ve settled into a lovely afternoon routine these past few weeks. After lunch we’ve been going up to my study, lighting a fire and some candles, and sharing a story before Arthur settles down on the sofa for his afternoon nap whilst I get on with some work.

More often than not when he wakes up I’m still in the midst of things, so he’ll potter around – playing or drawing or watching something on his iPad.

He’d been watching ‘Under the Sea‘ moments before I took this pic, sat in front of the fire as he cross-referenced with his ‘First Big Book of the Ocean‘. Clearly his concentration wavered though, and I turned around to find him sitting on his little desk, looking simultaneously so grown up and so tiny.

He does that rather a lot these days.

Linking up with Jodi at Practising Simplicity for The 52 Project. 

On joy and freedom and making links

The unschooling diaries: week three

This past week has been super busy, with precious little time for stopping to reflect. Before I miss the window completely, though, here are three little moments that have stuck in my mind.

First up, there was Arthur’s unbridled joy and wonder at discovering the book ‘Mog and the Baby’.

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He’s been listening to the story for the past few weeks: for his birthday we bought him an MP3 music player to feed his growing enjoyment of listening to stories. Almost every time he settled down to listen he would request ‘Mog and the Baby’. The way it works it would then scroll through the other Mog stories we’d saved for him, but he kept coming back to that one.

We’d intended these audiobooks to supplement our enjoyment of reading together rather than replace it, but I’d become increasingly aware that Leigh and I were reading to him less and less. So this week we’ve both made an effort to make physical books available whenever we can – not to force Arthur into engaging with them, but just to remind him that they exist. And he’s loved it.

More than anything, though, he loved discovering the book of the story he’s been listening to so often – seeing the pictures bring the characters to life, and sharing his favourite moments with me and his dad.

The second thing that sticks in my mind from this past week was a moment of learning for me more than Arthur.

I’d had a pang of doubt, fuelled as usual by comparing us to others, when I realised that Arthur had shown no interest at all in figurative drawing. He’d gone through the motions of copying lines and circles for his two year developmental check, but since then has not shown much interest in drawing beyond scribbles and swirls of paint – and we haven’t pushed it.

I’d found myself wondering whether we shouldn’t in fact be encouraging him to draw in a more structured way, accelerating his progress towards that fine motor control that will of course be so important for when he comes to write!

But then I checked myself. I read some more about unschooling, and the Montessori methods I find myself gravitating towards. And I remembered that of course there is no rush to begin to constrain his explorations into more easily recognisable forms. So instead I waited, and watched.

And then one day whilst I was preparing lunch I noticed Arthur rooting around by his easel, looking for something to paint with. Together we chose some colours, and I left him to it whilst I got on with making lunch. I glanced over from time to time, and freed from any concerns about whether he was drawing people or things that we could label, marvelled instead at the care he was taking about each seemingly abstract line and curve. I watched as he picked out his colours, stepped back from time to time to make decisions about where to go next, and waited until he had decided he was done before we sat down together for lunch.

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He was so proud of his painting, and so was I. And I’m definitely not in any rush to put any constraints on his creative freedom any time soon – I have a feeling he’ll be able to come up with way more interesting ideas all by himself.

And on the topic of interesting ideas comes moment number three. We were having a chat in the car on Friday, and Arthur started telling me about how astronauts carry their air on their backs so they can breathe (something we’ve talked about before). Then he told me that divers were just like astronauts. I asked him why, trying to work out the connection, and he explained that they have to carry their air on their backs too. He’s been becoming increasingly interested in both space travel and underwater exploration, fuelled by inspiration from all sorts of stories, but it was fascinating to see him drawing links between them and getting to the core of understanding some of the processes behind them.

I’m curious to see where these interests will lead us in the next few weeks – it’s definitely uncharted territory for me, on all sorts of levels.

 

On the edge

I am so nearly ready to take the plunge into this first draft.

I’m teetering on the edge at the moment, peering tentatively into the deep, pulling gently on the multiple strands of the safety harness I’ve constructed with my plan just to test their firmness and wondering whether it’s safe to dive in.

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My plot and characters are so much stronger now than they were a week ago. Every time I sit down to add to my notes I find new links, new dimensions to shore things up just that little bit further.

I’ve made a decision, I think, about how I’m going to approach the writing of this story (if not the telling): a chronological approach is making more and more sense. Even though I envisage the final structure to be considerably less linear, I think I need to let the characters grow as organically as possible. I don’t have reams and reams of notes about them, only pointers – and as their futures will inevitably depend on their pasts it seems logical that I should start somewhere near the beginning.

Even as I write that though I’m having doubts… There are some moments later in my characters’ lives that are so vivid to me, maybe by writing those I will get a clearer idea of the journey that brought them there?

Hmmm… Not quite ready yet, it seems.

Then there are the questions: the little white index cards that are rapidly getting filled up with things I feel I need to know. At least half of the story takes place in the seven years around the year of my birth. I have a bank of research and cultural references that I’ve built up from my own and others’ experiences, but I’ve found myself doubting this week whether I’ve got enough to draw on.

It’s in those moments that I’ve stepped back from the edge and retreated into something that will enrich my sense of the time I need to immerse myself in – movies and music, mainly. Only snapshots of course but something still that will anchor my prose when I finally dare to jump.

It’s a familiar sensation, this excitement and anticipation. But each time it’s new, too – a bit like how I imagine it might feel to have another child.

I’ve been here before, I know I can do this. As much as I can plan and research it will never be quite enough to fully prepare me for what’s ahead – and besides, its the new things I will discover that will make the journey most worthwhile.

I just need to work out where to start writing.

Or maybe I just need to start writing.

Maybe I just need to write.

And there it is again, that little piece of advice I keep finding myself coming back to:

Just write.

 

Writing Bubble