Tag Archives: writing

Looking through the eyes of a child

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Whenever I tell anyone I’m using motherhood as an excuse to start writing novels they look at me like I’m bonkers. But you’d be surprised how conducive a new person is to writing about the world.

Firstly, they go an awfully long way to giving you the discipline that’s needed to be a proper writer. It’s remarkably motivating to have a small creature attached to you who could go off at any moment. I know I can rely on about an hour and a half of quiet time, so that’s now how long it takes me to write my 1500 words.

Secondly, and this is actually entirely an addendum of the above, they remind you what’s important. I am at home with my son because I’ve managed to convince myself and those who are close to me that I’m a writer. So if I stop writing… Well, I’d just have to go and get a proper job, and I doubt I’d be able to bring my son along.

The third reason is the one that brings me to this week’s prompt:

‘Seek the wisdom of the ages but look at the world through the eyes of a child’ Ron Wild

I’ve studied writing for forever. I could tell you exactly what you need to do to produce something worthwhile. And yet there are still moments when I am trying to write and I have no idea what I’m doing.

I could think about the accepted wisdom, about the writers whose work I admire. I could think about the theory, about the tricks I know would manipulate my reader. But actually what works better than anything else is to think about my child.

My child, who has no idea of what a cliche is or why you might want to avoid one. My child, who can help me see anew the world which has made me weary over the years. My child, who inspires a fresh approach to the most mundane of experiences.

I spent years as a grown-up trying to conjure the time and the confidence that I needed to write, but it is only since I’ve been a mother that I’ve been able to make that a reality.

The wisdom of the ages has its place in what I do for sure, but it is my son who is my biggest inspiration.

mumturnedmom

The magic of storytelling: part two

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So as well as thinking about how magical storytelling is for the reader as I watch Arthur discover how much he loves stories, it’s also been on my mind how incredibly magical it is for the writer.

Stories have always been a hugely important part of my life. From those early days devouring them as they were read to me and soon after, as a reader, staying up long into the night, hiding under the duvet with a torch and a pile of Enid Blyton. Later as a teacher I watched astounded as a class of challenging teenagers was silenced by the simple pleasure of listening to someone read aloud; I relished in the power of stories as entertainment and as vehicles for so much more. And now as a writer I feel enormously privileged to be consumed by stories and (almost) be able to call it work.

The magic of stories and of storytelling is something I explored thematically in Lili Badger. The folk tales Lili was told by her grandmother as a child return with renewed vigour in her teenage years, their metaphors seeping into her burgeoning understanding of what’s happening around her, helping her make sense of an otherwise opaque and unfriendly world.

What I didn’t realise then, though, what’s only really beginning to dawn on me now as I move deeper into my second novel, is that as a writer I’m not really here to tell stories. I mean, that’s part of it of course. Relaying a story in a form and a style that captures peoples’ imagination and makes them want to read on. But ultimately I’m beginning to see myself a bit more as a vehicle for a story that wants to be told.

When it comes to writing anything I’m definitely a planner. I’m not very good at just sitting down with a blank piece of paper and waiting for inspiration to strike, though I know that’s the way lots of novelists work. Before I started writing this novel, as with the first, I’d basically mapped out each chapter with a little summary to work from – something to inspire me, and something to keep me on track through the brain melt of motherhood. That bit of the process really isn’t very magical – it can feel like a bit of a slog just mapping everything out, and what seemed like great ideas in theory start to feel insubstantial and incoherent. But once I’ve worked through that, once the overall story arc is there and it’s time to actually get on with the writing – that’s where the real magic comes in.

Moving from those little summaries to the actual written chapters has been an amazing process this time round. I don’t know if with the first novel I was just too tired or too excited to notice it, but as I write the second I’m struck by it almost every day.

How I think I know what’s going to happen, and then as the words flow from my mind to the page events subtly change. How I think I know a character, and then they do or say something that surprises me but ultimately fits much better overall.

There have been some very specific incidences of this recently. Like my main character opening a drawer to get something out, but finding something else entirely different. She’d forgotten it was there, and I had no idea at all. But actually it explained a lot, and suddenly made the plot a lot less clunky.

Then yesterday lunch time I was sat describing a scene I was about to write to my husband, explaining how in control Grace was and how she absolutely definitely wasn’t going to cry. And then I sat down to write, and as the scene unfolded she felt tears pricking behind her eyes and ended up sobbing. Again it actually made a lot more sense than what I’d thought was going to happen – and I suspect the writing rang truer for me being taken aback by it as much as she was.

It’s taken me a while to write this post as I wasn’t quite sure how to put it without seeming entirely bonkers. Even reading it back now it all seems a bit improbable. Those ideas are coming from somewhere, and I guess that somewhere must be hiding in my subconscious. But it’s strange and exhilarating how they won’t reveal themselves to me when I think but only when I write. It makes the mantra I began this project with even more important, and it makes me really very excited about the story I might discover over the weeks to come.

A writer’s apology

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I’m pleased to be able to report that the novel is going pretty well. After three weeks of writing I’m six chapters and nearly 20,000 words in, and my loosely sketched out ideas are beginning to pad out rather nicely.

There is however one thing that’s been bothering me a little, playing on my mind as the plot unfolds. And that’s the impact it’s all going to have on my main character. I’ve spent the first few chapters getting to know her a bit better. She’s a bit annoying (more than I’d anticipated actually, but then I’ve probably got my own foibles to blame for that), but she definitely means well, and she’s not unkind.  She’s in a good place right now – better than she’s been for years. But that’s all about to change now she’s met him.

It’s still early days, but I can sense her anticipation building. She’s totally seduced by him already even if she hasn’t quite admitted it to herself yet. He has her just where he wants her – and his manipulation of her every emotion has only just begun.

I know where this all ends of course. The general gist of it if not quite all the detail. And she totally doesn’t deserve what’s coming. She has no idea, and won’t have until she’s been sucked in way too deep. I mean, I could warn her – but like the director having a sneaky aside with the blonde girl as she heads off alone into the horror movie forest it really wouldn’t do much for the story.

So I’m just going to have to hold my nerve and suppress my protective instincts, continuing to weave the web of words that will trap her in the end. Things are going to get better for a while anyway, so I can comfort myself with the romance of it all. But I know what’s coming, where his true intentions lie. And for that, Grace, I am sorry.

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.

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