Tag Archives: writing

An occupational hazard?

16 Replies

IMG_0727

So the edit’s progressing pretty well, which is good. I’m falling into a fairly productive rhythm, and whilst it’s not so easy to hold on to my clarity of thought now that I’m swimming in the words again I think things are heading in the right direction.

I’m definitely feeling like I’m getting deeper into my protagonist’s head, understanding more clearly why she’s acting the way she is (and actually sharing that with the reader rather than hoping they’ll work it out for themselves). I’m feeling the presence of my antagonist more keenly too, though he hasn’t explicitly made an appearance yet. And this is where the slight downside of all this comes in.

Having spent a week immersing myself in some incredibly tense and creepy thrillers, and now trying to layer that growing sense of dread into my own writing, I’m finding my relationship with the real world has gone a little bit off-kilter… I’m seeing things out of the corner of my eye, hearing noises that I’m pretty sure aren’t actually there, and at times feeling almost as on edge as poor Grace herself.

There was a particularly ridiculous night last week when Leigh was away in Exeter. I’d managed to get Arthur down to sleep reasonably early, and had stayed up a bit too late watching unnecessary TV. By the time I finally headed to bed, with revision ideas for the novel still whirring around my mind, I was overtired and a little too open to suggestion. It had just gone midnight, and Leigh’s bedside light was on when I got to our room. I’m still not entirely sure why (it hadn’t been when I’d gone upstairs earlier I swear), and at that moment in time I convinced myself it was because there was someone in the house. Heart racing, I cautiously checked the top floor was clear. I then crept downstairs and got Arthur from his room, waking him up in the process, and took him up with me to hide under the duvet. There was nothing rational about all this – and I knew that at the time, though it didn’t stop the creeping terror. I’m just glad I stopped short of calling Leigh and insisting he came home before I finally fell asleep!

It hasn’t got quite that bad since, but I’ve still been pretty jumpy. I’ve been prone to anxiety in the past, and it seems that letting my imagination wander into the recesses of a psychopath’s mind might just have awakened that… And I’m still only a few chapters in, so who knows what’s going to happen when things really start hotting up.

Ho hum… An occupational hazard I guess. Anyone else find their imaginary worlds seeping into reality, or is that just me?

 

Writing Bubble

Writing, and belief

20 Replies

image

By the time I hit publish on this post, I will have begun the process of reworking the second draft of my manuscript.

I’ve been laying the foundations for the redraft over the past couple of weeks: getting my head into gear, taking on board the feedback I’ve been given, reading some awesome novels for inspiration and filling my little grey notebook with strategies for moving forward.

The crux of the problem with the novel as it stands is that there’s still too much there which makes it not quite believable. The main characters don’t quite ring true. The plot is not quite watertight. My prose does not always fully command the reader’s attention, giving them small but vital opportunities to notice the edifice of my craft.

I’ve written a lot about confidence in recent months, but I think again it is my belief in myself that I must examine here.

There are a couple of key ways in which I think the lack of this might be holding my novel back. Firstly, I think I’ve become a bit too tied to my own experience – like a safety raft if you will. There is a lot of me in this novel, the mistakes and insecurities of my younger self. That gave me the confidence I needed to write the early drafts – I knew there was a truth underpinning my words that made getting them onto the page seem worthwhile, important even. There is plenty in the plot that is entirely fictional, but I think I got a bit trapped in my depiction of the emotional worlds of my characters. And now I think it’s time to branch out – to have the confidence to paint with broader brushstrokes, to allow my imagination a bit more freedom, to trust that I can create new emotional truths not just replicate the ones I know.

Secondly, I want to be a bit more daring with the details of the plot. To take more risks as I bring the story to life, to take conceits and events to their logical conclusions without worrying if the results of that appear at first to be far-fetched.

Thirdly, I want to loosen up when it comes to my actual prose. To let myself open up the inner workings of my main character rather than worrying about stating the obvious and hoping people will guess what’s going on in her head from the clues I’ve left them. To immerse myself more fully in scenes rather than telling them from the outside. To trust that what’s happening is interesting and worthy of deeper exposition, rather than just trying to brush past things to get to the main events.

There’s a lot of ‘more’ here I realise, and I’ll need to be ruthless in my cutting to create the space for it. But again this is an issue of trust – to believe that I can communicate the mood I want to in fewer words, that spelling out every descriptive detail doesn’t necessarily make a world more believable.

I think, if I pull all this off, then I will have a manuscript which is much tighter, much more engaging, much harder for my readers to put down. And if I don’t – well, it’s just another redraft isn’t it? I will get there in the end.

 

Muddled Manuscript

Reading

12 Replies

image

My most common lament over the past two years is how little time I’ve managed to set aside for reading. It’s been such an important part of my life – I’ve written before about some of the books and authors that shaped me, and obviously in my ten years as an English teacher it was at the very core of what I did.

But since becoming a mum books have taken on a somewhat soporific quality. The pile of things I want to read has been growing bigger and bigger, but no sooner have I got a few pages in than my eyelids have begun to close. That hasn’t been universally true – I have managed to finish some books – but certainly nowhere near as many as I would have liked.

This state of affairs is particularly ridiculous given my current ambitions to be a published novelist. I may not have read many novels since Arthur’s been born, but I have written two! In some ways this is part of the problem. I don’t really like to read fiction when I’m in the midst of working on a work of my own. I think I’m worried that too much of what I’m reading might seep into my words. But I can’t be a writer without being a reader, there’s just too much I still have to learn.

So this week I decided, whilst mulling over the feedback I’ve been given and my own ideas for the next edit of my novel, that I would make time to read. And it’s been awesome!

image

It’s been surprising how many moments I’ve actually been able to find to lose myself in a book. And also how long I’ve managed to read for without falling asleep when my reading time wasn’t relegated to when I was already tucked up in bed…

I’ve read two novels already since last weekend, and I’m just getting stuck into a third. The first two were thrillers I hadn’t read before – You Should Have Known and The Book of You, both fantastic and more than a little bit creepy. The third is an old favourite of mine, The Time Traveller’s Wife. All three have certain things in common with the novel I’m currently working on, and being immersed in their worlds has helped me realise things about the one I’m trying to create – an added bonus to what has generally been an immensely enjoyable week.

My reading certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed by Arthur either: he’s been increasingly curious about what I’ve been up to (when he’s been awake) and has often crawled into my lap to take a closer look. I think he’s been a bit miffed by the lack of pictures, but it’s inspired him to pick up his own books too.

image

He loves books anyway, and adores being read to, but there’s been something very special about both sitting quietly reading. Arthur has actually discovered a new favourite book in The Little Engine That Could. We discovered the film a couple of weeks ago – it was kind of inevitable really given his general train obsession, and we’ve both really enjoyed it. He was thrilled to find the characters also existed in the pages of a book, albeit in a slightly different story.

image

It has been so brilliant to break through the barriers I’d put up for myself and sink into some really good books. I should do it more often I realise, though I think I’m pretty much ready now to get back into my own. In fact I’m really looking forward to it.

 

The Reading Residence

 

Just need to stay focused…

12 Replies

image

I started this year with such grand plans. Not resolutions, exactly – I only really made one of those. But so many different things I wanted to do. I was raring to go, in fact – after two weeks of not doing anything particularly constructive over Christmas I couldn’t wait to start ticking some tasks off my mental to do list.

As well as my goals around my novel and blogging, I really need to find some time to get our increasingly messy house in order. And then there’s Arthur – as he gets older I’m starting to feel like I want to structure our days together a little bit more closely. He’s with me pretty much all the time, and whilst we do get out to a few excellent groups over the course of the week I want to ensure I’m giving him the opportunities for a whole range of different types of play, not just the ones that are easiest for me to facilitate. I’ve got lots of ideas for all of this – I know pretty much exactly what I want to do in fact, at least in my head.

But actually, in reality, it’s felt a bit like the universe has been conspiring against me getting very much done.

Arthur’s sleep is still all over the place since he’s moved out of his cot, and this has coincided with a particularly busy period for my husband (he has his finals at medical school this year, so the academic pressure is being ramped up alongside an increasingly challenging schedule of hospital shifts). I am, to put it plainly, knackered. And that does not do much for my productivity.

There also seems to be lots going on in Arthur’s ever-growing social life. I’d sort of forgotten that following him turning two at the end of December we would have a very busy few weeks of birthdays with NCT and baby group friends. This is all great fun of course – but does add in a whole other layer of things to organise!

I’ve found myself collapsing on the sofa after seemingly endless days barely able to recall what I’d managed to achieve since I’d got up that morning whilst listening to the whirr of things I still needed to do and wondering when my mind would ever be still enough to focus on them – let alone make a proper start on editing that novel…

And then it struck me. I didn’t need to keep all this stuff trapped inside my head. I needed in fact to write it down, to make some lists, to see it all there plain and simple so I could begin to tackle it. I needed to get a diary.

I’m not entirely sure why I stopped using a diary – a paper one at least. In the ten years I was teaching I would never go anywhere without my planner. Every thought and task relating to my professional life would be documented in there somewhere – and it was an important ritual at the beginning of each week to go through and get my goals clear in my head. I kept a separate diary for my personal tasks – a pocket moleskine one for years, with space for notes. This gradually transitioned onto my phone, and once I was on maternity leave that electronic method became the only one I used.

That seemed ok, for a while. Especially once Arthur arrived so much of what I had to do was so ‘in the moment’ that it seemed a waste of any precious spare seconds to write it down. Things have got increasingly complicated since those early days, but I’ve generally managed to muddle through, hanging the thoughts and tasks in my head onto our simple routines and frantically making the occasional list when it all got too much.

But I’ve realised that the time has come when I need more structure. There are so many balls I’m trying to juggle now that if I try to do it by the power of my mind alone then I’m going to start dropping them. So last weekend I ordered a diary. A moleskine, for old-time’s sake, but one which encapsulates what I loved about my teacher planner alongside the conventional day by day approach. It’s called a ‘professional taskmaster’ (even the name makes me feel more organised), and it’s pretty awesome.

When it arrived on Tuesday I sat down and filled in our plans for the week ahead, spread clearly over two A4 pages. Then on the next two, in the bullet pointed spaces for ‘actions and projects’, I decided on my non-negotiables for the week. There were quite a lot of them, but seeing them there in black and white made it all seem possible.

And as the week’s gone on I’ve been taking great pleasure in ticking off the things I have achieved. I’d forgotten quite how satisfying simple,everyday lists are. I’m still playing catch-up a little, and I’m still exhausted, but I’m getting there. I’m looking forward to reflecting back on my week on Sunday, celebrating what I’ve done and setting out what needs to happen next.

None of this is rocket science I realise, but they are things that somehow I had forgotten in all the changes I have lived through in the past couple of years. And I’m hoping, as I fall back into the routines left over from a very different life, they might just help me to keep the one I’m living now more focused.

 

mumturnedmom

 

The gift of feedback

25 Replies

IMG_3164

I have realised this week how much I absolutely love getting feedback on my writing. Compliments are nice of course, especially useful for storing up and peeking at when confidence is low, but ideas, advice, opinions – they’re like gold-dust.

I’ve had some incredibly useful feedback this week. Some interesting thoughts about the opening of my novel (if you haven’t seen it then I would love it if you’d take a look), and also a long and detailed email from a novelist friend of my agent who was kind enough to read my second draft.

There’s a sense of pride that bubbles up as I read what people have to say about my writing. It comes from the fact they’ve read it, for a start, which is pretty awesome in itself. But then they’ve thought about it, and applied a critical eye that’s so, so hard to do to something I’ve written myself, and offered up their own ideas about what could make it better.

Even if I don’t agree with everything they say the feedback is still invaluable. It starts a chain reaction in my mind, a network of ‘what ifs’ that cuts through the editor’s block that I find so much more insidious than its first draft counterpart.

I have to admit that after the cautious optimism I felt this time last week I’d actually hit a bit of a wall. I felt overwhelmed by the task of once again picking my manuscript apart, and began to doubt whether I was capable of it.

But then the new wave of feedback came in, and alongside that I was asked to write a post for Faber Academy about why I write, and I remembered that it is all about pushing my comfort zone, about confronting my fears and daring to do it anyway.

And so I will.

 

Writing Bubble

 

Why I write

2 Replies

IMG_2122

So much has changed over the past three years. In January 2012, I was living on a building site, struggling to keep my head above water in a job that was quite possibly more than I could handle, and wondering whether (despite the view) moving out of London had really been such a great idea.

A few months later I fell pregnant, and my priorities began to shift…

Now of course I am loving living by the sea, spending my days writing and hanging out with an amazing baby. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You can find me over on the Faber Academy site today talking about how everything started to fall into place the moment I took a deep breath and decided to stop being so scared of my dreams.

Where to start

17 Replies

IMG_0694

As regular readers will know, I’m currently embarking on another major edit of my second novel.

I’m cool with this – I really am. Although I was happy with most of the revisions I’d made in the last draft, something about it just isn’t sitting comfortably with me. One of the things I’m mulling over is just where the story should start. I have a few different options to play with, and one of them is below.

I would really appreciate some honest feedback on whether this, as the first few pages of a novel, would draw you in and make you want to read more. I’m particularly interested in the impression you get of the main character, Grace. Do you like her? Is she someone you could come to care about? Do you want to know what happens next?

Questions or suggestions or criticisms or ideas are all very welcome! I look forward to hearing your thoughts…

***

“He could’ve been so much hotter you know, with a bit of effort. That whole geek chic thing had a lot of promise…”

“Ah Cam! I didn’t dump him because he wasn’t hot enough.”

Cam looked at her over the rim of his glasses.

“I didn’t!”

Grace felt her jaw tense as she downed the rest of her mojito. Part of her wanted to admit how much she was missing him, but she hoped her smile would mask that from her friend. She got herself together and looked up to find the barman waiting for her.

“Yes please!” she said, “Cam?”

“It’s going to be one of those then huh?”

“Come on Cam. They’ll never keep me company, not on a school night.”

Molly and George were guarding a table, heads almost touching as they tried to hear each other above the din. Even at six the place was rammed, but then it was a Thursday.

“Fine, but just for you petal.”

“Love you,” Grace leant across to give him a hug as she motioned to the barman to bring another daiquiri, “you’ll grab our drinks yeah?”

Slipping off the stool in her high-waisted jeans, a glass in each hand balancing what remained of her mojito between them, Grace wove her way to her friends.

“One white wine spritzer with soda for the bride to be and one… ginger beer. What’s that about Moll?”

“I’ve got to swing by Mum’s later. Cheers!”

They clinked their glasses, and Grace tried to ignore the sadness hanging heavy in Molly’s face. It didn’t suit her. She knew she should talk to her about it all, but not tonight.

“So only a few weeks to go hey George? Best make the most of it.”

George smiled knowingly as she sipped her spritzer, “I guess.”

Her short dark hair framed her brown eyes perfectly, and that combined with the tailored jumpsuit gave her an air of eternal youth whilst at the same time she exuded a maturity beyond her years. At least Grace hoped it was beyond her years. At twenty-six, George was a year younger than her but seemed to have everything worked out. The job at the trendy gallery, the capacious flat in Farringdon, and of course the man. Barney was a few years older, devastatingly handsome if you liked that sort of thing, and on his way to becoming a Consultant at University College Hospital.

“So tell me again about the flowers,” intercepted Molly, leaving Grace once again standing on the sidelines.

Grace prodded at the mint leaves in the bottom of her glass with her straw, letting the excited chatter about peonies and petunias blend into the hubbub of the bar. She’d tried to be interested when talk had turned to bouquets before but failed miserably – it just wasn’t knowledge she wanted filling up her brain.

There was a time when George wouldn’t have know the difference between a daisy and a dahlia either. Grace remembered one Sunday at Columbia Road. It was early – they’d come straight from a club – and the stallholders were just setting up. It did look beautiful: colours bright against the grey of the tarmac, the freshness of the blooms contrasting with the weathered faces of those who sold them. Arm in arm, Grace and George had walked straight past the stalls and into The Royal Oak. Grace’s hair had been short then too, though she’d let it grow since. Two cropped heads bowed together, one black one red. They were still talking about Barney: George had turned up in tears the night before, worried he was having an affair with a nurse at the hospital. Grace knew they were destined to be together though; deep down she mourned for her comrade in arms but she couldn’t let that cloud her advice. When George eventually wove her way home a couple of hours later it was with a smile on her face, and a fortnight later Barney proposed.

Sucking the last of the rum out from the melting ice, Grace saw Cam looking apologetically at her from the other side of the room. His face was almost rubbery, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was taking the piss. It was one of the things Grace loved about him though, how his expression transformed so completely with the slightest trigger.

A Latin looking guy had his hand on the pale skin of Cam’s arm, and now he was laughing at whatever it was Cam had just said. Grace almost didn’t want to interrupt – but she could seriously do with that drink. With a glance at the girls to confirm they wouldn’t miss her, she sidled over to Cam, plucking her drink out of his hand before he had time to notice she was there.

“Sorry darling!” he said effusively, “Do you remember Pedro? We met in Heaven back in January. He’s been away.”

The man leant and took her hand before kissing her on both cheeks. He was more than a little bit cute as it happened, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t his type.

“Please come and save me Cam. They’re talking about flowers again and I just don’t know how much more I can take.”

Cam turned to Pedro, “Our friend’s getting married.”

“Oh, amazing!” Pedro actually clapped his hands before turning to Grace, “You will make a beautiful bridesmaid.”

“I’m not… We’re just friends from work. Well college. I’m not really bridesmaid material.”

She’d been gutted when George had asked Molly to be a bridesmaid and not her. She’d asked her to do a reading, but it wasn’t the same.

“Shame. I think you’d look so pretty in a dress, with those flowers. You have the most incredible eyes. Like emeralds.”

He reached out and touched her cheek and Grace squirmed a little, fiddling with her fringe before stroking her auburn ponytail awkwardly. She really needed to meet someone: three months on her own and she’d fall for anything.

•••

Thank you to Sara at Mum Turned Mom for inspiring me to share this opening in response to her prompt, ‘Beginnings’. I am also joining in with Nikki Young‘s Friday Fiction. 

Looking back, looking forward

5 Replies

IMG_0669

As the dust begins to settle on 2014 and the humdrum celebrations of Christmas, a very special birthday and New Year that brought it to a close, I’m finally finding time to reflect a little.

And, very handily, Dean from Little Steps has invited me to take part in a New Year’s Tag to give some focus to those reflections. So without further ado…

What was your highlight of 2014?

IMG_9652

It was a pretty incredible year all in – lots of hard work, but lots of adventures to go with it. It’s hard to pick out one particular thing but the summer was one of the best I’ve had for years.

We didn’t venture very far, but the weather was incredible so we really didn’t need to. Arthur had his first proper festival experience at Somersault in North Devon…

IMG_0203

And we spent hours swimming in Shoalstone Pool. Perfect bliss, and right on our doorstep.

IMG_0305

What are you excited for in 2015?

Two of my brothers are getting married this year, so that’s pretty exciting! I’m also quietly excited about where my writing will take me this year. I have lots more work to do, but I have a good feeling about 2015.

Any New Year’s resolutions?

I’m not generally a fan of New Year’s resolutions. Certainly not the type that involve cutting lots of things out that I enjoy: why on earth would I want to do that when it’s so cold and dark outside?

Having said that, there is something I want to work on this year. I have a real tendency to get caught up in what I think other people might be thinking about me and the choices I make. It’s almost paralysing sometimes, and that’s no good for anyone. My underlying confidence has definitely been boosted by becoming a mum, and my perspective has been widened over the last year of blogging, but both of those things have also brought with them more things for me to worry about being judged on!

So this year I resolve to focus less on second guessing how other people might perceive me, and focus more on what I know in my heart to be right. I’m hoping that might free up quite a lot more time for the things that are important, but at the very least it should help to still my soul.

Blogging high?

I’m just happy to be here! But seriously, my blog turned one yesterday, and having started out last January not having the faintest idea what I was doing I am very proud of the collection of posts I have amassed.

I’ve really enjoyed getting to know the huge community of bloggers out there, so many inspiring and supportive people achieving the impossible every single day.

I particularly value the growing network of writers I’ve met through the What I’m Writing linky. It can be a lonely business sometimes, tapping away at the keyboard to breathe life into the worlds inside my head but they have helped to keep me going and served as a valuable reminder of what it’s all for.

Picture of the year?

I’m cheating a bit here, but I love this collection of selfies of me and Arthur just hanging out and having fun. There’s been a lot of that, and for the opportunity to do that I will be always grateful.

IMG_7115

I feel like I’ve just caught the end of this tag so I won’t be passing it forward to anyone in particular. But if you’re still feeling in a reflective mood and would like to join in then please do!

Begin again

25 Replies

IMG_0664

I had grand plans for this January. Having spent a couple of months pondering and planning, I was all set to begin writing my third novel. There’s something about starting something new that sits very comfortably with me this time of year. The no-pressure creativity of a first draft, where you’re free to let the story and the characters take you where they want, secure in the knowledge that there’ll be plenty of time for redrafts later.

But then just before Christmas I opened an email from my agent that scuppered all that.

It wasn’t a bad email, and I knew it was coming. I’d sent her the second draft of my second novel a few weeks before. Though I’d prodded and tweaked and added and deleted, I knew it wasn’t perfect. But I suppose somewhere in the recesses of my mind I hoped that maybe I’d managed a miracle, that I’d solved all the niggling problems of the first draft in one fell swoop and we’d be ready to begin the terrifying but exciting process of sending it out to publishers.

Part of me’s glad that she agrees it needs more work. But it’s taken a huge mental shift to put down the tantalising threads of the new story that was beginning to develop and return to this one, hoping that somehow with fresh eyes the answers about how to release its potential will leap out at me.

I didn’t touch it at all over Christmas. And then there was Arthur’s birthday. And New Year.

But yesterday I sat down and read Becky’s email again. There were plenty of positives to buoy my spirit, and plenty of questions to challenge me too.

I’ve decided I need to see my words on paper. I haven’t done that with the second draft yet, and it really does make a difference. So I’ve printed the manuscript off and am ready to begin again.

I’m starting small this time, with the new mechanical pencil that Santa bought me replacing the multicoloured pens and post-it notes I used to attack the first draft. I feel like what I’m looking for is more subtle this time. Not that I’m ruling out major changes – I have some ideas about structure and characterisation that might make things very different.

We shall see.

But for now it’s simply time to embrace the new challenges January has thrown up, to hold onto my conviction that this is a story worth telling, and to search deep inside myself for the very best way to tell it.

It is time to begin again.

 

 

Muddled Manuscript

Weaving a world

9 Replies

IMG_2746

Slowly but surely the world of my next novel is beginning to take shape…

I’ve had two really interesting research meetings so far with local people who responded to my request for information about Brixham in the 1970s. Last week I finally made it into our local museum to see some artefacts from the past. And as I walk through the streets of my town its history is beginning to become more and more apparent.

I’ve learnt about the changing face of the harbour, with working shipyards once occupying the sites of luxury flats. About the Seaman’s Boys Home which is now a flourishing outdoor education centre. About the holiday camps which saw people flocking to Brixham, enjoying diving platforms off Breakwater Beach and pedalos at St Mary’s Bay that are now long gone. My imagination was piqued today by talk of an untamed Berry Head, and of the hippies who used to attract admiring glances to their paintings by day and raise eyebrows with their skinny dipping by night.

I found interesting too the description of the local community as incredibly friendly and welcoming on one hand, and yet closed off to outsiders on the other. I can recognise that to some extent. However much I’m coming to love this place, I know I’ll never truly be able to call myself a local.

But I’m beginning to see where my two main characters might fit in here, forty years ago. Where their grandparents might have lived, where and how they might have spent their days, where they might have socialised, and where they would have escaped to when they needed some privacy. There’s still more work to be done – the local library’s my next port of call (always takes someone else to point out the bleeding obvious), and I’m going to try to fit in a visit there this week.

And then I think I’ll call it a day, for now at least. I believe there’s a fine line between not enough research and too much, and I want to get this story flowing whilst it still has space to breathe. The people I’ve spoken to so far have very kindly offered to do some fact-checking once I have a first draft to show them, and I’m sure our conversations will be able to be much more specific once I actually have a story to share.

I have to say I’ve really enjoyed my face-to-face research so far. I was nervous at first – I’m naturally quite shy, and feel much more confident seeking out information from the comfort and security of a keyboard. But there is most definitely much to be gained from talking to people, especially when the world you’re seeking access to is in the past.

I just hope I can mange to do their memories justice – and I’m very much looking forward to trying.

 

Muddled Manuscript