Qwerty Queen

Hiatus

2011-07-25T20:08:00.001+01:00

I Didn't Get The Job

2011-04-02T07:58:00.003+01:00

But I'm not too down-hearted, or even particularly surprised - after all, it was my first job interview in 16 years! I had some very helpful coaching from a highly experienced person, and I think the interview went reasonably well. I was able to answer all the questions, and felt as if I'd established a rapport with the three interviewers. I haven't had feedback yet but, unless I've completely misread the situation, I think the panel would have concluded I was appointable rather than a complete no-hoper. However, evidently someone else was a closer match for their requirements. I wouldn't be surprised if they had an internal candidate, perhaps someone who had volunteered for the organisation, and they're always hard to beat. Apparently there were zillions of applications, so I did well to get an interview. And I've got two other applications in, and another almost ready to go off next week, so with luck I'll get another interview soon.

I've learned a lot from this process, and one thing I've learned is that from now on I'm going to keep quiet about any future interviews. This time round, I needed all the advice, encouragement and cheer-leading I could get, so thanks very much for that. But it's too depressing telling everyone I didn't get the job! Yet it's been a positive experience, overall, and the next interview won't be nearly as daunting.

A Smidgen Of Good News At Last

2011-03-23T18:06:00.002Z

I've got an interview for a job!!! I don't want to give specifics here, but it's a job for a national charity, with real social value, as well as being part-time and home-based, so it's exactly what I want. Of course having the interview does not mean I've got the job, but after trying so long and getting exactly nowhere, it's a real boost. Also I'd written this one off because they said 'if you haven't heard within three weeks you've been unsuccessful', and the three weeks was up today. But the woman who rang said the shortlisting took longer than they expected; they probably had a gazillion applications, like everyone else.

Which means I'm dead clever, doesn't it? ;-)

My Paramour and I are taking a spontaneous midweek flyer to the pub tonight, to celebrate. Rejoice with me, lovely blogfriends - I'm all excited!!!

Why I Haven't Been Blogging Much

2011-03-10T20:37:00.002Z

Since 1999 I have been making a comfortable living as an independent social researcher. 'Independent social researcher' means I am self-employed, researching social issues such as parenting, poverty and drug misuse, with clients who are mostly local authorities and charities. 'Comfortable living' means the approximate equivalent of a gross salary of £25-£40K, varying from year to year with the ups and downs of the business, but overall enough to make me feel rich.

However, since the spending review, my work has dried up. In the last six months, I've had one contract worth £1,250. Which doesn't even cover my business expenses for the period (telecomms, stationery, heat/light, insurance etc) let alone providing any money for me to live on.

Luckily I have a supportive partner; also self-employed, but in a different sector with steady work. We decided a while ago that I should start applying for part-time temporary jobs - my PhD means I can apply for work in academia, and my social work and voluntary sector background means I can also apply for work as a practitioner. So I've been doing loads of job applications, as well as doing tenders for research.

I haven't applied for jobs for 14 years, and it's a dark art. I'm getting great support from my brother-in-law, who is development director of a charity, and from a friend who is an academic. But each application, and each tender, takes me days to write.

I am having to use all my mental energy trying to generate some income, and I simply don't have the headspace for my own writing. I don't know when I will. I'm surprisingly unbothered by this. I suspect a break will do more good than harm. I'm not giving up or anything - but I've been working so hard on my writing for so long, yet making so little tangible progress, that it's a relief to have a reason to put it down for a while.

I'm still getting nice rejections, but now for jobs and tenders. The job market is quite alarming. I am applying for jobs where I can demonstrate ample experience against every point on the person specification, but I'm not even getting interviews. This seems to be because of the sheer numbers of people looking for work. For example, I applied for a part-time job with a national charity, and got a lovely letter today saying that while my experience was a good fit for their needs, they'd had over 200 applications and found someone whose experience was a perfect fit. I recently met a woman from another well-known charity who told me that they're getting 180 applications for every admin job, including people with PhDs.

But I have to keep trying. So that's what I'm doing. It's why I'm not around much online. Don't waste time feeling sorry for me, though. I'm unsettled, but I'm not depressed (any more - I was for a bit). I do realise that I'm so much luckier than most people: I don't have to worry about where my next meal is coming from, or how to pay the heating bill. I don't have an aspirational lifestyle, and I know how to economise - my family never had any money when I was growing up, and I was unemployed for two years in the mid-1990s, so I have lots of nice lentil recipes.

And: this too shall pass.

That Pesky Second Draft

2011-02-06T08:11:00.003Z

Woke up dis mornin', got the second draft blues.
Woke up dis mornin', got the second draft blues.
Looked at my MS, wasn't nothin' but bemused.
It's as much fun as a bruise.
I would rather have a snooze.
Etc etc etc etc etc.

Progress is being made, but it's sooooooooo slooooooooooow and I'm very impatient which is a terrible combination. I'm pleased with my first draft; it's not bad, as first drafts go, but of course it still needs a hell of a lot of work. It takes me such a long time to really get to know a character; to fully understand their motivations; to distinguish their voice from the voices of the other characters and from the voice of the book. My lovely mentor Debi always tells me that 'marinating time' is essential. I know she's right, but it doesn't make me any more patient.

I also know about 'bite by bite eats the elephant' and all that. But there's a part of me that thinks, for goodness' sake, all I need are the right words in the right order. It's not so simple, though, is it?

Why did I want to be a writer anyway? Could someone please remind me?

Accidental Resolution

2011-01-15T07:09:00.003Z

I didn't intend to make any New Year's resolutions this year.

In my young adult life, I made the conventional kind of resolution - eat healthier food, take more exercise, become a tidy person overnight - and, like most people, I dropped them in the first few days of January. As I hit middle age, I got better at the whole resolution thing. Mostly I stopped making resolutions, and when I did, I made only resolutions that I could keep and which would improve my life.

I remember two in particular. The first was that for a whole year I wouldn't buy any black clothes (not including underwear). This came about because I opened my wardrobe one day and realised it looked like a funeral outfitters, and around the same time I realised black didn't suit me as well as it had when I was younger. I had fun changing my shopping habits, and by the end of the year my wardrobe looked like a rainbow.

My second, and best, resolution was to take a sensible amount of time off from work. This came after years of building my own business, doing postgraduate study, and working through most weekends and holidays. I decided I would take weekends off unless I had an urgent deadline, and that four weeks' holiday a year would be 'a sensible amount'. This resolution saved me from becoming a complete workaholic.

This year I didn't have anything in mind, but in the first few days of January a resolution crept up on me. I'm not entirely sure why, or where it came from, but I'm loving it. And here it is: I resolve to be easier on myself.

I'm a great one for internal self-criticism. If I want to spend Saturday morning in bed with a novel, there's a little voice which says things like, 'You shouldn't be so self-indulgent, what about all the housework, and you haven't phoned your mum in ages, what makes you think you have the right to lie around reading novels?' If I fancy a glass of wine on a weekday evening, the voice pipes up again: 'You have no self-control, you lush, you know you shouldn't, it's bad and wrong, and what's more you'll be an alcoholic any minute and then where will you be?'

This year, I plan to give up destructive self-criticism. And so far, it's working, mainly because I've stopped listening to the little voice (which, frankly, after all these years, can sod right off). I'm not planning to give up the constructive kind, because I don't intend to lose my self-discipline - I need that as a writer and as a self-employed person - but I'm learning to tell the difference between self-discipline and self-flagellation.

My new mantra is 'I can if I want to', which sounds rather Violet Elizabeth Bott, but I'm finding it helpful in working out what I really do want rather than arguing with myself. After all, I'm mostly quite nice to other people, so I don't see why I shouldn't be nice to me.

Writing, Not Writing

2011-01-11T20:04:00.002Z

So I'm having a month off from fiction writing. And indeed I have written nothing but a few jotted reminders in the first couple of days after I finished the first draft. But my characters are still being very lively in my head and I don't seem able to stop getting to know them better. I guess this is a good thing, on balance. It's helping me to see aspects of the story more clearly. So I now understand, for example, that event X causes person A to have an entirely understandable sense-of-humour bypass until event Y, which helps her regain the ability to laugh at herself, and that changes her relationship with B and C because they didn't know her before event X so to begin with they thought she was a humourless git. Which all seems very logical now it's written down, but came as a proper revelation when I was idly playing with ideas in my head while my body was busy on the cross-trainer.

And next week, all other things being equal, I get to start editing. I can't wait!!!

You Said What???

2011-01-06T08:08:00.000Z

I have a mild hearing impairment. Not as severe as Debi's - but enough to make some similarly amusing anecdotes. Here's one for you.

My dear friend Lauren was having a New Year party last weekend, to which my Paramour and I were invited.

She rang me in a slight panic the week before Christmas. 'It's got a bit bigger than I expected. Any chance you could do a veggie chilli?'

'No problem,' I said. 'How many people?'

'Thirty or forty,' she said.

Right, I thought, I'll need to use my biggest stockpot.

So I spent the afternoon of the 30th making an enormous vat of veggie chilli. Well, it's always better the next day, and it didn't matter that the stockpot is too big to fit in the fridge as it was sub-zero outside.

When I arrived at Lauren's, staggering under the weight of several kilos of chilli, she boggled at the size of the stockpot. Good, I thought, she's suitably impressed by my Herculean efforts.

By nine pm there were only about a dozen people at Lauren's. This seemed odd to me, as here in the countryside the whole late thing isn't fashionable like in the metropolises.

'What time are you expecting the others?' I asked.

She consulted a list on the fridge. 'It's only Tim and Anna, they should be here any minute.'

'But... how many people did you say you were expecting?'

Lauren looked at me, surprised. 'Thirteen or fourteen,' she said.

My veggie chilli, though I say it myself, was excellent. Which is just as well, as there is rather a lot of it in our freezer.

Bye Bye 2010

2011-01-01T09:36:00.003Z

Some of my friends had a terrible year in 2010, but for me it was OK, overall. And here's the evidence.

I submitted my memoir to 20 agents (eighteen rejections so far, including several very kind personal ones) and, later, to 10 publishers (four rejections so far). I wrote 12 short stories, submitted at least 30 and sold one. I finished the first draft of my fantasy novel.

Work was variable: plenty in the first half of the year, much less in the second half due to the spending review. I'm hoping it'll pick up early in 2011.

I had fab holidays. A long weekend in Antwerp, Amsterdam and Brussels in January; ten days in a ski chalet in the French Alps in June; another long weekend at Shrewsbury Folk Festival in August; and a third long weekend in Bishop's Castle in Shropshire in November, to celebrate 15 years of wonderful partnership with my beloved Paramour.

Health was good, although I had one miserable week in November when I was diagnosed with arthritis in my hands AND got my first pair of varifocals. I'm not old enough for either of those! Except, apparently, I am. Oh well.

I was given the long slow dump by one old friend, which made me sad and angry for a while, but I'm over that now. After all, I've made so many new friends recently: at least six this year, four from the Internet and two from real life. So there's no point trying to hang on to old friendships with people who have lost interest.

Nobody close to me or to my Paramour died in 2010. My family are all well and happy: my beloved nephew started university after many difficulties and is loving it, and one of my favourite cousins and her delightful partner are due to have a baby at the end of March.

I confronted my long-standing fear and loathing of maths and science through three OU short courses. The bookkeeping and accounting was grim, although I still scored 74%, but the maths was surprisingly enjoyable (except for scientific notation which did my head in) and I 'achieved' all eight sections ('achieved' being the highest possible score). I enjoyed most of the science, too, except for the chemical formulae which never did balance, and I gained a score of 92%! I'd like to do more OU maths and science courses, and will, when I can afford to; in the meantime, I've rewarded myself with Alex's Adventures In Numberland which I'm loving. I'm also over halfway through a non-fiction writing course run by the London School of Journalism, and getting good feedback from my tutor.

So there we are. Not a bad year. Nothing spectacular - but lots of fun, interesting, enjoyable times. If 2011 is as good, I'll be happy. And I wish a most excellent New Year to all of you.

I Guess I've Finished The First Draft

2010-12-18T07:43:00.002Z

Although definitely with a whimper, not the bang I was hoping for. The odd thing is, most of the way through this draft I've been sure about how the story would end, but when I got there it didn't work as I'd expected, it just faded inconclusively away. I think that's because, as with most of my first drafts, the story isn't yet pulled tightly together. It's also shorter than I really wanted it to be, but I'm not particularly worried about that because I always underwrite in first drafts.

I stopped writing in the middle of last week and felt flat and frustrated for a few days. But now I'm getting used to the idea. The prospect of a few weeks off writing fiction (I won't be writing shorties either) really appeals, which is unusual for me, so I reckon I need a break. I can also feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of printing out, reading through and starting a proper edit. That'll be in mid-January.

I'm even, slowly, beginning to feel a little bit proud of myself. Looked at one way, I have a first draft which is a bit rubbish. But then, most first drafts are a bit rubbish. Looked at another way, I have a world, a cast of characters, a central storyline and 87,000 words which I didn't have nine months ago. And actually, I think that's pretty good.

Bad Blogger

2010-11-21T09:52:00.002Z

Apologies for the lack of posts, but I'm concentrating on my WiP. I'm determined to finish it this side of Xmas, which is possible (barring calamities) but only if I stay focused. And anyway, I don't have any news! I'm trying to keep up with reading and commenting, at least, and will post again when I have both time and something to say.

Resources For Short Story Writers

2010-10-24T06:48:00.002+01:00

I've had some lovely rejections of my memoir. Excerpts include:

'I was very impressed with the professional way you present this material and I enjoyed the chapters too.'
'I do like your title and I do like what you've sent me so thank you.'
'You write well and have an appealing, warm style.'

So far, so encouraging, but there's always a 'but', and it's usually that they don't feel confident of being able to place the book with a publisher. So I've decided to see whether I can do that myself. As a result, I've been researching publishers to see who might be interested. Yesterday I was checking out Tindal Street Press (fiction only, boo hoo) and I discovered a page on their site with resources for writers of short stories. Ten of their authors have each produced a short essay, covering an aspect of short story writing, which are free to download. I've read them all and they're good: well-written, readable, informative. The only thing I didn't like is that they call them 'masterclasses' which seems a bit poncy. There aren't that many how-to books which cover short stories, so I was pleased to find these essays. They seem to be aimed at literary writers, but the advice they contain is equally relevant to commercial stories. Here's the link: if you're interested, go look!

Edited Highlights

2010-10-17T08:03:00.002+01:00

The last two weeks have seen me in something close to perpetual motion, but what stays with me are a few moments of stillness. Looking at spiderwebs in my garden one morning:

Taking five minutes to have a shower at my parents' house, and appreciating the view (I do like a shower with a view):

Walking in the Lake District on a beautiful sunny autumn day:

Edinburgh is a visual feast, with its beautiful buildings, alleys, bridges, castle and hills, but I didn't take my camera. My strongest memory is walking over the bridge where Inverleith Row crosses the Water of Leith. I glanced over the parapet at the river. To my surprise, only a few yards away, standing in the water was a grey heron. Seeing this beautiful wild creature in the middle of the city was an astonishing experience.

Another good moment was when I hit 50K on the novel yesterday. Halfway!

Where Did That Week Go?

2010-10-04T06:49:00.002+01:00

I can't believe it's a week since I posted about writing 1K a day - and then I made no progress for the rest of that week! I wrote a short story, though. It seems I can't do both at once, at least not when I'm at the first draft stage of the novel; I can only invent one set of characters and their situation at a time. This is a continual dilemma as I long to keep going with the novel but I also enjoy, and learn so much from, writing shorties and getting feedback from my wonderful online critique group. Anyway, I'm back on the novel today, and this will definitely be a 5K week. I'm off up north this morning to spend time with my family till Friday afternoon, so I may not be around much on the interwebs, but I'll read and comment on all your blogs whenever I get the chance. Have a good week, y'all!

40K!!!!!

2010-09-27T14:35:00.002+01:00

Look at my word counter! *points to sidebar* Finally, I've hit 40K. The last 10K has been tortuous and interminable. I do hope the next 10K won't be so arduous, because then I'll be halfway.

I hit the mid-30Ks and floundered to a stop. Part of the problem was realising I didn't have enough plot for my intended word count. I needed quite a bit of mulling time to work out a load more plot, but now I'm happy with my story again, in fact I think it'll be a whole lot better as a result of the new sections. So I'm back to churning out the words - 1K per day, most days - and, if I don't stall again, I might have a first draft by Christmas. Here's hoping.

By Special Request: The Pope

2010-09-25T08:03:00.004+01:00

OK then, seeing as you were all teasing me in my comments box, here are my considered views (as opposed to the ill-considered ranty ones you would have got if I'd written this a week ago).

I was brought up as a Catholic. I'd like to say I was born into the faith, seeing as my parents were both observant Catholics at the time, but the church doesn't allow that, newborn babies being full of sin and evil as far as they are concerned. Needless to say, I'm not a Catholic any more - I parted company with the church in my early teens, and tried a couple of other religious/spiritual identities before settling down as mostly atheist with a side order of agnostic.

I have no quarrel with any individual Catholics - or individuals of any faith, come to that. Some of my family are Catholics, and I have friends of many faiths and none. I would never deny anyone the right to the happiness and comfort that faith can bring. However, I abhor many of the Catholic church's policies, such as those on women, gay people, condoms, and secrecy.

The Pope is not just an individual Catholic, he is the head of the church and its abhorrent policies. I have no objection to him coming to England - he is the spiritual leader of some of the people on this island, and they have every right to a visit from him. Also, I'm entirely in favour of freedom of speech. I do object to an expensive state visit. We don't extend this privilege to other heads of religious bodies, so I don't see why we should for the Pope.

I wish the Pope hadn't chosen atheists as the current enemy of the church. The whole atheists = Nazis thing has been covered extensively, so I'm not going to bang on about that. What worries me is that it seems the Catholic church always needs an enemy: infidels, Jews, Muslims, witches, Protestants, Communists, the list goes on. Just this month an official Catholic blogger was writing about 'the enemies of the Pope' and 'the enemies of the State'. Perhaps I have no right to say this, not being a Christian myself any more, but it doesn't seem very Christian to me to declare enmity on whole swathes of the population.

(Which reminds me of the Milton Jones gag I caught on TV the other night, which went something like this: A man at a festival sees a stall, run by Christians, giving away burgers.
Festival-goer: Can I have a burger please?
Stall-holder: Are you a Christian?
Festival-goer: Do you have to be a Christian to get a burger?
Stall-holder: Yes.
Festival-goer: How Christian is that?)

The official atheists aren't helping by embracing the position of enemy. I'm no great admirer of Richard Dawkins, and he made me really cross when he described the Pope as 'an enemy of humanity'.

So much of this seems so knee-jerk and un-thought-through. Which, of course, is one of the Catholic church's specialities. The church doesn't want its adherents to think about things, it wants them to follow its rules. Sadly, this also seems to apply more and more to the state we live in, at least if our education system is anything to go by (and this isn't a lone view: for example, the Society of Authors is so worried about the extent to which children in schools are taught by rote and procedure these days, that they are preparing to engage with the Secretary of State to advocate that children should once again be taught to think for themselves).

The media, of course, has a key role in all this. And they do think. Oh yes, they do. They think about how to sell newspapers, increase viewing/listening figures, and attract more advertisers. Fat lot of help that is. Yes, there are some excellent journalists and broadcasters, and at least we've still got a BBC which is independent of some influences. But most of our media is commercial, and commerce is its primary driver.

I am noticing more and more discontinuity between the messages from organisations which claim to speak for people, and my own experience of life in our society. I've blogged about this before in relation to the Government. It also applies to messages from religious organisations. It's not only the Pope who is positioning atheists as the enemy: the Archbishop of Canterbury was quite happy to join him there. Yet I'm getting on with my family and friends, of Christian and other faiths, as well as I ever have. I don't feel like anyone's enemy; do any of you feel like mine? Or anyone else's?

I'm not sure what is going on here, but I am sure I'm going to go on thinking about it, and that we all need to form our own views, discuss them with others, refine them and think again. And really, however unsatisfied I feel at times with the pronouncements of political and religious leaders and with their official policies, the good news is that I live in a part of the world where I can express my views without fear of repercussions in the name of religion or the state. That makes me very lucky.

Mostly Good News

2010-09-16T18:47:00.002+01:00

Remember my lovely nephew and his pre-university woes? I'm delighted to report that he started at university last Sunday, had made friends by Monday, and was generally well settled in by Tuesday. He's busy and happy and generally loving the whole experience. Hurrah!

I've been writing and editing: not my novel, or short stories for my group (naughty me), but other stuff, some perhaps for publication, some for competitions. And I've been enjoying it enormously.

Life has been rather busy, what with one thing and another, and pleasant for me, but not all that interesting for you to read about, I suspect. MOT fail leading to a new car, quick trip to London leading to a possible new client, OU assignments leading to a new course... yes, quite a bit of new stuff, but not new new as such; each a new version of something I'm familiar with. So, nice, but not particularly exciting.

I decided I would blog again next time I had something thought-provoking or entertaining to say, or simply something I want to get off my chest. But the days rolled by and it hasn't happened. So I thought I'd just pop in and say hi.

Hi!

How are you?

(and don't get me started on the Pope, OK?)

A Teeny Weeny Rant

2010-09-07T11:01:00.002+01:00

You know something that bugs me? When non-religious people say, 'It was meant to be.' Because that statement almost always seems to be evidence of lazy, sloppy thinking.

I'm not trying to pick a quarrel with people's beliefs. Some people believe in a Grand Designer Of The Universe (other titles may be used) who has a Plan for Everything. I don't believe that myself, but I'm very happy for other people to hold such beliefs. They may be right; I don't know, and I don't mind not knowing.

However, I often hear the 'it was meant to be' refrain uttered by atheists. And I think, hang on a minute, what are you saying here? 'Meant' by whom, exactly?

For example, I recently came across a woman, at an exploratory business meeting, who I'd known socially some years before and who I knew to be an atheist. As soon as she saw me, she clapped a hand to her heart and declared that the business would definitely go ahead because 'it was meant to be' (presumably, in some kind of not-very-atheist mystical way, because of our previous relationship). In fact, the business didn't go ahead, because she decided to work with one of my competitors instead. So what was 'meant to be'? I submit, your Honour: nuffink.

I think what people may be saying, when they use this phrase, is something like: ooh, look, a coincidence, maybe even a pattern. We are naturally good at recognising patterns, and have been describing them in terms of fate, destiny etc for centuries, so perhaps the phrase isn't so surprising. But it still grates. 'Meant to be.' Not for me.

Shrewsbury Folk Festival

2010-08-31T21:16:00.003+01:00

So, from Friday at 8.30 am to Monday at 8.30 pm I was away at a festival. The website said there would be full wifi coverage, so I decided to blog from the festival, but in the event I couldn't get on the Internet for more than a couple of minutes at a time. So here's a rundown from very recent memory, using Carol's 'six senses' approach. Imagine me sitting in the food tent (like a huge marquee with no sides full of rectangular eight-seater tables and folding chairs) in a grassy field surrounded by morning sunshine, tempting food outlets, interesting people, enjoyable music, and wasps.

I can see:

Stalls advertising all kinds of food: Thai, Indian, a couple of excellent veggie outlets, baked potatoes and baguettes, Welsh, English, Mexican, ice-cream, paella, fuffle (a very sweet confection between fudge and truffle), and the awesome Pie Minister.

A short queue of relaxed people, chatting happily with each other, at every stall.

A portly man in a straw hat, orange shirt, creased dark green linen shorts, black socks and black Morris shoes, talking on a mobile phone.

An boy of 11 or 12, riding a unicycle slowly, with one hand on the saddle and a look of intense concentration.

A lively little blonde girl aged four or five in a pink fairy dress and fairy wings and bare feet, dancing on the grass.

I can hear:

A trio behind me - accordion, fiddle and flute - practising tunes steadily and well (the little blonde girl is dancing to their music)

Three wasps buzzing around my breakfast plate

My eco-friendly wooden knife snapping as I try to cut a fried egg

Chat and laughter

The whirr of a mobility scooter passing by

I can feel:

The heat of the sun on my left shoulder and the cool of the shade on my right thigh

The warmth of the good intentions of other festival-goers

Love for, and from, my friends who are here with me, even the ones who are still asleep

Excitement about the dancing I plan to do, and the gigs I intend to see, today

Everyday cares dissolving in the festival solution

I can touch:

The smooth formica top of the table in front of me

The familiar keys of my laptop

The eco-friendly wooden cutlery, strangely rough to my fingertips

My own smooth sun-warmed shoulder

The wasp taking a swim in my orange juice, if I want to flirt with danger

I can smell:

Barbecue smoke from someone's home-cooked sausages

The brown sauce I poured onto the edge of my veggie fry-up

Shampoo from the freshly-showered head of a passer-by

Bacon frying from the Welsh food stall (free range of course)

Fresh air

I hope that's given you a sense, in a very real way, of my experience. It's a tiny fragment of an enormously stimulating whole. I could tell you so much more: about the delight of exchanging banter with my friends under their gazebo on the bank of the Severn as stately swans floated by; learning Cajun dancing with a good friend (although I have to say the Crippled Chicken nearly crippled me); how glad I was that my Paramour had encouraged me to pack a hot water bottle (I will never camp in England without one again); baked potatoes with goat's cheese and caramelised onions; Gilmore and Roberts and Chuck Brodsky making me cry; Belshazzar's Feast and Chuck Brodsky making me laugh; pogoing in the mosh pit to Bellowhead. It's hard to come down from the festival high and return to everyday life.

A Tale Of Woe With A Happy Ending

2010-08-24T07:38:00.002+01:00

Last Thursday was a remarkably stressful day, even though I don't have any children.

The first distraught teenager was on the phone at 8.30 am in floods of tears. She knew from the UCAS website that she hadn't got good enough results to get into either of her chosen universities. 'I don't know what to do,' she kept wailing. I managed to calm her down and convince her that she couldn't even start thinking about what to do until got to school and found out what her results were. As it turned out, she'd missed it by a whisker, getting A*, A and C instead of two As and a B, and she soon found a place through clearing at her second choice uni for a similar course to the one she'd originally chosen.

The second teenager was very upset because, despite being a diligent student, she only got a B and two Cs. Luckily this was enough to get her into her first choice of uni so she was easy to console. The third, despite getting two As and a B, wasn't happy because he needed three As for his first choice of uni (Leeds), and is now waiting for a remark on the B because apparently nobody from his school got an A in that subject even though several people were predicted to.

By late afternoon it felt as if I'd been fielding phone calls all day, but by then all necessary decisions had been made, resilient youngsters were coming to terms with their situations, and it seemed I could relax. But then I got the worst phone call of all.

Background: my nephew J didn't have an easy time in education. He is an only child and since he was 8 years old he has been a carer for his mother, my sister, who has a long-term disability and until 5 years ago was a single parent. J was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 11; struggled through his secondary school years with undiagnosed coeliac disease and dyspraxia, both of which were finally diagnosed when he was 16; managed to get three good GCSEs (English, Maths and Chemistry), but couldn't cope with A levels at the same time as coming to terms with the lifestyle changes required by his multiple health problems. He's now nearly 24 and has been working for the last 6 years, the last 4 doing shift work in a video rental shop, and over the last 2 years has done a part-time access course at a local FE college. Earlier this year he got a place at university, with an unconditional offer, and at the beginning of last week he left his shop job to concentrate on work experience and academic preparation for going to uni next month. A room in halls had been reserved for him (he needs one of the larger ones, because he has to have a fridge for his insulin) and his step-father had secured it with a deposit of several hundred pounds.

Then on Thursday, just after he'd received his welcome pack in the post, the university rang to say his unconditional offer had been withdrawn because they'd had too many applicants.

J was devastated, but - luckily - determined to fight. He persuaded the administrator to give him a stay of execution, and wrote her a heartfelt email arguing his case. She said he'd get a definite answer within a week. Then on Friday she emailed him to say a letter was in the post, and on Saturday he got the letter. It said the extended foundation course wasn't running this year so he couldn't attend - but that wasn't the course on which he'd been offered a place.

By this point he was both upset and angry. 'I probably shouldn't be, auntie Queenie,' he said. 'Actually, I rather think you should,' I said, feeling pretty damn upset and angry myself. I suggested it was time to email the college Principal, setting out the whole situation and asking her to intervene. He was reluctant at first, fearing that he could be labelled a nuisance before he even got to uni ('if I ever do get there,' he said), where he knows he will need extra support. (This particular uni is very good at that - one reason he chose it in the first place.) But in the end he agreed, and worked on an email through the weekend, with input from other friends and family, until it was really impressive: mature, enthusiastic and business-like.

He still didn't have much hope, and was getting really stressed out. The email was finally sent at about 7.30 pm on Sunday. Within an hour he had a response from the Principal saying she could see there was a problem and would investigate, and giving him her phone number. That was reassuring - at least she was taking him seriously, and was on the case. But it was another 24 nail-biting hours before he got confirmation that there had been an 'administrative error', a full apology from the Principal and the administrator, and an assurance that the place was there for him after all.

Huge relief all round. But it left me thinking, as these situations so often do: what if he'd just accepted the administrator's word in her phone call last Thursday? A different person might well have done so. The papers were full of tales of people not getting into universities, so it seemed quite plausible that his place could be withdrawn. There was some small print on his offer letter which said 'subject to availability'. We tried to console him by saying 'next year', but he said gloomily (and accurately) that it will be even more competitive next year. He could so easily have given up and spent the rest of his life feeling as if he was a reject, on the scrap heap, worthless. I know he's already struggled with those feelings throughout his education for a whole variety of reasons.

I'm so glad he decided to fight for his place. In fact, his refusal to accept rejection is something of an inspiration to me right now. He has a bright future ahead, and I'm very proud of him.

Not much to say...

2010-08-23T06:35:00.003+01:00

...so I am going to refer you to an excellent post by an old blog-friend of mine who writes about how readers can help authors. She makes some very good points which are not made often enough. Go, read, come back, tell me what you think. (Or click away and do something else instead!)

Character Problem

2010-08-18T07:41:00.003+01:00

I've been experiencing a kind of paralysis with my WiP. One-third of the way in at 33,500 words, and with a fair idea of some of the scenes up ahead and a good plan for the ending, I should be churning out 1000 words a day with no trouble at all. But I have found myself to be somewhat stuck.

I had a bit of a re-read and realised I'd committed POV slippage in one chapter. I have three main characters and, for the first draft, they are getting a chapter each in turn. Two are girls and one is a boy. The slippage was in a chapter that should have been from the boy's POV, and somewhere in the middle I began writing in one of the girls' POVs without realising what I was doing.

This began to worry me. I thought maybe the whole thing was complete crap (you know how easy it is to slip into that mindset, right?). So I set up a spreadsheet and did a full re-read of what I'd written so far, and a scene-by-scene analysis of POV and tension levels.

Actually, it's not complete crap. It is a first draft with all the holes and saggy bits you'd expect, but it also has some great ideas and some really good writing. It's not boring, either: there's one chapter which has low tension throughout, so that will need addressing, but I know what to do to make it better. And the pacing is already quite good in the other chapters.

However, I did find another POV slippage, again in a chapter that should have been from the boy's POV, this time into the other girl's POV. This began to worry me. I started thinking about my boy character. Why couldn't I get him to stay in his POV? He is the third of the three characters to arrive 'on stage' - did I not know him well enough? I did some freewriting about him, which was helpful, and a character questionnaire, which was also helpful. But I was still struggling to write from his POV.

I began to feel as if I didn't like him. Really, really didn't like him. Which was daft. He's not a bad lad, although he can be annoying: he's stubborn, wary, fidgets, and tells lies. A slippery customer, so perhaps it's not surprising he slipped out of his own POV chapters. But he's also caring, kind to humans and animals, and he's had a really shit deal from life in the last few years. So why would I not like him? Just because he kept pushing me out of his POV?

Eventually I realised that this is a form of writer madness. My boy was created by my own imagination. He is entirely mine to do with as I please. I can write him out of the book, kill him off as horribly as I like, torture, maim and mutilate him if I want to. Or I can cherish him, surprise him with treats, make his wishes come true. But most of all, I can make him damn well behave and stay in his own damn POV!

Dance Your Way To Psychic Sex

2010-08-05T07:31:00.001+01:00

Alice Turing is a friend of mine who has written a book. I don't usually do book reviews on this blog, but I'm making an exception for Alice, for two reasons.

First, she's had a lousy run of luck lasting several years. Her first novel was published some years ago by a small press who then went bust. She got an agent for her second novel, and he did get her a deal with a big publisher in Germany, but then he turned out not to be very professional so she had to end that relationship. So her first novel is out of print and her second novel is only available in German. The whole experience demoralised her so much that she's given up writing and taken up a new career.

But Alice still felt terribly frustrated that her second novel, although published, couldn't be read by any of her friends or family. So she's publishing it herself. I read and commented on an early draft for her, so I knew it was much better than her first novel. That's the second reason I'm willing to review it here: because it is a really good book.

Dance Your Way To Psychic Sex is a difficult book to categorise. It's a contemporary novel which is neither literary nor commercial, as those terms are generally understood. It is anarchic, hilarious, and very readable. The characters are unusual, their relationships convoluted, and they spend most of their time misunderstanding each other. The book contains a strong element of farce, yet it also makes serious points about belief, cults, religion, happiness, lies and truth. It's clever without being pompous or patronising; funny without being puerile; thought-provoking without being hard work. I enjoyed it enormously.

A great deal of effort has gone into the production of this book. It will be a beautiful object to own, containing a memorable, compelling story. All that for only a tenner. I strongly recommend that you head over to Alice's website and get yourself a copy. And if you can't justify the expense for yourself - or even if you can - it would make an excellent gift for anyone who likes an entertaining read that is a bit out of the ordinary.

Drive To Succeed

2010-08-01T08:39:00.003+01:00

Despite my gender, I'm good at navigation. My father taught me to read and use maps when I was very young, and I soon became the family navigator. I don't think it ever occurred to him that I might not be able to navigate, so I guess he transmitted that confidence to me. Thanks, Dad!

Despite his gender, my Paramour is a bit rubbish at navigation. Not completely hopeless, but inclined to make mistakes, and his sense of direction isn't great. He had no ego problems about handing over the task to me, and early in our relationship he dubbed me his 'demon navigatrix'.

When sat navs became commonplace, neither of us was particularly bothered about getting one. My smug view was that they were for people who couldn't find their toilet without a 'sat lav', and his smug view was that he didn't need one because he'd got me. A little while ago, when I was stuck on the sofa for a few months with health problems, he kept getting lost and decided to order a sat nav - but the company he chose to order from couldn't find our house to deliver the sat nav (yes, really!) so he gave that up as a bad job.

A couple of months ago my Paramour decided he had to get a sat nav for work reasons (not to find his way to places - some techie thing to do with one of his clients and some software, and that's all I know). This coincided with our trip to France, so we decided to get one which included the French road system. I was very dubious about the idea of surrendering control to a machine, but the sat nav quickly proved useful in helping tired people negotiate French town centres at the end of a long day's driving.

We tried various voices and decided the Irish man had the most soothing tones. He's very deadpan and repeats himself a lot, so our sat nav is now called Dougal, after the character in Father Ted. My relationship with Dougal is developing differently from my Paramour's. I'm happy to let Dougal help, but I don't entirely trust him - quite often I know better than he does, like when I can see the roundabout in front of me that he doesn't think exists - and I won't use a route he suggests without cross-checking its sensibleness with a map, some real-time traffic information, and my own knowledge of road systems. So when Dougal suggested going from the Midlands to south-east London via Camden and the West End of London, he was immediately over-ruled, because I know from experience that the M25 and the Blackwall Tunnel is a much quicker route.

My Paramour, on the other hand, is happy to let Dougal decide his route. But I discovered yesterday that he has his own point of resistance. We were travelling together, chatting, with Dougal making pronouncements in the background. At one point Dougal said 'keep in the left-hand lane.' My Paramour was driving in the right-hand lane. I looked at the road sign we were passing, and saw that if he didn't change lanes we'd end up going the wrong way.

'Sweetheart,' I said, 'Dougal says you need to be in the left-hand lane.'

My Paramour continued to drive in the right-hand lane.

'He was very firm about it,' I said.

'That's the trouble,' my Paramour said. 'When Dougal gets firm about things, it makes me feel rebellious.'

On that basis, I don't think having a sat nav is going to help him much.

Catching Up With Myself

2010-07-26T20:39:00.004+01:00

Life seems to have been non-stop since I came back from holiday. Work deadines, family obligations, friends in need for all sorts of reasons, not to mention domestic trivia and various bits of socialising, have all conspired to fill every waking moment. I've felt hugely frustrated about the lack of time to get on with writing and studying, aka what I really want to do.

But in the last 36 hours, life has eased up. I had a lovely weekend in Oxford, staying with a dear friend who was on top form because she's just landed the job of her dreams. We celebrated on Saturday night at Jamie's Italian restaurant, pushing out every boat we could find. I know you like a good menu, so here it is. We started with prosecco (for me) and a Bellini (for her). Then we shared gorgeous huge green olives on cracked ice with tapenade and flatbread; a mixed veg starter (various titbits of perfect cheese, salad, and marinaded grilled veg); and fabulous polenta chips with rosemary and sea salt. We started a bottle of excellent Merlot with that lot, and finished it with prosciutto, pear and pecorino salad, with truffle chips, for her; char-grilled free-range chicken, garlic and parsley chips, and Swiss chard with garlic and capers for me. Then she had an affogato (vanilla ice-cream with a hot espresso poured over it - she asked for a decaff one) and I had a perfectly silky pannacotta with seasonal fruits (mostly strawberries, which was fine by me) and a glass of dessert rose wine. My friend asked for a sip, and then promptly demanded a glass for herself. After that we rolled gently back to hers, and finished the evening with her housemate, a bottle of fair-trade sparkling wine, some scrumptious goodies from Hotel Chocolat, and a Dennis The Menace board game.

I slept like a log, woke inspired, and wrote 1000 words before breakfast. Then another 1000 on the train home in the afternoon, and another 1000 this morning. Not only that, but I've made good progress with both my OU courses today, as well as meeting a work deadline and getting a few other jobs ticked off my list including subbing a short story. I love times like this! It's like the bit on the motorway where you've been stuck in the traffic jam for ages and suddenly it all frees up and you can zoom along at 70 mph again. (I could offer a more scatological analogy but, ever mindful that this is a family blog, I shall resist the temptation.)

A Thing I Don't Understand

2010-07-21T07:32:00.003+01:00

Yes, I know this could be the first in a series of 493826473892837 posts. But don't worry, it's a one-off.

Here's the thing. Why do politicians work hard to become governors of this country, and then slag it off?

I'm so fed up with hearing about 'broken Britain'; that we're all passive people living in soulless communities; that our communities need organisers who will chivvy us all into doing voluntary work and taking control of our neighbourhood services.

You know what? In the Britain I have lived in all my life, my family members, friends, and neighbours have mostly been active, powerful people, doing large quantities of formal and informal voluntary work, and running lots of neighbourhood services themselves. Everything from sports clubs to play and stay groups, fund-raisers for - or in memory of - individuals to big community events. But this seems to count for nothing where the politicians are concerned.

It's odd that Britain has such a miserable image to its residents. I'm not saying it's a perfect society. How could it be? It's made up of human beings, and none of us are perfect. Yes, there are problems: unemployment, anti-social behaviour, domestic violence - the list goes on. But, the whole country, 'broken'? When we have a world class national health service, an excellent education system, a thriving third sector, reasonable public transport in most places, good and mostly well maintained roads... yes, again, I know none of these things are perfect. Everyone has their stories of a doctor who didn't listen, or a nurse who didn't care, or a teacher who couldn't teach, or a school that wasn't user-friendly, a charity that couldn't help, a village where there are no buses, or a great big pothole. But that doesn't mean the whole of our society is broken. Look at Zimbabwe, Yemen, Somalia. Those are, arguably, broken societies. Bits of our society may be dented - the bodywork needs attention and it could do with a full oil service - but it's not broken; in fact, it's still driving along, and shouldn't have any trouble getting through its next MOT.

What I see in our society is people living effective lives and helping each other in a myriad of ways. I see single parents, people with illness and/or disability, and those who are out of work getting support from all quarters. I see people who would help each other in a heartbeat, and do - and who don't think that's anything special. I see organisations offering help for practically everything, much of that help free to the people who are most in need.

I'd like to see our politicians acknowledging some of the many, many positive aspects of our society. Apart from anything else, the way they've been talking over the last few months is hardly motivational. Imagine the MD of a big business saying to the staff, 'this business is broken, you're all passive and soulless, and your work is useless crap.' Would that encourage staff to work much harder, or demoralise them so they make less effort? Bit of a no-brainer, really.

But this is just my view. What do you think? Is Britain 'broken' and full of miserable, alienated people, or do we live in a society that functions really quite well for most of its members, most of the time?

My Holiday

2010-07-13T12:49:00.000+01:00

This was our estate

with beautiful gardens

and stunning walks from the front door

and a National Park ten minutes' drive away

full of beautiful mountains and valleys and waterfalls and rivers

Blimey, but the Alps are big! Which is not great when you're scared of heights, and depths, and tunnels, and anything precipitous. So beautiful, though, and we had a great time: very relaxing. I did no writing, because I didn't want to, but am pleased to announce that, since I got back, I've hit the 30,000 word mark. Yay for me!

Having Too Much Fun To Blog

2010-06-14T12:04:00.002+01:00

Last weekend my house was full of writer friends, laughter and sunshine. Next weekend it's my birthday, and the weekend after that I'm going on holiday with my Paramour for ten days of self-indulgence in France. This month is packed with treats, I'm not sure I deserve it but I'm certainly not complaining. And among it all, I have managed to hit 25K on the WIP. Progress feels slow but, hey, at least it's progress.

Can't stop, gotta go do more fun stuff! Hope you're all having as much fun as me. Will be back at some point - probably in early July for a whinge about how all the fun is over!!

The Second Highlight Of My Holidays

2010-06-09T08:29:00.003+01:00

I spent a fabulous sunny day at Predator Experience with my nephew. He's due to start an Animal Management degree course in the autumn, so they tailored the day to cover aspects of falconry care as well as experience of handling and flying. It was fascinating! They're not a standard-issue falconry centre, they work by appointment only, so you get the undivided attention of the very experienced and knowledgeable falconers. My nephew asked questions ALL DAY and they didn't seem fazed or irritated, in fact they welcomed all our questions, even the ones which must seem really dozy to them. The only drawback was that the weather was so hot and sunny that some of the birds didn't want to fly - but then none of them fly in the rain, and they have such a variety of birds that there are always some which will fly in any dry conditions. I'd recommend them highly for anyone who fancies having a go: it's not cheap, but it really is an astonishing way to spend a day. So here are some pictures of hot birds for your enjoyment!

Me and Johnny the Caracara

Can't remember this one's name or type, but she was an old bird (don't say 'which one?', cheeky!) and very friendly. To either side of us you can see two baths, put out for the harrier hawks on the adjacent perches.

It's not every day you get to run a bath for an arthritic steppe eagle called Gorby.

And this is Ben, the golden eagle, taking a day-old chick from my glove. I needed support from the falconer because the eagle glove alone weighs a pound, then the eagle with his six-foot wingspan adds another eight pounds to that, which is a lot to hold on your outstretched wrist when you're not used to it.

What an amazing day that was! I shall never forget it.

The First Highlight Of My Holidays

2010-06-06T10:10:00.000+01:00

I had a great time hanging out with my family in the sunshine last week, and there were two real highlights. The first was the amazing bookshop in Carnforth, with new books on the ground floor and over 100,000 second-hand books on the first and second floors. The second-hand books are housed in a warren of small rooms with uneven floors and labels like Poetry; Railways And Transport; Religion And Spirituality; Science Fiction, Fantasy And Crime. They even have a section for sheet music. I can't believe my family have lived in the area for almost 30 years and I've never been to this bookshop before.

I browsed for a while, going 'ooh!' and 'aah!', as you would, then I thought about my addiction to how-to books. I couldn't work out where they might be, so I asked the gentle, bearded, bespectacled man at the desk. He led me through several rooms to a dusty shelf by a window. There were several books I recognised from my collection and, whoop-de-whoop, a few that were new to me. Among these I found two gems.

The first has a garish colour, with the title How to Write a Mi££ion in big gold writing, then subtitle The Complete Guide To Becoming A Successful Author in red and a banner proclaiming 'Methods that Really work! Yeah, what a load of crapola, I thought, but couldn't resist having a look anyway. Inside were three separate books: Plot by Ansen Dibell, Characters And Viewpoint by Orson Scott Card, and Dialogue by Lewis Turco. Attentive readers of this blog will remember that Orson Scott Card is a writer for whom I have huge respect, but what excited me most, even though I'd never heard of the other two authors, was the 163 pages on Plot.

I find plotting one of the most difficult aspects of writing. It seems many other people do too, even experienced writers, even writing tutors: the thousands of pages in my how-to collection only contain a handful on plot. I'm reading my new book avidly, and it's fascinating and instructive. It's also available for 1p on Amazon if anyone's interested (plus the £2.75 postage charge, of course). I paid £3, so was 24p down on the deal, but I don't care because (a) it's important to support independent bookshops and (b), oh wait, you need the backstory for (b) so here goes.

The second book I bought is even more fabulous. It's The Short Story by Sean O'Faolain. For those who haven't come across him, Mr O'Faolain (1900-1991) was a marvellous exponent of the literary short story, with a terrific command of language, a great sense of humour and a wonderful narrative voice. I had no idea he'd written a how-to book. His writing style seems old-fashioned, but in a charming, gentlemanly way which, for me, is a pleasure to read. I have a couple of recent how-to books on short stories, both of which are useful but they concentrate more on the commercial than the literary story. That's fine, because I see myself more as a commercial than a literary writer, but I'm sure Sean O'Faolain has a great deal to teach me.

This book was priced at £3.50, but when I got to the desk with my two books, the lovely beardy man said 'We'll call that six quid then.' Apparently this is their usual practice. Which brings us back to (c), because The Short Story is available used on Amazon from £17.96 (plus postage of course). So not only did I find two books that I'm very pleased to have in my collection, but my newly-acquired mathematical skills enable me to work out that I've beaten Amazon Marketplace by £17.47!

Details of the second highlight will come in the next post and, for the first time in ages, there will be photos.

Three Credits And A Debit

2010-05-31T15:18:00.003+01:00

Well, it's been an up-and-down few days. On the plus side, I've written another 5000 words and am now up to 20K or one-fifth of the planned first draft. I do hate cranking out the words, though - I much prefer editing and re-structuring and polishing. But I can't have one without the other, so it's got to be done.

On the minus side, our new Government has pulled the funding from one of the longer-term work projects I'm doing. This is its second year and the project was supposed to run until the end of next March, but they've now said it has to finish by the end of June. It's a project which was set up as a pilot by the previous Government, in a handful of deprived areas around the country, to gather information about why some of the most disadvantaged families don't use free public services such as doctors, schools, libraries etc. I'm only involved in one area, but they've been doing some terrific work and gathering some really useful information; I think it's a great shame it's closing. I know there's a big deficit and many cuts have to be made, but you can't fix a deficit quickly, the project was due to finish next March anyway, and I think it's shortsighted to cut it sooner which effectively wastes the money that's already been spent on it because it won't have time to realise its full potential. The effect on me personally isn't that bad - I'm only losing promised work, and I expect something else will come along to fill the gap - but it's absolutely dreadful for all the people who are going to be out of work in a month's time instead of in 10 months' time.

On the plus side, I've caught up with the backlog of work on my OU accounting course, and am now in the week I'm supposed to be in. Which is just as well, because I start the maths course this week, so will be running the two together for the next couple of months. I'm doing OK on the accounting course - have only been reduced to tears once so far - although some of the language perplexes and confuses me. For example, when you receive money from a debtor you debit the bank to increase it and credit the debtors to decrease, but when you refund money to a debtor you credit the bank to decrease and debit the debtors to increase. After a few rounds of 'credit the debtors and debit the creditors' I start to feel as if I'm in some kind of nightmare Gilbert and Sullivan world.

And a third plus is that I've been invited to a friend's daughter's 18th birthday party this evening, and I'm off up north first thing tomorrow to spend a few days with my family. I'm really looking forward to having a few days off, starting any minute now. I'll be taking my laptop away with me, but I won't be online much and I'm only going to write if I feel like writing. A proper break! Hurrah!

Della Galton: Critique And Speak

2010-05-26T11:26:00.002+01:00

When I was going through my recent writing-related doldrums, I decided I needed to take some positive action. So, quaking in my boots at my own temerity, I approached the rather terrifying doyenne of womag writing, Della Galton, about her Critique and Speak service. To my surprise, she seemed happy to take me on, so I chose a story that I knew wasn't working very well, sent it off with a cheque, and waited for her response.

I wasn't sure what I'd signed up for. I knew I was going to get a critique, but given that no critique I've ever had of a book-length work has run to more than 8 pages, I figured a short paragraph was all I was likely to receive. And probably quite a stern paragraph, at that.

I couldn't have been more wrong. Two full pages of critique arrived, with headings covering every aspect of the story including its title. Della praised some aspects of my writing, and gently explained where she thought I might be able to make improvements. Each of her suggestions made perfect sense.

Then we had the 'speak' part. I was nervous all over again, but you know what? Della's not scary at all! She's really friendly, and kind, and helpful! It was fantastic to be able to ask her questions, and she is certainly an expert.

Della's input has given me a boost and increased my confidence. She's helped me work out that I need to take more time over my stories: my fortnightly short story group deadlines are great for helping me churn out first drafts, but the impulse to follow up with submissions sometimes gets in the way of me polishing stories enough. She also suggested that I need to create more multi-dimensional characters, raise the stakes for my characters, and use more scenes in my stories. She gave me some great tips about how to generate ideas in the first place, how to build on those ideas, and how to come up with endings that have real impact. Our chat was relaxed and unhurried: we discussed the market, writers' groups, novels and non-fiction, and dogs versus cats. I'm sure we'd have got onto shoes, food, holidays etc if we'd been on the phone much longer.

I may well use Della's service again in the future, with a different type of story. The people in my short story group give excellent critiques and I couldn't do without them, but I did find it useful to have an independent and more detailed view of one of my stories, and a discussion of the strengths and weaknesses of my writing. So if any of you are feeling unconfident, or have a story that's not really working and you're not sure why, or just want a second (or twenty-second) opinion, I would highly recommend Della's Critique And Speak.

I Sold A Story!

2010-05-24T15:59:00.002+01:00

I haven't had a sale since early autumn, so the email telling me The Weekly News wants to buy one of my stories was very welcome indeed. I know rejection is part of the writer's lot, but rejection after rejection after rejection, from editors and agents, can be tough at times. I'm a fairly confident person, determined to persevere, and I expect many more rejections than acceptances - but even so, at times over recent months I've felt really down and wondered what the world would lose if I gave up writing altogether. As it happens, the world would lose very, very little - but I would lose a lot, because really I love writing for its own sake, and can't stop doing it, even when quitting seems like a good idea. Remembering that is the key, I think - but a little external validation now and then is SUCH a help. So now I feel all happy, and pleased with myself, and cheerful.

My workload has calmed down, too, so life is sweet right now, especially as the sun is shining. Although apparently it's going to be much cooler tomorrow... when my new barbecue is due to be delivered... typical!!

Bit Pete Tong

2010-05-21T17:35:00.002+01:00

This week didn't go according to plan, because I got two lurgies at once (good organisational skills, great time management!) and had to take to my bed for the best part of two whole days. Most unusual for me. Then of course I had a backlog of work, when I still wasn't really fit, so the writing had to go by the board. Apart from the 1000 words I managed on Monday morning, before I succumbed, and the short story I drafted last night. Not much output for a working week - but then again, not bad in the circumstances.

Also not bad in the circumstances is the contract I won this morning (hurrah!) and the other piece of work a long-standing and much-loved client has asked me to do, which isn't in the bag yet, but there's nobody else in the frame so it should go ahead unless they change their minds or develop budget difficulties or something (has been known to happen, but rare). As a self-employed person, it's always good to have a few months of job security ahead, even if it does mean less time for writing.

I've got a busy weekend ahead with friends and family, but will be back on my 1000 words a day next week, and will keep you up to date with my progress.

A Thing About Agents

2010-05-17T07:41:00.002+01:00

Over the last few years of submitting my work to agents, I've made it my business to learn as much as I can about how they work. I read agents' blogs, listen carefully when I meet them at courses or events, and question other authors about their experiences with agents. Among other things, I know that not all agents will read unsolicited submissions; those that do will always give priority to their existing clients; and even when your work shows promise, if they don't want to take it on - whatever the reason - you are most likely to get a standard rejection letter. I also know that different agents have different submission requirements and that it's best to comply with whatever they ask for, even if you think your work would be better presented in a different way.

I'm fine with all of that. Agents are businesspeople and have every right to run their businesses in the way that works best for them. But there's one agent who has a policy that rankles. This agent accepts email submissions (hurrah) but states that if you haven't had a reply within eight weeks, you can take that as a rejection.

The more I think about this, the more it seems both lazy and discourteous. I regularly have to send out email rejections in the course of my own business. The wording is something like 'Thank you for the opportunity to tender for this interesting piece of work. Unfortunately we don't have the necessary capacity to undertake the project, but please do think of us again in the future. We wish you the very best of luck in finding a researcher to meet your needs.' It takes less than 10 seconds to copy, paste, and send.

I know that people who ask me to tender for work have often invested a lot of time and energy in finding the funds and preparing the brief. OK, sometimes the email is more of a lie than a truth, and if I was being honest, I'd say something like 'There is no way I'm tendering for your rat's nest of a project. The brief looks as if it was the result of an argument, you clearly have no idea what you actually want a researcher to do, it will end up being a nightmare project with tentacles that will take over my life, and what's more your budget is woefully small, so please go away.' Similarly I'm sure if agents were always honest, some of their rejections would say something like 'For goodness' sake stop writing immediately because you have no hope of ever getting published, and if you won't take my advice, at least stop sending submissions to this agency.' Others might be more positive. In fact, I know they are, because I've had kindly personalised responses from agents, both on this book and on previous ones.

But no response at all? Why? Surely even writers whose submissions are utterly dreadful deserve a few seconds of someone's time to send them two lines of acknowledgement of their effort, their hopes, their dreams.

Looky Looky Look!

2010-05-14T09:45:00.004+01:00

At my word counter, that is - 1000 words/day this week, 15,000 total. Go me!

It's been a much saner week, on the whole. I did have two unexpected disputes to deal with, in different areas of my work, that I could have done without. I wasn't on the receiving end of either dispute, but in both I was in a position to help with conflict resolution, which meant I had to deploy tact. I don't really do tact, and I now know that it's particularly hard when I want to bang people's silly heads together.

The other thing that's been slightly taxing is that a number of my friends seem to be having horrible problems and are in need of support and TLC. I've got two relationship breakdowns (and in one, I'm friends with both people), two dying fathers, two major health problems, one imminent redundancy, and a family rift. There are probably others but those are the people I'm providing most support to right now. Odd how these things come in phases, isn't it?

On the plus side, it's Friday, and I have three girlfriends coming for dinner tonight, all of whom are happy right now. I've planned a fab menu: smoked salmon and cream cheese canapes (with extra-dry Prosecco to drink); mixed vegetable gratin (leek, butternut squash, cauliflower and spinach) with ricotta custard and Parmesan, and steamed new potatoes with fresh mint (and organic Shiraz); chocolate chunk lemon drizzle cake with creme fraiche (and Muscat de Beaumes de Venise). Ooh I'm so looking forward to it!

Then I have a quiet weekend ahead. I have a meeting tomorrow afternoon, and I need to go to the gym at some point, but the rest of the time will be spent writing and studying. I'm hoping to churn out another 5000 words of my book this weekend, 2500 per day; not sure whether I can, but it's worth a try. I also need to do one book submission and several short story submissions; critique six short stories for my short story group; and critique two chapters of a book for a friend. And I would like to make a start on my OU accounting course, as the course materials arrived on Wednesday - I'm trepidatious about this, but I know I'll feel better once I get going.

A weekend which is mostly devoted to writing and studying is my idea of a good weekend. What's your idea of a good weekend? Whatever it is, I hope you've got one coming up.

Ooh That Was A Lovely Weekend

2010-05-09T20:39:00.002+01:00

So I went off to London last Thursday afternoon, as tired as I've been in a long time. I landed at Good Friend's house at around 5.30 and had a cup of tea with her before she had to go to a meeting. GF's Teenage Daughter was back from school, so I made some food while TD revised for her A levels, then we ate and gossiped together until GF came home.

On Friday GF had a couple of meetings during the day so I met another old friend for a gorgeous south Indian lunch and more gossiping. Then in the evening, to recover from the elections and their aftermath, GF, TD and I indulged ourselves in pizza and profiteroles. (TD made us laugh by warming her profiteroles in the microwave. They go soggy and sad. Not recommended.) GF and I made copious plans for Saturday, involving Oyster cards, art galleries and cafes, and went to bed feeling all anticipatory.

Only on Saturday we both overslept, and it was cold and rainy, and we went through the motions of getting up and dressed and breakfasted, and then we looked at each other and admitted we didn't really want to go out or, indeed, do anything. So GF popped to the shop for a newspaper, then came back and lit her fire, and we declared it an honorary Sunday - complete with afternoon naps and long-drawn-out roast dinner. It was very restful and just what I needed.

On Sunday morning I began writing this fortnight's short story, and I finished it on the train home in the afternoon. I haven't done any work on my WIP over the weekend, but you know what? I don't care, because I was so very tired that I needed to rest more than I needed to write.

Next week, however, will be a different story.

Prophetic? Moi?

2010-05-06T07:16:00.002+01:00

Two book rejections this week, with a short story rejection thrown in, which makes me feel a little like Cassandra, the ancient Greek prophet who went around intoning 'Doom, Danger and Woe!' But still, in the spirit of keeping on keeping on, I've sent off two more submissions. And if I run out of agents, I'll submit my work to publishers. And today, I'll be boosting the word count on the WIP again. Yesterday I read through what I've written so far and decided it was a load of garbage, so it must be a proper first draft. Since then my characters have been taking on their own lives in my head again which, for me, is one of the fun parts.

The last chunk of manic paid work is almost over - just this morning to finish up a few odds and ends, then I'm off to London for a long weekend to hang out with friends, dear friends who get up late so I can write in the mornings (my best time) and I also have two train journeys which I often find good for writing. So I should be back to my 1000 words a day, most days, habit from now on.

Keeping On Keeping On

2010-05-03T17:47:00.003+01:00

The thing about this writing business is, you have to know you're in it for the long haul. Yes, there are people who write a book in three months and sell it in three weeks, but they are very rare. Five agents have now had my submission for a month or more, and in one case over two months. I wasn't surprised not to hear from anyone in April, what with Easter, the London Book Fair, and that pesky volcano. But now I'm starting to watch my inbox again: I reckon I should hear something from someone this month, if only another of those nice rejections. Most of all, though, I know I need to keep on keeping on. And as my paid work recedes, towards the end of the week, I'm hoping to get back to churning out some more words for my current WIP.

This week, I read an inspirational tale about one writer's amazing tenacity. I'm hoping it won't take me quite so long - but his story has made me more determined than ever to keep going, not to give up, to persevere.

I've Done It Now

2010-04-29T16:30:00.002+01:00

I had a chat with my Paramour about my mathematical incompetence (remember?). He kindly helped me work out that one of the things I'd like to achieve is a better understanding of my company accounts. (Yes, it is perfectly possible to run a successful business while being numerically inept - especially if you have a handy Paramour to help you with that side of things, as mine does for me.) Then he pointed out that learning about maths isn't terribly helpful in getting your head around company accounts; for that, it would make more sense to learn about accounting and book-keeping. To which I am equally allergic.

Finding myself with a spare few minutes this afternoon, I did some more investigation of OU courses. Lo and behold, they offer an introduction to book-keeping and accounting as well as their introduction to maths. What's more, the accounting course starts next week, and the maths course starts a month later. So guess who's just signed up for TWO courses for the numerically challenged?

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

Busy Busy Busy

2010-04-27T06:30:00.002+01:00

This week is so full that I have no time to write. (Yes, I could squeeze in half an hour here and there, but am not prepared to put myself under that much pressure when work is so demanding.) But I keep having ideas. At the gym... in the bath... driving between assignments... almost any time I'm not actively thinking about other things.

Write your ideas down, wise people will say. But you know what? I never actually do that. I don't own a paper notebook. I tried writing ideas down for a while, way back, because all the proper writers seemed to do it. But it doesn't work for me. Last week's idea seems trite, while last month's idea doesn't even make sense any more. Even a paragraph mapping out a short story will seem unappetising if I return to it after a few days - like going to the kitchen, hungry for a sandwich, and finding only mouldy bread.

Perhaps this is partly why I'm not a great planner. Having said that, some ideas stick in my mind over months, even years, until I want to use them. I don't worry about non-stick ideas because I can usually generate new ones. Then again, maybe I re-generate old ones that just feel like new ones, who knows? Who cares!

Do you write down your ideas and use them later, or trust your creativity in the moment, or a bit of both?

Walking The Writer's Tightrope

2010-04-23T16:58:00.004+01:00

I read somewhere this week (I'm sorry I can't remember where - if anybody knows, please leave a comment and I'll add a credit) that writers have to be able to hold two contradictory ideas in their heads at all times. These are, to the best of my remembering:

1. I am a good writer, good enough that it's worth me working hard to write and to submit my writing for publication.
2. I am a bad writer, I need to be working hard to improve my writing and my submissions for publication.

Notice the phrase that's the same in both ideas? Yep - it's "working hard."

This resonated with me. I need to believe I'm good at writing to give me the confidence to keep writing and sending out story and book submissions in the teeth of regular rejections. I also need to believe I'm bad at writing, so I don't think my first drafts consist of deathless prose and therefore develop hideous arrogance which would mean I NEVER get an agent - and so that I keep working to improve my skills and abilities. Maintaining both beliefs feels a bit like walking a tightrope: I wobble between one and the other.

Working hard at writing involves further balancing acts. It's not as much of a struggle for me to prioritise writing as it is for many people. I don't have children, or adult dependents; I work for myself, so I can take time to write during office hours if I'm not too busy with jobs for clients; I don't have to work full time, so sometimes I can award myself whole writing days or weeks. I'm good at time management, organisation, motivation. Yet still, sometimes, it's difficult.

I think this is partly because I'm impatient. Eight thousand words into my first draft (in ten days! Lookee lookee at the word counter!!) and I can't wait to be finished. Yet I know it's no good rushing (and if I ever forget this, Debi's voice kindly appears in my head to remind me). But I had such a lovely plan. I was going to write 1000 words per day, up to and including today, which would give me 10,000 words. Then this weekend, when I have no work or social commitments, I was going to write 2500 words each day, to make up for next week when I won't have time to write anything. That would give me 15,000 words to leave alone for a week and then review.

So why is the word counter still at 8000 words? Because yesterday I had an email outage which required several hours of extra work to deal with, and there was no slack in the system. And I was completely knackered. And today has been very full-on, so I haven't written any words today either. Instead, I revised my plan to 1000 words a day over the weekend, and ending up a week behind schedule on the WIP, with only 10,000 words to review after a week.

It really doesn't matter. Looked at objectively, the world would lose nothing if I stopped writing altogether. In fact, it might gain: I'd have more time for my family and friends (although I'd be so crabby that they probably wouldn't be very appreciative), for myself, for my paid work and for my voluntary work. If being a week behind my (self-imposed) schedule leaves me less knackered and better able to face the Week From Hell next week, that will be a good thing. After this weekend, I won't be back to my WIP until Monday 3rd May at the earliest, as I have to work straight through next weekend. And I worked straight through last weekend. So this weekend I think I need a break more than I need the satisfaction of an enormous word count.

This again necessitates holding two more completely contradictory ideas in my head:

1. I must work hard to finish my WIP in a timely manner.
2. It doesn't matter how long I take to write my WIP.

I often find it hard to get the balance right between these two ideas. I'm sure impatience is partly to blame here, too. I spent so many years writing my last book, I can't bear to think it'll be that many again for this one - even though I know it might. Judging from the experiences of friends, if I ever get published, I'll need to write a book a year, so it would be useful to get the hang of writing more quickly. But here's another writerly paradox:

1. I must set myself deadlines and stick to them
2. I must be flexible about my deadlines when the need arises

Aarrgghh!!!!! All of these are doing my head in!

How do you walk the writer's tightrope?

Feeling Lucky

2010-04-20T08:27:00.002+01:00

My retired parents take several holidays a year. They're on holiday right now - in Scotland, where they went by car.

A couple of months ago, my Paramour and I decided to try to arrange our own holiday. 'What would your choice be?' I asked. 'Greece, end of April or beginning of May,' he said. We consulted our diaries, couldn't find a mutually acceptable week till June, had an argument about whose fault that was (his, obviously), sulked for a bit, and eventually decided on France at the end of June, by car.

My brother-in-law was due to fly into the UK from his home in Canada today, to spend a week with the family before attending a work-related conference over here the following week. Of course we're sorry not to see him, but he's much better off stuck at home than stuck abroad or in transit as so many other unfortunate people are.

We are so, so lucky.

Taking A Plunge

2010-04-17T16:47:00.004+01:00

Academically, I've always been a high achiever at the arts and humanities end of the curriculum, and hopeless at maths and science. I enjoyed maths and science till I went to senior school. I dropped all three science subjects when it was time to choose my O levels, but I had to do maths. I was in the O level class with a teacher who was undoubtedly a very nice woman, and probably a fine mathematician, but not a good teacher. If I asked for help with something I didn't understand, she would explain it exactly the same way as she'd explained it the first time, only louder. The volume wasn't the problem, so this didn't help.

Once when she was off sick, the CSE teacher took our class. He was great! If I didn't get something, he explained it as many different ways as it took for me to grasp the concept! I asked if I could move to the CSE class. No, they said, you're a high achiever, you're capable of O level. Not with this teacher, I muttered, and anyway, grade 1 CSE is supposedly equivalent to an O level so what's the difference? That didn't get me anywhere.

I developed a fear of maths, and a conviction that I couldn't do much beyond basic arithmetic. So I failed maths O level. Several times. The last time I sat the exam, I used the time to catch up on my letter-writing. I told myself I didn't care: I knew enough to work out my change, read a timetable, divide a restaurant bill. That was all I needed.

Fast forward 29 years and you find me beginning to feel slightly interested in science. I had a look at OU introductory science courses, but they all say you need basic maths. Eek. Gulp. The OU also offers a basic maths course. I had a look, in some trepidation, and found that the student reviews were helpful. 'Did you feel stupid in maths classes at school?' Yup. 'This course doesn't make you feel like that.' Really? 'The tutor was so helpful.' Hmmm. 'The course makes maths relevant to everyday life.' Ooh!

So I think I'm going to sign up. It's scary, though.

My father was always afraid to learn to swim. (Stay with me, this is relevant.) He didn't like to go in water if it was more than knee deep. I have an abiding memory of childhood holidays where he would sit in the sea up to his chest, put on my swimming mask and crane his face forward into the water to look at the fish. After he retired, he decided to face his fear, and signed up for a course at the local swimming pool. He was in there with a load of kids, holding on to a polystyrene float and kicking his legs behind him. The day he swam a width unaided, he rang to tell me of his achievement. I was, and am, hugely proud of him.

My brain tells me I should be equally proud of myself for facing my fear of maths. But I don't feel proud, I feel silly and nervous and frightened of failure. Which is daft! What's the worst thing that can happen? Nobody will tell me off, or dock my salary, or stop being my friend, or sack me from my job.

And still, and still.

People, eh? What Are We Like?!

Guess What I Did Today

2010-04-14T19:57:00.003+01:00

Another writing day today. Three short stories edited and subbed, then a trip to the gym, and then it was time to think about my new WIP.

I did some more work with the Snowflake Method on Monday. I'd done the first three steps fairly diligently, so I started on step 4, but found myself unable to follow the instructions. I wanted to write more than a paragraph per sentence. Much more. So I did, and found that within a couple of hours I'd sketched out the first half, maybe two-thirds of the book.

Also on Monday, I found myself in a large and seductive branch of Waterstones. I gravitated, as always, to the creative writing section. Did you know I'm a 'how to' writing book addict? I must have read dozens. Thing is, I learn something from each book. I re-read the best ones, too, and learn something new every time. I find them immensely useful if I feel stuck, a few pages of a good one usually gets me going again in no time.

Monday wasn't too bad; I only bought two. One was 'No Plot? No Problem!' by Chris Baty, the founder of NaNoWriMo. I've never done NaNo, but I've followed the progress of those who do, and always find it fascinating. Chris Baty's book is excellent. He argues eloquently in favour of planning - but against overplanning, which he says can block writers. This was really useful for me.

The other book I bought was 'How To Write Science Fiction And Fantasy' by one of my heroes of the genre, Orson Scott Card. I'm halfway through this and it's inspiring.

Some of your answers to the questions in my previous post were also very helpful. Beleaguered Squirrel said 'My current thinking is that it's best to plan a broad outline but avoid getting too mired in detail, which then gives you room to breathe and be inventive within secure boundaries.' SueG, who has tried the Snowflake method, said 'I thought it was helpful, but I had to be very flexible with it. I had to use some bits of the process and not others, I had to be willing to make changes while I was going, etc. And that worked fine.' And Cathy said 'I guess it's a case of playing around to see what works best for you.'

So do you know what I did today? I wrote the first 1000 words of my new WIP! Word meter over on the right, thanks to the lovely Leigh. I thoroughly enjoyed it, too. Such a feeling of satisfaction - not better than chocolate, or sex, or selling a story, but a kind of calm excited completeness that is different from anything else. I hope I can sustain that feeling for a while, although previous experience leads me to suspect that at some point I'll be back here wailing that my story doesn't make sense, the characters are misbehaving, writing books is too hard, and so on. But for now - I'm happy.

Writing And Planning

2010-04-11T16:50:00.003+01:00

Today is a lovely, lovely writing day. Not an enormously productive one but nevertheless very enjoyable. I began by finishing the first draft of a short story for my writers' group to look at this week. Then our overnight guests got up, so I stopped writing and joined them in a leisurely sociable breakfast. After they left I went back to bed, re-read a short book from cover to cover (my very favourite way to read), and then had a nap. I should have been born in a siesta country, warm weather and afternoon naps suit my constitution perfectly.

Since then I've been tinkering with my WIP. This time, I'm planning, and I've started using the Snowflake Method which was brought to my attention by the estimable Spiral Skies. Up to now I've always been pretty much a seat-of-the-pants writer, rarely planning more than a few scenes ahead. I've always thought it would probably be more efficient to plan a whole book in advance, but I couldn't, before; I didn't know enough about plotting, story structure, narrative arcs etc, and I had to work it out by writing and rewriting. I read lots of how-to books, and learned about the three-act structure; the need for each character to have their own narrative arc; the differences and relationship between plot and character; and so on. But I only seemed able to relate the theory to my own work in retrospect. Now I think I can do it in advance, because I understand it well enough.

Of course, I may be wrong about this, but if I am, as usual, I'll find out by giving it a try. I don't think there's anything wrong with seat-of-the-pants writing, as such, and I know some very experienced writers who I admire enormously use this method. Alan Garner, for example. But I prefer to manage many things in my life through organisation and planning, so I suspect I might enjoy writing even more if I could plan a story first, really thoroughly. My own theory is that I could then write a good first draft without worrying or wondering what's going to happen next and how it will all end. Will it work? Who knows? I'll keep you posted!

But in the meantime, I have a question for you. Are you a planner or a seat-of-the-pants writer? Why? (OK, that's two questions. So sue me!)

About Stories

2010-04-06T09:23:00.004+01:00

Sometimes us writers forget that stories aren't all made from writing. For example, we had a family staying with us for Easter, two parents and their two young daughters. The girls love written stories, read avidly, and the older one enjoys writing stories of her own. They also enjoy telling stories, and told me many stories of school trips, sleepovers with friends, and amusing family incidents. These last were added to when the family went off together to the local water park one afternoon, while my Paramour and I stayed at home to do domestic jobs. When they came back, I asked if they'd had a good time. The girls were jumping up and down, fizzing with a new story to tell, their words falling over each other:

'We went on the big big flume...'
'And I zoomed down first...'
'And then Mummy went next...'
'And afterwards she took ages to get up...'
'I was watching her and wondering why she was taking so long...'
'And then we saw why, it was because...'
'Her PANTS HAD COME DOWN!!!'

Cue for much hilarity all round. This story was told and re-told all weekend (much to poor Mummy's embarrassment), and will no doubt become part of that family's oral story archive.

Some events are reliable story-makers: social rituals such as weddings and funerals; individual rites of passage; random acts of kindness. Friendships are often based on shared stories. I have a small group of newish writer friends who are bonding around stories involving things like catching the wrong train and putting up a tent indoors - trivialities that wouldn't mean much to others, but which create mirth and solidarity for us.

Looked at one way, people's lives are made of stories, and people turn into stories when they die. However, something I have learned in my writing career is that, while there is of course some overlap between life's stories and written stories, they are often more different than they are similar. I remember, as a novice writer, wailing 'But life isn't really like that,' when helpful tutors gently tried to explain the demands of narrative. I've got a much better handle, now, on how to create a written story that will work for a reader. I know that simply writing stories is not enough; I have to design an experience, create a world.

Which is fine. But I reserve the right to hear, tell, and make stories in my life as well as in my computer. In fact, I think it's essential, for writers as for everyone else.

Waiting Room

2010-03-31T20:12:00.000+01:00

The last few weeks have been particularly difficult on the writing front, mainly because I haven’t had time to do any. I’ve found that this is really unhelpful when waiting to hear from agents. I go to sleep thinking about agents, wake up thinking about agents, and in between, well, I spend a lot of time thinking about agents. When I’m not checking my emails. It’s possible to obsess for several hours about whether the fact that I haven’t heard from Agent Q for four weeks now is a good sign or a bad sign. Even though I know it’s not a sign at all.

So I was very happy, last Saturday, when I was able to make a start on my next book. I could have started work on a sequel to the one currently doing the rounds, but that seems pointless unless someone picks up the first book. And, actually, I’m finding it fun to work on something completely different. I’ve learned so much about writing in the last few years, which doesn’t mean I’m a mistress of the craft or anything – far from it – but it does mean that I start further up the ladder than I used to. I have much more idea about how to build characters and plot; the importance of stress and conflict; ways to make dialogue and description really effective – lots of things, which make writing much more enjoyable, even at first draft stage. And you know what? As my crystal-ball-wielding mentor Debi so presciently foretold, writing something new takes my mind right off the whole agent/submission thing. It’s great!

The Age Of Uncertainty

2010-03-29T08:38:00.004+01:00

So, my book has been doing the rounds of agents for five weeks now, and in that time I’ve had three quick standard rejections and two slower nice ones.

The first nice one said this:

Thank you for writing to me about your book enclosing proposal and three sample chapters.

I was very impressed with the professional way you present this material and I enjoyed the chapters too. Unfortunately, though, I'm not convinced the British publishing industry and buying public are ready in enough numbers for a book which is essentially all about funerals, as engagingly as you write.

I'm so sorry not to be more encouraging. This is just my subjective opinion and, since you write so well and present your book so convincingly, you will no doubt find someone else who will have more confidence in the market for this book than I do.

I wish you the best of luck.

Isn’t that lovely?

The second rejection was terse, but then it was from the CEO of a large prestigious agency, while the message above came from an agent in a small newish agency. The second one said:

I have now had a chance to read your work and have also shown it to a colleague. However, neither of us are confident in being able to place this successfully with a major publisher, so we are unable to offer you representation.

This pleased me too, for two reasons. First, the CEO wouldn’t have bothered to show my work to a colleague if it had no merit. Second, it reinforced the message from the first one, i.e. that the problem is with the marketing.

I also read an excellent interview with the eminent literary agent Carole Blake on The Literary Project blog. The combination of all three has inspired me to rework my cover letter and synopsis, to place less emphasis on the funerals and more on the characters and their personal relationships. Whether that will make any difference or not, I really have no idea, but I’ll be sure to let you know.

Crazy Busy

2010-02-24T10:25:00.001Z

Things are proper manic around here. Ever seen a wasp go mad in a jar? That's my life right now. It's often like this in the run-up to the end of the financial year, and I may be working 70-80 hours a week but I'm getting paid for most of them so I'm not complaining. But this blog may be a bit quiet for a while, and I may not be commenting on yours much either. I'll do what I can, when I can, over the next month or so, and 'normal service' *cough* will be resumed in April.

The Hen Night

2010-02-21T14:55:00.003Z

You may remember that, a few weeks ago, I was asking for forfeit ideas for a bride-to-be on her forthcoming hen night. I'd had the idea of getting badges made with (slightly) embarrassing personalised messages, but wondered whether anyone could come up with anything better. Clever Womagwriter did just that, suggesting that I could "get some embarrassing early photos of her (perhaps from her husband or parents if possible) and/or embarrassing anecdotes (from other friends and family). For each wrong answer, an anecdote is read out or a photo handed round or pinned to her outfit." The only trouble was, her fiance had already helped me work out the questions, I've never met her parents, and I only know two of her friends well enough to ring and ask for anecdotes. So, while that was a great idea (which I have filed away in my brain for future reference), it wasn't going to work in this case. I decided to go with the badges, spent a happy hour coming up with slogans that I thought might hit the mark, and - after some research on the web to find a good price - ordered them from Big Dog Badges who provided excellent quality, service and price.

On the day, I met the others in central Birmingham. Most of them had travelled in by train, already wearing their haloes. As a result, the train manager decided to begin his announcements 'Ladies, Gentlemen and Celestials,' which apparently caused much hilarity throughout the train. We met at the Hippodrome for Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake which was an astonishing, beautiful, funny, sad, thought-provoking production that I would highly recommend. The plan was then to go for dinner, but the woman organising the meal had booked the table for 6.30, and the ballet was finished by 5.30, and it was only a ten-minute walk from the theatre to the restaurant. Which, when we got there, wasn't even open yet. Luckily there was a bar next door so we ordered a bottle of wine and settled in to wait.

The hiatus provided me with a perfect opportunity to whip out my quiz. I'd been a little nervous about when (or even if) to do this, as I hadn't told anyone else my plans. Luckily everyone fell in with the idea with great enthusiasm and the questions went down well. I was very strict with the bride-to-be about getting the answers exactly right, or else she had to wear a 'badge of shame'. She managed to get two out of the ten questions right, so only had to wear eight badges in the end, but she liked the badges so much that she demanded the full set! They said silly things like 'Bridezilla', 'Lights On, Nobody Home,' and 'I Like Blokes Dressed As Birds' (given the ballet we'd just seen, that one seemed particularly appropriate), but she loved them, and texted me the next day to say 'I shall wear my badges of shame with pride.'

By the time the quiz was done, the bottle was empty and the restaurant open, so we moved next door and enjoyed a sumptuous meal. I won't bore you with the entire menu, I'll just say 'bitter chocolate torte with Drambuie-soaked strawberries' (and dribble on my keyboard). The bride-to-be was very happy, I had a great time, and I think everyone else did too.

What's The Difference?

2010-02-18T07:18:00.003Z

Some people don't want to be self-employed, which seems bizarre to me. I can think of two friends in particular who have both made a success of freelance work in response to unemployment, but at the same time were desperate to get a 'proper job'. They longed for camaraderie, teamwork, and regular hours, while I dread office politics, idiots making stupid decisions that I have to work with, and unbearable constraints on my life and free will.

I love being self-employed, even at times like this when I'm working 70-80 hours a week. I can't imagine ever having a 'proper job' again - in fact, I strongly suspect I'm unemployable. But I know I'm an asset to my clients, because I work responsively and creatively, meet deadlines, stay within budget, and produce good quality outputs. So I doubt I'll ever be out of work.

The funny thing is, the employed people I know also work responsively and creatively, meet deadlines, and so on. So what's the difference? It's tempting to say that those who choose a freelance life are more self-reliant, have more initiative etc etc - yet I know people who choose employment who are more self-reliant than I am, and at least as good at motivation and organisation and decision-making and all those other essential skills. (They are also, before you suggest it, control freaks like me too.)

Is it just a matter of preference, then, in the same way that some people prefer apple juice to orange juice, while for others it's the other way round? Or are there other factors? Sometimes people say to me 'I'd like to be self-employed, but I'm too worried about how I'd pay the mortgage/bring up the kids/manage the transition.' I know a number of people, like me, who started out in employment and then became self-employed almost by accident - and loved it. But then there are others who chose self-employment from the start, or at a later point in their career.

I'm interested in the changing landscape of work in our society. Here in the UK, self-employment is on the increase, as is part-time employment. More people are living patchwork lives, doing bits of this and bits of that, fitting work around caring for dependents, or around other things such as, ooh, to take a random example, writing. So I'd like to conduct a highly scientific survey in my comments box. Do you work? (And yes, as far as I'm concerned, unpaid domestic work counts as work.) Are you employed? Self-employed? Full-time? Part-time? To what extent is your working life a matter of choice or of necessity?

It's Gone

2010-02-16T10:04:00.003Z

I pressed 'send' on an email to an agent at 8.35 am today.

She hasn't got back to me yet so she obviously doesn't like it.

I know, I know. Anyway, I've still got stuff to do - polish the remaining chapters, research other agents in case she turns it down, start writing my next book.

Feels weird, though.

Baby Steps

2010-02-12T14:44:00.002Z

My oh-so-fabulous mentor has given her pronouncements on my latest draft. She used terms like 'paradigm shift', 'honed skills', 'I'm blown away by the improvements', 'tweaks only', 'publishable book', and 'give yourself a huge glass of champers'. And this, from an evil hatchet woman who minces other people's words but not her own, is high praise indeed.

So, next week ish, my book will probably be heading off to an agent. Again. And I think it's that last little five-letter word which is the reason for my lack of excitement, woo-hoo-ing, and champers. You see, I've been here before - albeit not with such classy mentoring (or, in fact, any mentoring) and yes, let's be fair, that does make a sizeable difference. Perhaps there is more chance this time. But perhaps not. I don't know, and I bet you don't either.

What I do know is that agents want to find new authors whose work they believe in. There is a fair chance that I might turn out to be one of those authors. But there are no guarantees, not even after all the years of hard work. The distance between a publishable book and a published book is immense. If I find an agent, I'll be pleased, probably very pleased. I know, though, that even then, there's no guarantee of a publishing deal. And if the book is published, it could disappear without trace.

I've been working on writing a publishable book for a long time, and I'm happy to have reached this point. But it's a very quiet sort of happy, that doesn't come with fizz and whoops and jumping up and down.

The Literary Project

2010-02-10T08:58:00.002Z

Last October, Gemma Noon, interviewer extraordinaire, started a blog called The Literary Project. She has interviewed writers, publishers, writing tutors, and even a literary scout. I didn't know literary scouts existed until I read Gemma's interview with Louise Allen-Jones (which proves that literary scouts do not, as someone suggested recently, get little reading badges and swear to do their duty).

After only a few months, Gemma's blog already provides a fascinating insight into various aspects of the publishing industry. The writers she has interviewed come from a range of genres and, so far, include Bernard Cornwell, Della Galton, Steven Hall, Philippa Gregory, Cally Taylor, Andrew Cowan, Michael Marshall Smith and Sally Quilford, among others. The playwright John Godber is next up; I'm looking forward to reading that interview. Also, if there is anyone you would like Gemma to interview, you can email her to ask - of course, there are no guarantees, but she seems to have a knack for persuading people to say 'yes'.

Given the range, scope, and quality of Gemma's interviews, I'm surprised she hasn't generated a wider following. I've learned a lot from reading her blog, so I thought I'd pimp it here. (And before you ask, Gemma isn't a personal friend; we've never corresponded beyond each others' comments boxes; and I haven't been bribed to write this post.) (Although, if Gemma is reading this, I do accept retrospective bribes, especially in chocolate.)

I know many of you are writers, and those that aren't, are readers. I strongly recommend that you head over to The Literary Project, browse through the archives, and bookmark the blog for future reference.

Shooting Fish In A Barrel

2010-02-08T07:23:00.002Z

Let's talk about astrology. Wouldn't it be lovely to think the stars can guide us? Doesn't work, though, as far as I can see.

I was born under the sign of Gemini. Yeah, I know, two-faced. Personally I prefer the version that goes: intelligent, quick-thinking, articulate. And that's the thing about astrology: you can take your pick.

Here are some of my daily horoscopes for today, taken from the Internet. I don't wish to dignify the providers with links; these were generated from a Google search on 'free daily horoscope Gemini' plus targeted searching of a couple of the UK's best-known astrologers' sites.

Life is a party today, so make the most of it! Your great energy should put others at ease, and you are definitely taking the situation well in hand. Your actions could make someone very happy.

So far, so pleasant - and so applicable to absolutely anyone. Here's another:

The dance is underway and for the moment, you lead, others follow in pursuit. Strut your stuff and don't stand still, because it's your motion that's getting the attention. You needn't strain yourself - in fact, its your fluidity and grace that makes you a magnet. Just move with the music, swing your partner with abandon.

Hmmm, maybe there is something in this astrology business after all - party, dance, well, they're similar metaphors, aren't they? Let's try a third:

This morning you might be on a state of confusion and have unrealistic ideas. People are likely to misunderstand you. Don't push things, or you may trigger a conflict! You are advised to postpone business activities. You'd better avoid any speculation, no matter how tempting.

Eh? What happened to all the parties and dancing? I don't think I'll believe in this one, plus the grammar is rubbish - whoever heard of someone being 'on a state of confusion'? Let's try another:

The emphasis is now on long-range financial planning, thinking about future security, and formulating strategies to achieve your ambitions. Your ability to study quietly, to concentrate on complex mental work, and to think deeply about serious matters is much better than usual. This is a good time to organize your affairs and also to seek professional advice about your concerns.

Well honestly, how can I be expected to do long-range thinking and formulate strategies when I'm on a state of confusion? Make your minds up, astrologers!

But then those all came via the Google search, so maybe they're from charlatans. Let's try a couple of 'reputable' astrologers whose advice is widely syndicated through the media. Here's the first:

Taking a trip to a beautiful, exotic land will soothe your frayed nerves. Lately, you've been spending a lot of time on relationship matters. It feels as though you've lost your identity along the way. By taking a solitary break, you'll reconnect with your truest self. People may be surprised by your decision to go away by yourself, but it's because they cling to outmoded ideas about love. You can be passionately devoted to someone and still want time alone.

I'm sure a trip to a beautiful exotic land would soothe my nerves, and anyone else's too, but money and time are slight barriers here. And I did the solitary break thing LAST year - yes, it was great, but I don't feel the need to do it again right now. So here's a final prediction:

People say, 'All I want is to be happy'. It sounds very reasonable, until you remember that some folk are only ever happy when they are feeling miserable! Someone in your world is now saying something that seems to make a lot of sense. Are you sure, though, that you are really listening to them? Watch for the tendency, today, to hear what you think you ought to be hearing, rather than what is actually being expressed. Watch too, for the possibility that someone wants the very opposite of what would be good for them.

This is another one that could apply to absolutely anyone. I know the astrologers' answer to that: daily horoscopes based on sun sign alone can only be very general, and for truly accurate forecasts you need a full personalised chart reading. I had one of those once, over half my life ago when I was more credulous than I am now. It was also full of 'advice' that could apply to anyone, e.g. 'your father might have health problems so keep a close eye on him' (he didn't) and 'you may have problems at work if you get on the wrong side of someone' (well, durrrrr).

My question to the astrologers is, even if daily horoscopes based on sun sign alone are very general, why are they so incredibly diverse? This isn't the first time I've done this exercise, and the contradictory messages in the horoscopes above are typical. For one astrologer, I'm putting others at ease; for another, I'm likely to be misunderstood. One says I'll be confused, another that my mental state will be clearer than usual. And I can't see the point of going on a solitary holiday if others are going to follow in pursuit.

I think I'll take the first forecast above as the omen for my day, because I like it best. So do you believe in astrology? Even after reading this post? And, if so, why?

I've Done It

2010-02-05T08:15:00.003Z

The third draft went off to Debi yesterday. It has been an intensive few weeks of near-total immersion. I've had to do a few other things - paid work, some domestic work (but not much as my Paramour has been a star in that department), a couple of friends' birthday parties. Otherwise I've been a reclusive full-time writer. And when I say 'full time', I mean starting at 6 am, finishing at 9 pm, not taking days off.

I think part of my most recent burst of motivation came from the death of a writer friend one year ago today. She was younger than me, highly talented, and died with most of her words unwritten. When she knew she was dying, she pleaded with other writers not to make the same mistake. I know that only published books are officially dedicated to people, but I hereby dedicate this draft to my friend, who helped me so much along the way, and is still helping me now. Like me, she didn't believe in an afterlife - but if there was one, she'd be pleased with the dedication. And I know that if she was with us, she would be loudly cheering my progress.

Today, I have to find the energy for one last burst of activity. Then, this afternoon, when I've somehow managed to do more jobs than will fit into the intervening hours, I'm off with my Paramour to spend a happy weekend with some dear friends, where there will be much eating, drinking, and merriment, and no writing at all. Or even thinking about writing.

Being Singleminded

2010-01-26T21:46:00.002Z

I have thought of several blog post topics recently, but a topic no sooner comes to mind than it goes away again. My head is too full of my book, and the work I have to do to earn a living (which also involves a lot of writing), and what needs to be done to maintain the essentials of life. There isn't room for anything else.

Anyone got a Boring Blogger Award for me? I think I deserve one!

Talk amongst yourselves. I'll be back when I have more headspace.

I Think I'm Nearly There

2010-01-23T16:38:00.002Z

After six drafts of this book as a novel and two drafts as a memoir, I think I'm really, finally, getting somewhere. This week I've had feedback from two readers who I know will tell me exactly what they think. And they have. I've had comments like 'clunky', 'not good enough', 'YUCK', and even 'Please see me!' with an arrow that led to a long diatribe on the back of the page ending '...you're going to have to rewrite that scene.'

Eight drafts in, I'm entirely used to comments like this - in fact, I welcome them, because I need to know where I'm going wrong. There's no point having critters who don't crit. The thing is, though, in this draft, there aren't actually that many comments. And most of the critical ones are easily fixed. Plus, in places, there were chunks of several pages with no comments at all. And my readers also made rather a lot of lovely comments. One was a first-time reader, because I wanted some fresh eyes on my work. She laughed out loud in places, welled up in others and, once, was moved to tears. I couldn't ask for more.

The book still needs some structural and thematic work, but not a huge amount. My 'to do' list isn't very long. Which feels odd. I know there's still work to do, and it's important that I do it as well as I can, but you know what? I think most of the work, taken overall, is done. I remember this feeling from my PhD days: there was a point, two or three months before I submitted my thesis, when I realised I was over the hump, that it was, in a sense, all downhill from now on.

I do so hope that, when this book is finally as good as I can make it, I can get the damn thing published!!!

Ideas Wanted

2010-01-20T12:39:00.003Z

I've been to two hen nights in my life. The first was about 20 years ago, in Hertfordshire, for Debbie, the neighbour of my good friend Jill. I knew Debbie slightly from my regular weekend visits to Jill; her hen night was set at fairly short notice for a weekend when I was due to visit again; Jill asked Debbie if I could go along, and Debbie said 'yes'. Jill wanted me there for moral support, because she didn't know any of Debbie's friends and didn't know what to expect.

We started in the pub. Debbie was festooned, by her friends, with all sorts of additions to her outfit, from chains at her wrists (apparently for her husband to chain her to the kitchen sink) to tampon earrings (I never understood the reason for those). Then the strippergram arrived, a young man liberally coated in baby oil who did an act that had Jill and I cringing and wishing we could run away. Debbie and her friends thought it was great. After a lot of drinks for them - Debbie was downing Southern-Comfort-and-lemonades by the dozen - and a couple for us, we went on to an Indian restaurant with a sigh of relief. But we sighed too soon, as Debbie and her friends delighted in making bawdy jokes about and to, and even pinching the bums of, the gentle, polite, well-mannered Indian waiters. Jill and I escaped as soon as we decently could. It was one of the most cringeworthy evenings of my life.

The second, six years ago, could hardly have been more different. It was in Edinburgh and involved an afternoon at the spa of the Balmoral Hotel, followed by dinner at one of the fish restaurants in Leith. As several of the guests had flown in from other continents, it was held just two days before the wedding. The bride-to-be, an international academic, was delighted to have all the important women in her life in the same place, and took pains to ensure everyone had the chance to speak to everyone else: 'And then you'll know each other on Saturday,' she said. I enjoyed it enormously.

Next month I'm going to my third hen night. This one will be different again. For a start, I know all five of the other women who will be there, three of whom are good friends of mine. We're kicking off with a matinee of Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, and then going for an earlyish dinner at a bistro.

So far, so civilized. But I have a mischievous streak. In this case, I also know the husband-to-be, and yesterday I enlisted his help in devising a set of ten questions for his fiancee, to test her knowledge of him in a teasing, tormenting kind of way; like a personalised version of the 'Mr and Mrs' game. It seems to me that she should pay a forfeit for every one she gets wrong. Now I don't actually want to go the whole cringe hog, and make her, say, ask a stranger for a kiss, or down a strong drink in one go. So my current idea is to get some big bright badges made with a range of appropriately embarrassing statements, such as 'I Am Bad, And Not In A Good Way' or 'My Husband-To-Be Is Smarter Than Me', and make her wear one for every wrong answer. But those are really lame ideas, and my creativity well is running dry, and I need ten good ones (in case she gets every single question wrong - unlikely, I know, but I want to cover all the bases). So: any thoughts?

Edjucashun

2010-01-18T06:34:00.003Z

1. Back in 1999 I'd fallen into working as a self-employed social researcher, and needed to update my skills, so I enrolled for a Masters degree in Social Research Methods. I was told the course had been approved by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) so I would be able to apply for funding from them if I chose to go on and do a PhD. Two years later I wanted to do that very thing, so I sorted out the paperwork and took it to my course tutor for him to complete. He contacted me a few days later and shamefacedly told me that someone at his university had failed to fill in a form, which meant in practice that the course had not been approved by the ESRC, and so I could not apply for funding from them unless I did another year of full-time study of social research methods. As nobody else funds social science PhDs, I had to either do the extra year or fund my own PhD. At the time, this was a major blow.

2. Even longer ago, when my sister was a young single parent with a four-year-old son, she decided to do a degree at a university which promised lots of support for single parents: full-time childcare in a registered nursery; accommodation on campus throughout; all lectures and tutorials during nursery hours; and several other family-friendly policies. When she got there, she found that much of this wasn't true: accommodation on campus was only guaranteed for the first year; several of her lectures and tutorials were in the evening, when her son needed her to be at home; and so on. She lasted for two years of a four-year degree, during the second of which she lived off campus, and then gave up the struggle.

3. Just this year, my nephew, now all grown up, is about to finish a two-year further education course. At the start, he was told that it would provide a qualification equivalent to A levels, which would enable him to get onto a degree course with a foundation year. Last week, as he was finishing his UCAS form, he was told that this was not the case. Due to someone's administrative error, he will now have very little to show for two years of hard work and poverty. He is understandably angry and feels that he has been lied to - which, effectively, he has - and, with universities' funding being cut, he is now wondering whether he has any chance of a place at all.

So has my family simply been unlucky? Or is this kind of bums-on-seats-at-any-cost, administratively inefficient, misleading way of 'selling' courses actually endemic throughout the further and higher education systems in the UK?

I Am So Impatient!

2010-01-14T08:00:00.002Z

I've never been good at waiting for things, or uncertainty. My book has been out for critique since a week before Christmas. It's due back by the end of next week, which is only an interval of a month or so, but it feels like aaaaaaaages. I want my baby back! I want to tweak it, and chip off sticky-out bits, and add enhancements to make it more beautiful. (Do you think it might be a good thing I never had an actual baby?)

It's supposed to be good to put a book down for a few weeks, inbetween drafts. Sometimes I've been perfectly content to do this, aware that I needed the rest. I know I needed a break this time, too, but I've had enough of one now. This is partly because I feel excited about my book again, which is lovely. I'm not worried about what my critters will say - yes, their feedback is bound to lead to more work, but I'm ready for it; I really feel as if I'm getting somewhere this time.

I have cheated a tiny bit: I sorted out my synopsis over New Year, with help from some of the lovely women in my short story group (you know who you are, and thanks again!). Writing synopses makes me sweat and swear, but at the same time I've always found synopsis-writing to be a useful exercise for helping to clarify the story's priorities. Plus it helped with the withdrawal symptoms. I hope Debi won't be cross with me...

Such Fun!

2010-01-12T06:52:00.003Z

We had a fabulous time, despite train delays and breakdowns, and severe weather. Antwerp was delightful. We figured we'd be able to find an Italian restaurant for dinner, then were astonished to discover there are about 15 of them around the cathedral, so it took us a while to choose, but we decided on Da Giovanni and were pleased with our choice as the food was terrific and the staff very friendly. The cathedral itself was stunning - it's gone straight into my Top Five Cathedrals of All Time - and the print museum, oh my goodness, anyone who has any interest whatsoever in anything to do with books or writing needs to go there immediately. It is set in the large town house which belonged to the family who ran one of the world's earliest printing businesses for the around three centuries, and they ran it from their house so you can see where and how they lived and worked, and stand in one of the world's first bookshops, and next to the world's oldest surviving printing presses, and see where the proofs were corrected - using marks we still use today - and many, many other fascinating things. Fascinating even to me, and I'm not usually interested in things historical.

The best thing about Amsterdam was the excellent bar 'In De Wildeman' which was a few doors along from our hotel. It's housed in a former distillery dating from 1690, has around 200 beers available, is non-smoking and has no music but lots of very sociable locals. By our second visit we were treated as regulars, and one of the bar staff from Friday night greeted us like old friends when we found her drinking in there on Saturday night. (It has to be a good sign when people choose to spend their leisure time in their workplace.)

We did some culture, too: The Hermitage, with its exhibition of artefacts from nineteenth-century Russian aristocracy, which was interesting and nauseating in equal parts. My Paramour and I would both have liked some social commentary, some recognition that there were other facets of society - merchants got the occasional look-in, but that was all. We went on to see the Rodchenko photographs, in the hope that they might provide an antidote, but they didn't, really, although they were still worth seeing.

Then on Sunday we were off to Brussels. Neither of us had ever visited the city before, and I'd done no background research, so we stopped at the tourist information point at the station and a very helpful woman explained the metro system, gave us a map, and showed us the locations of some museums and the cathedral. We took a metro into town, left our bags at the hotel (walking open-mouthed through the Grand Place on the way), and headed for the musical instruments museum. They have a fabulous collection, although we would both have liked more information about it, as there was very little. Then we went to the cathedral, which had a good crypt but wasn't a patch on Antwerp's. A delicious hot waffle from a van provided interim sustenance, then back to the Grand Place for a drink at the Roy d'Espagne. This had been recommended by a friend of a friend, and we were glad, mainly because it has just become a non-smoking bar which was a relief as there doesn't seem to be a smoking ban in Belgium.

After dinner we went to a bar which we had seen advertising live music, and sat by the door in case it was dreadful and we needed to escape. Two musicians came on, a singer and a guitarist, and did three sets of some of the best jazz I have ever heard. We shot up to the front after the first track and spent the rest of the evening there, enthralled. The singer's name is Mariana Tootsie, and she was terrific. The guitarist was Jerome Van den Bril, and he was excellent too. It was a wonderful, unexpected end to a really good trip.

May The Fourth Be With You

2010-01-04T09:16:00.002Z

Debi said recently, in a comment on her blog, that there can't be too many dreadful puns in the world. So I thought I'd add one to the global total.

We had a fab Christmas! And New Year! It was all such fun. Christmas with our friends was lovely from start to finish, apart from the slight hangover I somehow managed to acquire on Christmas Day, but that was soon despatched with a couple of paracetamol and a Buck's Fizz. Then on Boxing Day we went home via my Paramour's family party, which was equally delightful, as everyone seemed to be on good form.

On the 28th, a pair of much-loved old friends from London came to stay for a couple of days. They arrived exhausted from work, Christmas, and their terrible teenager (she's lovely, actually, but only if you're not one of her parents) so we spent a couple of days slobbing out by open fires, eating, drinking, playing silly games, chatting and laughing.

Then on the 31st we had a small soiree with a bunch of live musicians and yet more food and drink, which was utterly delightful. And inbetween all that socialising, I did so much work that I've arrived at today with a very small to-do list. Which is great because on Thursday, all being well, my Paramour and I are off on Eurostar for a long weekend in Belgium and Holland. Apparently it's going to be warmer in Amsterdam than it is here, or should that be 'less cold' - only minus 3 instead of minus 8...

Blog Takeover Day

2010-01-01T09:12:00.003Z

I must say, it is a relief to be able to be oneself for a change. Marvellous invention, though, the Internet. It's been jolly interesting to pose as an ordinary person who lives in a house with a number and opens one's own front door.

I was talking about it to my Prince Consort over our cocoa and organic digestives the other night (we have to have organic these days, or our eldest gets terribly tiresome). PC said he couldn't think why I would want to impersonate one of the great unwashed. I said any more of that kind of talk and he'd find some of his special privileges withdrawn. He said surely I didn't need to be so picky when it was just the two of us. I said his track record showed I did, and gave him the Look which reminds him who is the monarch around here. He shut up then, so one thinks one won that one.

Anyway, I believe most houses in streets have indoor bathrooms these days, so I'm sure my people do wash. I'm very fond of my people. I imagine them going about their daily lives, at home, at school, at work, wherever they are, doing all the funny little things they do, and every single one of them belonging to me. PC thinks we'd be better off without them. Then again, some of them seem to think they'd be better off without us, the silly billies! They're awfully sweet, really, and so easily pleased; all one has to do is wave now and then, cut a ribbon here and there, and try to remember not to scowl at the cameras.

I really do feel the new media has helped me to understand my people. It's not just the blogging, it's the tweeting, the status updates, the whole ballyhoo. I gave my PC an XBox for Xmas a few years ago, in the hope that would have the same effect for him, but he only seems to want to use it to kill people.

That reminds me, I had planned to write down my New Year's resolutions. Here goes:

1. Stop arguing with Mr Brown, he can't help it (and hope for an old Etonian replacement soon).
2. Take more exercise: walk the Corgis every day, even when it rains.
3. Remember it's bad form to bet heavily in a recession - maximum £500 on any one race.
4. No gin before 6 pm on weekdays.
5. Be nicer to old Horse-Face.
6. Replace those shabby velvet curtains in the banqueting hall.
7. Spend more time with our youngest now the children have reached a more acceptable age (maybe watch X Factor with him next time round, he likes all that theatrical stuff).
8. Smile for the cameras.

Wishing you all an Annus Magnificus. ERself x

This New Year Business

2009-12-29T08:25:00.002Z

I'm not a big fan of New Year, either as a celebration (having to stay up past my bedtime and fend off drunken strangers trying to kiss me, ewwww) or for making resolutions. In recent years I've made a positive resolution now and again, such as a few years ago when I decided to take proper holidays. Last year I had a year off buying clothes, because I realised I was buying more from habit than from need. It was an interesting change, and meant I had more time and money for other things (oddly enough, holidays again). I stuck to it, too, apart from one pair of hand-made boots I found at a festival and snapped up because I'd been looking for a pair like them for a couple of years and was highly unlikely to find another pair, and then three pairs of thick socks to go with them when I realised they weren't comfortable or warm enough with the thin socks that were all I had.

This year I'm making one, very small, resolution, which is to take part in Quillers' Blog Takeover Day. If you want to join in, the idea is that you write a post on New Year's Day (or, if you use Blogger, you can write it beforehand and schedule it to post on New Year's Day) in which you can be anyone but yourself. Or anything, even. So the post can be from the point of view of a fictional character, or a real-life character, or a meerkat, or a cabbage... if this isn't making sense, there are several examples from the last Blog Takeover Day on Quillers' sidebar.

I'm also making one, very big, wish. I really, really want to secure an agent and a book deal in 2010. I can't make that as a resolution, because it's not within my control. And there's no point resolving to try as hard as I can, because I did that ages ago. But I think there is one small change I want to make. Last year I wrote around 20 short stories, which isn't a lot for some people but it is for me because I find it takes a lot of time to build effective characters, settings and plots. I learned a lot from writing those short stories, I even sold a few, and I'm not ready to stop writing shorties yet. But there were times, last year, when I prioritised my short stories over my book. This year, that will change.

So do you have any resolutions, wishes, or plans for 2010?

Seasonal Musings

2009-12-23T18:59:00.004Z

The weather outside is frightful, but I don't care because I'm sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop and a glass of wine while my Paramour makes his delicious blue cheese gnocchi and pleasant music plays. It's nearly Christmas. I don't feel very Christmassy yet, which is probably because I'm still at work - till lunchtime tomorrow - but I expect I will be feeling all festive by the time we leave tomorrow to go to spend Christmas with our dear friends.

I was feeling a bit pouty this morning (yes, I know I'd better not, but sometimes a girl can't help it) because I was sitting in my office inputting some incredibly tedious data while the whole of the rest of the world seemed to be on holiday. Then I thought about my mum, who has always advised me, when I feel like that, to count my blessings. And do you know what? It wasn't very long before I lost count.

I am such a lucky person. For a start, I live in the developed world. Yes, I know our society isn't perfect. In fact, there are lots of problems with it. But I've never had to go hungry or stay cold for more than a few hours. It seems very fashionable to gripe about 'the system', but the NHS sorted me out most efficiently when I had to have my operation last year. Again, there are problems - my experience wasn't perfect - but it was pretty damn good, all things considered. I'm healthy now; I live in a comfortable house; I have a loving family and a whole bunch of terrific friends, including you; you're one of my blessings. And the Internet, for goodness' sake! It's a miracle! I've only been using it for 10 years and already I take it for granted most of the time, but this morning I heard a song on the radio, thought 'that would be a great one for my Paramour to sing at acoustic nights,' got onto Google, found it on YouTube, and emailed him a message and the URL in less time than it takes to tell. I guess most of us do things like that, but when you stop to think about it, isn't it amazing?

And this year, I'm lucky because I look set to have a truly happy Christmas and New Year, for the first time in several years. I can't quite trust that - to some extent, I'm waiting for the bad news phone call or the climatic or domestic calamity that will pull the happiness rug from under me - but the signs are good.

Yet there's still a bittersweet quality to this winter holiday. Although it looks as if I'm going to have a terrific time with people I love, I'm well aware that others are not so fortunate. Some people I know are out of work and skint and trying to make a good Christmas for their children on very little money. Others are recently bereaved, or know they are probably facing the last Christmas with someone they love. Some people have other problems which stand between them and a good time: health problems, homelessness, job insecurity, relationship difficulties, money worries. I'm only an onion skin away from being in their position. At this time of year, for some reason, the fragile, precarious nature of the happiness and comfort I am privileged to experience is more vivid, more real than at other times. I am so aware that at any moment, a chance event could transform happiness and comfort into misery and woe - and yet perhaps that's no bad thing. It certainly helps me to appreciate the many ways in which I am such a very, very lucky person.

And on that note, as the gnocchi is ready (oops, forgot to count my Paramour, don't tell on me!), I wish you happiness and love over the winter break.

Done It!

2009-12-20T17:44:00.003Z

I finished the second draft this afternoon! Yes, I'm pleased. Yes, I'm sure I can't do any more till I've had a break and some feedback from my lovely readers. But I've also been here several times before, so I'm not all excited and bouncing around. Which is partly because it's hard to let go...

In fact, I'm knackered! I haven't had much headspace for anything other than my book in the last week, which is why I haven't blogged. But I'll try to come up with a post worth reading, this side of Christmas.

And for now, I think I shall award myself a glass of wine and an evening off, and try to feel celebratory.

The Best Bit Of Editing

2009-12-15T08:44:00.003Z

I spent most of last weekend editing, and I think that if I do the same next weekend, this draft will be done. It's been quick, not because I've been rushing (honest, Debi!) but because I've had lots of time to work on the text.

I don't have much time to edit this week, but the work is still going on in my head, and I'm into my very favourite part of all: making connections. I find myself thinking about a conversation between character A and character B, and realising that character A has a perfect opportunity to raise issue X which will foreshadow the conflict in scene Y. Then I realise I can make character B more understandable for the reader by highlighting a particular aspect of their personality in scene Z. And so it goes on.

The only way I can make this happen is to write and write and rewrite and get to know my characters and their situations better and better. I'm motivated to do that because I know eventually I will reach this stage. I feel as if my brain is making connections all by itself, and that is the most delightfully addictive feeling. Each new connection fills me with joy, and gratitude to my brain, for getting on with the job while I'm busy with other things and just keeping me posted about progress. Which probably sounds daft (although maybe not if you're a writer too). But I reckon if there was a recreational drug that gave people the same sensation, it would be a best-seller.

I can't wait for the weekend!!!

Independent Bookshop Dilemma

2009-12-12T13:05:00.002Z

Earlier this year, in the market town where I live, an independent bookshop opened. I was delighted. The proprietress, who I will call Sandie, had run other bookshops in the area, and was knowledgeable about and interested in books and reading. The bookshop was opposite my favourite cafe, in a little courtyard set back from the marketplace, and I enjoyed going there to browse, shop, and chat with Sandie. She was happy to order books for me, and to let me know by email when my orders arrived. We exchanged book recommendations and the whole experience felt very positive.

Then, after only a few months, things began to change. Part of the shop was restocked, not with books but with window blinds. Sandie was in the shop less and less often, replaced by a woman or a man, both perfectly pleasant but neither interested in books or reading. I asked which days Sandie was working but they were very vague and said it changed from week to week. When Sandie isn't there, neither is her laptop, so the only way they can check prices and delivery options for orders is by phone, which is time-consuming and they don't seem very keen to do it unless I insist. I ordered a book recently but Sandie didn't email to tell me it was in, so I rang the (mobile) number on her card, which had an automated answering message: 'This is the Vodafone voicemail for oh seven blah blah blah,' which I found offputting so I didn't leave a message. Instead, I went into the shop, found out from the stand-in woman that my book was indeed there, and presented my credit card, only to be told that they no longer took credit or debit cards and I would need to pay by cash or cheque. I'd been intending to use my credit card - we are in the inevitably expensive run-up to Christmas, after all - so I was not impressed. On further enquiry, the stand-in woman told me that the card machine had broken and wasn't being replaced, that they were losing sales as a result and that, in her view, Sandie had lost interest in the shop. I asked about the answerphone message on the mobile, and she said that was because they had two businesses running from the premises, the one with the window blinds and the one with the books. I didn't understand why that would stop them personalising their answerphone message: surely it would be possible to say 'this mobile takes messages for both X and Y'.

I ordered another book that day, and Sandie did email to tell me it was in. She apologised for the lack of facility for paying by card, and said the decision had been taken in an effort to cut costs. I went in to the shop this morning, hoping to see her and discuss the situation, but the stand-in man was there. He said gloomily that he'd drawn the short straw today. I asked him to tell Sandie I was sorry I'd missed her again, and he said she'd had to take some time off because she hadn't been well.

The thing is, I pay more for books in the bookshop than I would if I bought them online. I don't mind paying extra if I'm getting a good service from a bookseller who is interested in what they do. I do mind paying extra for a lousy service from people who would rather be somewhere else. In general, I believe that it's really important to support independent bookshops. But is there a limit to this? I run a business myself, and I know I need to make it as easy as possible for my clients to buy the services I provide. If I start making life more difficult for them, I will lose business; it's as simple as that.

I can't decide what to do. As far as I can see, the options are:

1. Carry on shopping there and put up with the lousy service and expensive books in order to support an independent bookseller.
2. Try to discuss the situation with Sandie by email (I'm not sure if this is a good idea if she's unwell, but I could write a gentle email to start with, enquiring after her health and asking whether she would like some feedback or not).
3. Go back to buying books online, thereby saving myself time, money and aggravation.

Any thoughts?

Festively Positive

2009-12-10T13:52:00.003Z

Over the last six years the winter break has been an ordeal. Six years ago my ex-husband was killed in November (in the same week as my grandfather died suddenly) but he wasn't buried until January, so that Christmas and New Year was very weird and horrible, and the echoes resonated through the next few years. Three years ago my Paramour's mother became ill and had to move into residential care. She had always been the fulcrum of festive get-togethers for his family, and they didn't really know how to manage things without her, plus she needed visiting, so for the next couple of years we were whizzing around from house to house, trying to see both parents, both brothers and a grown-up niece while not spending enough time with any of them. They all live in the same big city, but various distances apart, with as much as half an hour's drive between some of them. Last year I escaped the whizzing around because I'd just had a hysterectomy, which also meant I missed most of the fun bits - I was allowed to go to one party for about half an hour, and a few people kindly visited me, but I don't remember any of it being particularly festive.

During this six-year period, I think I'd completely lost contact with the idea that Christmas and New Year can be fun. I was whingeing by email to a dear friend about this, back in early October, and - despite being extremely busy - she and her partner kindly invited my Paramour and I to stay with them over Christmas. They live near my Paramour's family, and she thought that being based with her and her partner might make the whole visiting thing easier for us. That cheered me up no end, although I was still unsure how we were going to manage the family visiting. Then my Paramour's youngest brother's newish girlfriend decided to host a family get-together on Boxing Day. That cheered me up a lot, because it means we can see everyone in one place for a few hours, like we used to, instead of trying to get round all the separate houses and wear ourselves out while shortchanging everyone else. And two of our dearest, oldest friends are coming to stay here on the 28th and 29th, AND we're having a wee party here on New Year's Eve, mainly for local musicians and their families so they can all sit round and play tunes to their hearts' content.

Then, on 7th January, my Paramour and I are off for a long weekend in Belgium and Holland, via Eurostar! His birthday is in January, so it's my Christmas and birthday present to him, with a little help from air miles.

With all these treats to look forward to, I'm beginning to feel slightly festive. I do think the build-up to Christmas is too long; anticipation is one of my favourite feelings, but I can't sustain it for months. Two weeks today, though, we'll be setting off to spend Christmas with our friends. I can definitely sustain anticipation for two weeks. So here we go: with fingers firmly crossed for no crises in the next few weeks, the countdown officially begins!

Saturday Night's Alright For Launching

2009-12-07T10:12:00.004Z

On Saturday night I went to Cally's book launch. It was invitation-only and I felt very flattered to be invited. My lovely mentor Debi came as my 'plus one' and it was the most marvellous night.

Leigh met me at the station, we went to the pub where we met up with Jen. (We'd also been hoping for Helen's company, but sadly she couldn't make it.) We drank Pinot Grigio and ordered food - when I saw that fish and chips were advertised as being served with 'pea puree', I knew I was in the poncy south! I predicted mushy peas, which turned out to be spot on.

We'd been there for an hour or so when Cally arrived, looking gorgeous as usual. We chatted with her for a while and then went upstairs to the very nice function room: wooden floorboards; big windows on two sides; a well-stocked bar; comfy leather sofas; plenty of chairs and tables; and a floor-to-ceiling Christmas tree.

It wasn't long before people started turning up. Cally's parents were there, looking as if they might burst with pride. People came who she'd befriended at school; on holiday; via the Internet; all sorts of places. Several people had travelled quite a distance. Even Cally's agent came, managing to combine glamour and approachability, intelligence and friendliness, in a way that would have made me want to spit with envy if she hadn't been such a nice woman. She also had a handsome boyfriend in tow, who turned out to be a professional jazz singer, and gave us a wonderful a capella version of Cheek To Cheek (you know - the one that starts 'Heaven, I'm in Heaven...' - geddit?). Cally's agent made a lovely speech, telling everyone all about Cally's sales (three reprints! 11,000 copies!! Eight translations and counting!!!), and that Cally was a terrific writer who was going to go from strength to strength. Well, we all knew that, but it was good to hear it from one of the people who is helping to make it happen. Cally thanked them both, and everyone else, and then had to stop talking because she was welling up, so we gave her a round of applause and got back to the serious business of drinking and eating (lovely buffet, mmmm) and gossiping and talking about writing.

Every time I looked at Cally, she was signing another copy of her book and grinning like a loon, so I reckon she had a good time. I had a great time, catching up with various mates and making new ones. So did Debi, who kindly took me home and put me up for the night, as well as providing me with copious breakfasts the next morning. Altogether, it was absolutely the most fun I've had in ages.

Advent Calendars

2009-12-02T07:31:00.001Z

Earlier this week, Quillers pointed me to a couple of online advent calendars with giveaways: those for Headline Publishing and Random House. These are well worth visiting if you fancy having a go at winning free books - and the Random House one offers chocolates as well!

But it's not just publishers who are using this promotional technique. Dorset Cereals, purveyor of high-end muesli-type nosh, have got one too with prizes including clothes and crockery. So has What Digital Camera, for anyone interested in photography-related offers - although I was unimpressed when I checked this one out at 7.30 am today, and got a pop-up box telling me I was cheeky for clicking too early on the 2nd Dec box. I've left a comment so maybe they will sort out the problem.

When I got going on Google, I discovered that there are more of these calendars. Here are some other examples:
One for motorsport enthusiasts
One for people who like spa and beauty pampering-type treatments
One with media-type prizes related to Trance Around The World
Sweeties from Haribo (although you have to answer a question) (click on the second button on the right, under the Promotions heading)
And even one for Everton FC supporters (although I couldn't actually get the page to load this morning for some reason).

Heating product manufacturer Danfoss Randall (stay with me, folks) have put an interesting spin on their advent calendar. They are offering good prizes - today's is an M&S hamper, and others include iPods and digital cameras - but to enter, you have to answer a question about energy-efficient heating solutions. All answers can be found on their website, and winners will be picked at random from all those who answer correctly. (I just tested it out, and along with the question they offer a link to the page on their site where the answer can be found. Very user-friendly, I thought.) They're aiming for a bit of eco-education along with their profile-raising, so I think they deserve support: the link to the calendar is here.

If you know of any others, please let me know in the comments, and I'll add them to this post. Happy comping!

Edited to add: Quillers has kindly pointed out that more are listed at www.loquax.com. Some of these have money-off vouchers as prizes, rather than things you win outright, and others are local to a particular area, but do have a trawl if you feel in the mood.

That Was A Week, That Was

2009-11-30T07:02:00.003Z

Last week was all go, and it all went rather well, thank goodness. After the visitors left yesterday afternoon I was shattered, and spent the rest of the day sitting around reading (short stories, Guardian Weekend magazine, local paper), chatting (an hour on the phone with a much-loved old friend), eating dinner (lovely spicy tangy gnocchi with red onions, olives, capers and chillies, cooked by my aforementioned Paramour, bless him), and then watching two whole hours of TV with him (Hugh F-W and Top Gear - that's how tired I was) and doing a bit of crochet.

This morning I feel rested, rejuvenated and cheerful. A bit fizzy, in fact; as if something lovely is going to happen. Which it almost certainly isn't - but it's nice feeling this way, anyway, so I don't care. What is going to happen, at least according to my diary, is a fairly tranquil week, with enough work but not too much, a few short trips here and there, and a lovely meeting with lots of blogfriends at the week's end. Also, I should have time to fit in an hour's work on my book every morning. I managed two one-hour sessions of editing last week, and got a surprisingly large amount done in that time, which was very pleasing indeed.

All Change

2009-11-22T15:20:00.002Z

Next week looks manic. All of a sudden I have paid work commitments (hurrah!) and then my family are descending at the weekend for our annual pre-festive-season get-together. Which is all very well, but I was just getting going on the editing, and now it looks as if I'll have to put it down for a week, and yes I know the value of mulling periods but right now I don't want one, dammit!

The good news is that I've almost finished writing short stories for this year. I have two to edit and a few to sub, which will all be done in odd moments this week (mostly this afternoon, by the look of things) and then I can concentrate on the book whenever I have time to write for the next few weeks.

I find it quite hard working on the book and writing short stories at the same time. I'm learning a lot from the short story writing, so I reckon it's worth it, but I do resent the time I have to spend creating new characters and situations when I could be fiddling with something or other on the book. And there is so much to fiddle with, from the overall structure, through characterisation, to the scrutinisation of every word and image to decide whether it's optimal in context.

At present, it looks as if I'll be able to get back to the book next week, if all goes according to plan. And then I have, ssh don't tell anyone, two whole free weekends in a row, which is very rare in my life. So even if the weeks become busy, I should be able to treat myself to writing weekends.

I doubt I'll be blogging much, if at all, next week. I'll be running around the country - out of town every day, and two nights away - so forgive me if I don't appear in your comments boxes. Back in a week or so, and I'll do my best to catch up with your news then.

Grumpy Old Writer

2009-11-18T07:32:00.003Z

I have declared today to be Word Usage Rant Day (WURD for short, am I good or what?). I'll start, then anyone who feels like it can have a go in the comments box.

There are three forms of word usage that have been annoying me lately. The first is 'on a regular basis', 'on a daily basis', 'on a weekly basis'. Why all those unnecessary extra syllables? What's wrong with 'regularly', 'daily' and 'weekly'? Or, in the last two cases, if the word doesn't seem right in context, 'each day' or 'each week' will do fine. I'm bored with 'basis', it's boring, y'hear?

Then there's the use of the word 'genuinely' for emphasis when it adds nothing. 'This movie genuinely scared me.' 'Here is a genuinely helpful warning about spam.' 'She is a genuinely honest competition judge.' The word 'genuinely' contributes no value to such sentences, as far as I can see. All it does is leave me wondering about the non-scary movies, the unhelpful warnings, and the dishonest competition judges.

And finally, my pettest of pet hates: 'nothing worse'. And here *rubs hands in glee* I can name names. For example, singer/songwriter VV Brown recently went on record as saying 'There's nothing worse than feeling podgy and you have to wear "that dress" and not feeling hot in it.' The actor Rupert Grint said 'There's nothing worse than a critic being bitchy.' And just to prove this isn't solely a meedja phenomenon, some entrepreneur called Michelle Mone is quite sure that 'There is nothing worse than interviewing someone who is lacking confidence and positivity.'

Malnutrition, anyone? War? Double amputation? Sheesh!

Now I know language is a living thing, that it changes continually. I'm fine with that, in principle - and I wholeheartedly embrace many of the changes in practice - but I don't have to like, or even approve of, every single change.

So what gets your back up about current language use?

Free Books!

2009-11-13T07:00:00.000Z

Does everyone except me know about Scribd? And, if so, why didn't anyone tell me?

According to themselves, Scribd is 'the world's largest social publishing company with the goal to collect all the world's written works and make them available for people to read and interact with in any way they want. Scribd is changing the way people discover, share and sell original writings and documents on the Web. Its innovative document reader technology enables anyone to easily upload any files, including PDF, Word, PowerPoint and other document types and share on scribd.com or embed on thousands of other websites.'

According to me, Scribd = free books! (And recipes, and presentations, and games, and lots else besides.)

I came across Scribd the other day when I was searching for help with short story writing. Google suggested I look at a book on Scribd, by Michael Allen, called 'How To Write A Short Story That Works'. To my surprise, after a quick registration procedure, I was able to download the entire book for free. And it had some useful stuff in, too. Not everything was relevant for me - I'm OK with spelling and grammar, thanks - and some parts felt slightly long-winded and/or repetitive, although this could be because I've read 57283 how-to books already. But there were some sizeable nuggets of information and guidance that I found very useful indeed.

So, if you want free books - and who doesn't? - I'd recommend heading over to Scribd. But be warned, there's loads of content to browse through. You may be away for some time!

Editing!

2009-11-11T07:00:00.001Z

I started work on the second draft of my book yesterday. I've pulled together all my mentor's comments. Her global comments are in a 'to do' list, and I'm in the process of importing her detailed comments into my manuscript. Most of her suggestions for specific deletions or amendments go straight in, apart from the ones where I think I might know better - oh the hubris!! Then there are places where I write shouty little notes to myself in capitals, such as INTERNAL RESPONSE NEEDED HERE or TOO SUBTLE (thinks: blimey, that's a first!), NEEDS MORE TO HELP THE READER GET TO KNOW THIS CHARACTER.

I'm also going through an archive of my relevant writing, again on my mentor's advice, to identify pieces that I might be able to adapt and include. Both of these tasks are laborious but not difficult. And it is such a joy to have writing tasks that don't make me feel as if I'm fighting invincible monsters while wearing lead boots and a blindfold.

I know from experience, and can see from my mentor's global comments, that there is more hard work ahead. As I've said before, I'm not afraid of hard work; often, I enjoy it. But the last month or two, I have found writing to be difficult in a new way. I wish I could work out why, because I have a theory that if I knew the reasons, I'd be able to overcome the difficulty. (Which may be a completely stupid theory.) But I don't mind not knowing why if I can overcome it anyway. I'm optimistic that this more enjoyable patch is a good omen for the future, and I'm hopeful that I can move forward to a place where writing is mostly fun again.

Old Friends And New

2009-11-09T07:30:00.003Z

Last weekend was such a perfect social mixture that I feel as if I've had a holiday. It began on Friday night with dinner at our place for three couples, people I met through work about eight years ago. We know each other fairly well, now; they no longer feel like new friends, and they're good relaxing company, although they don't yet feel quite like old friends. The evening was great fun: all the food was well received (hardly any leftovers!!) and the conversation flowed as readily as the wine.

On Saturday my Paramour and I went to stay with my old friend Amy and her children aged 10 and 11. She and I have been friends for more than half our lives, so she is definitely in the 'old friend' category. My Paramour and I have spent so much time at her house that we know where everything is, and she and her children treat us as part of the family. Again, we ate, drank and talked non-stop. Amy has recently split from an unsuitable bloke - a perfectly nice man, but one who turned out to be rather possessive and controlling, and was therefore a slightly inhibiting influence on her friendships over the last couple of years. There were some positive aspects to this, too - he encouraged and supported her to get more qualifications, which has helped her professionally - but my Paramour and I are not sorry he's off the scene. We all relaxed into each other's company in a way we haven't been able to do for a while, and it was a real joy.

Then last night we had our new neighbours round for wine and pizzas. And they're lovely! The children - Jack (six, nearly seven) and Anna (four and a half) - were good company: well behaved, chatty and confident. Mark is a self-employed builder and Carrie is a teacher, and it didn't take us long to discover that we all share a very similar world view. I think they will be good neighbours. It's too early to know whether they will also be good friends, but all the signs are positive.

It didn't occur to me, until I sat down to write this post, that we'd had such a perfect mix of old friends, new friends, and those inbetween. Friendships do develop, shift and change, and sometimes end. I have felt sad, recently, about a couple of long-standing friendships that seem to be on the way out, so I find it helpful to remember that it's also possible to make new friends. A wise friend said to me recently that friendships ebb and flow like the tide. I value my friends enormously - and that includes my blogfriends *waves to you*. So much so that, if I had to choose between my writing and my friends, my friends would win hands down.

Does It Feel Good?

2009-11-06T06:08:00.002Z

So I finished the first draft, and posted to let people know, and several of you bounced up and down in my comments box and my email inbox, whooping and congratulating me.

'Does it feel good?' asked lovely blogfriend JJ.

I remember the first time I finished the first draft of a book. That felt amazing. This time, I just felt flat.

I think there are a number of reasons for this. Having taken the previous version through six drafts, I'm well aware of the amount of work that is still to be done (although this time, I think largely due to my wonderful mentor's input, I reckon I can finish it in four). I am pleased to have reached this milestone, and I think the next draft will be more fun, because I much prefer editing - crafting the story to make it as good as I can - to churning out the words in the first place. But I'm still struggling with my writing. Writing is often difficult, but I don't mind difficult; often I enjoy it. I'm not sure why I'm struggling at the moment. Yesterday, I took several hours to come up with the bones of a short story, and that's unusual.

It could be that I'm struggling because my skills are improving and I'm in a period of adjustment. That would be good. Or it could be because I'm a little weighed down with other things - my Paramour's ongoingly high stress levels; insufficient paid work; being a bit under the weather myself just now. That wouldn't be surprising. Either way, I know I have to write on through this.

And, although I am a little weighed down, I'm not hugely miserable or depressed or anything. My problems are temporary; generally, life is fine; and there are some really good bits. In fact I'm going to have a lovely weekend: I'm doing dinner for eight of us tonight, then tomorrow my Paramour and I are going to stay overnight with dear friends, and on Sunday the new neighbours are coming round to see our house and drink wine and eat pizza. And I'm not going to do any writing at all!

Finished... For Now

2009-11-04T06:02:00.001Z

It seems I have finished the first draft of my memoir. That happened rather fast, and mostly by cheating. Well, sort of cheating. I imported several thousand words from the sixth draft of my novel, and re-edited them into memoir style, which helped. The other thing that helped was redefining the target word count.

I was originally aiming for 80,000 words. Then my lovely mentor, aka evil hatchet woman, used her red machete on the first few chunks - nothing so common as a pen for her, oh no! So I thought OK, better increase the word target to 90,000 to allow for all that deletion. But in later chunks, she's been saying things like 'do more of X here' or 'give us more of Y there', so I decided that would balance out her machete-wielding antics, and went back to my original aim of 80,000 words.

Trouble was, the story finished when I'd only written 76,500 words. I could have gone back and shoe-horned in extra bits of dialogue and description, perhaps a whole new scene or two. But I didn't think there was any point. I know I've got a shedload of work to do on the second draft. Surely I can sort out the word count then.

So I've finished! For now.

Heaven Can Wait

2009-11-02T06:08:00.007Z

Cally Taylor, on the longest blog tour in history, has reached Qwerty Queen's domain. I will avoid the temptation to make comparisons between Ms Taylor and that other longest-tour-in-history record-holder, Iron Maiden. (They had very different riders, too - Iron Maiden didn't ask for lots of Hotel Chocolat products.) Nor will I review Cally's debut novel, Heaven Can Wait; that's been done, very competently, elsewhere.

I will say that I enjoyed reading Cally's book very much. It has made some people cry; it didn't have that effect on me, although parts of it were moving, but it did make me laugh. It's lovely to be able to praise this book because I've met Cally a few times and she has been enormously supportive of my writing. I think it's highly unlikely that I would have sold any short stories without her support.

Also, as a researcher, I can't pass up an opportunity to ask nosy questions, so when she invited me to interview her, I seized the opportunity to ask about some of her influences.

How have your real-life friends influenced your writing? "My real-life friends have been hugely supportive of my writing. For a long time I think they viewed it as a hobby I dabbled with when I wasn't socialising with them, but they were all as delighted as I was the first time I had something published in print (a piece of Flash Fiction in a competition anthology by Leaf Books in December 2005). In fact, half a dozen of them came round to my flat to celebrate with champagne!

In the summer of 2006, when my short story “Wish You Were Here” was awarded the runner-up prize in Woman’s Own magazine, lots of my friends rushed out to buy a copy and I was really touched by the phone calls that followed – particularly the ones that said it had made them cry!

I can't even begin to describe the reaction of friends and family to the news I was getting a novel published. I felt really quite over-whelmed by all the love and warmth that greeted the news. So many people told me they were proud of me it was astonishing.

None of the characters in my novels are directly influenced by any of my friends or family but I think it's inevitable that every person you meet has an impact on you in some way. I think my subconscious stores up all my experiences and the traits of the people I've met and mixes them all up to create characters."

How have your blog friends influenced your writing? "My blog friends have been so supportive it's incredible. Joining the Novel Racers was the best decision I ever made. I lurked on Kate Harrison's blog for ages, looking longingly at the group she'd started up with Lucy Diamond and thinking there was no way they'd ever accept a novice writer like me into the fold, before I finally plucked up the courage to ask if I could join. Everything changed for me after that. From being the only writer I knew I was suddenly surrounded by other people who were writing novels, dreaming of publication and struggling with this or that. It was wonderful to be able to talk about the craft of fiction without eyes glazing over or the subject being changed (no offence to my real life friends but if you're not passionate about writing discussing it for hours on end probably isn't that interesting!).

When I was writing ‘Heaven Can Wait’ I knew that the other writers in the Novel Racers group were beavering away on their own novel and that really helped to motivate me to get mine finished.

In April 2008 I started up my own group – a short story group called ‘A Story A Fortnight’ – and that’s also been a fantastic experience. Everyone is so generous with their knowledge and critiques and I’m inordinately proud of all our achievements, not least the fact that the group has now sold over 50 stories to various women’s magazine. I’ve met lots of the Novel Racers and SAF girls in person now and they’re as lovely and fun in real life as they are online.

Finally I need to mention the blog friends who visit my blog, some of whom have been there right from the beginning - when I first started blogging in 2006 about my attempts to get published. Writing can be quite a lonely world to live in sometimes and supportive and encouraging comments from my blog visitors continue to remind me that I'm not the only one who lives there!"

How have your own religious or spiritual beliefs, or the lack of them, influenced your writing? "Ooh, tricky question. I got confirmed when I was a teenager but would probably describe myself as an agnostic now. One of my favourite quotes is from Gabriel Garcia Marquez "I don't believe in God but I'm afraid of him" and that pretty much summarises my attitude to religion. I don't really believe in anything but there's a part of me that's a bit worried about what'll happen when I die if I don't (probably a hangover from being religious when I was younger).

I don’t like thinking about death – it scares me – and a psychologist would probably say that, by writing about death and the afterlife in a light-hearted way, I’m masking that fear. I’d say to that psychologist “It’s just a story. Tsk!” ;)"

How has your short story writing influenced your novel writing? "Writing short stories helped me find my voice as a writer. When I first started writing them I wrote what I thought were literary stories but I felt like I was forcing them out instead of writing what came to me more naturally. And that was light-hearted romantic comedies!"

How do your tastes in food and drink influence your writing? "Drinking wine helps when I'm blocked! When you're three sheets to the wind you think every word you're writing is great (even if you can't understand a word of it the next day). Seriously though, I don't think what I eat or drink influences what I'm writing although I definitely can't write if I'm hungry. If I'm hungry I can't do anything!"

Thanks, Cally, for those interesting and entertaining answers. If you'd like to know more, Cally's blog is here and her website is here. And finally, I'd like to alert you all to two competitions being run in conjunction with the publication of Heaven Can Wait. The first is a short story competition that Cally has set up in the hope that another writer can get a lucky break on the back of her own success. This is typical of Cally's supportive approach, and you can find details here. Then, whether you're a writer or not, you can enter the competition run by her publishers to win a load of high street shopping vouchers: details here.

And finally, many apologies for the weird fonts and formatting. I've tried everything, including retyping the whole post, and I can't make them behave :-(

Neighbour Changes

2009-10-30T08:41:00.002Z

A quick recap on the neighbour situation. We've lived next door to Pam and Bob since we moved here almost nine years ago. Bob was always pleasant and friendly; Pam was barely civil at best, sometimes quite hostile. Then in April Bob was diagnosed with cancer; in May, he died; and his funeral was held in June.

My Paramour and I have done what we could to support Pam. She hasn't had an easy time. Her father collapsed ten minutes before her husband's funeral, and had to go to hospital in an ambulance with one of her brothers while the other escorted her to the funeral. A couple of weeks later, her dog died very suddenly. We encouraged her to get a puppy, which she did. She put her house on the market at the end of July, and we thought about buying it ourselves, but it would have been too much of a financial stretch.

Pam is a difficult person, and I wasn't sorry at the prospect of her moving away. However, I didn't think her decision was entirely wise. She told me she didn't want to stay here because her only friends are 'pub friends', she knows she shouldn't spend much time in the pub, and they're not helping. They don't want to hear about Bob, and keep telling her she should move on. In my view, nobody should ever say that to a grieving person. Pam wants to move to live near her family, and maybe that is a good idea, but she's lived with Bob in the house next door to us for the last 20 years, and it seemed to me that part of her motivation was to escape her grief. Which, of course, she won't be able to do.

My Paramour and I met one of our new neighbours a few weeks ago. We were on our way back from town and saw a couple of people on the pavement outside Pam's house, pointing at things and chatting, so we went and introduced ourselves. Mark, our new neighbour, was with a friend, looking at some of the work that will need doing. He told us that he and his wife had wanted to buy our house when it was last on the market, but couldn't afford it at the time. We both took to him: he's a few years younger than us, friendly, with a good sense of humour. It's been 15 years since I last had a neighbour I really liked, and it would be lovely to live next door to people we get on with.

Today is their moving day. Last night I went to the supermarket and bought two bottles of fizz and two cards. (I'm afraid I bought a slightly nicer bottle for the new neighbours.) This morning I took Pam's bottle and card next door, first thing, and left it on her wheelie bin. About half an hour later I got a text message.

How kind. Thank u. Have just found your card. I will miss your kindness and understanding. Bob really liked u both as I do. I feel totally bereft 2day when I should b happy 2 make a fresh start. Once again thank u. x

My Paramour thinks that maybe the move will be helpful for Pam. I hope he's right - but I'm not convinced.

Writery Stuff

2009-10-26T11:42:00.002Z

A week ago I was fed up. I was working really hard on the book, longing to get to the end, and yet struggling with the process. My lovely mentor said I needed to slow down. I didn't want to hear that, but she was very persuasive:

"Sometimes our authorial selves just need a break! The trouble with being dependant on word counts is that there's a risk of not having breathing space to let the book just 'be' for a while. If the pleasure has gone out of the process, I promise that will show in the writing itself. There's no way it couldn't. Maybe you need to ease up on yourself and stop racing to the end. I've always said that writing is so much more than words on the page. It's the walk in the country, the sit on the bus, the lie in the bath ... all the times when your book is sitting on your shoulder and whispering in your ear, even though you're not notching up the word count directly. Obviously I also want you to be able to finish this book, but if you're hating the writing I can't believe you will feel good with the finished product or that it will be anything like the standard I know it could be and indeed should be if it is to have any chance of fulfilling its potential."

Reluctantly, I had to admit she was right. So I grumbled to a halt and felt cross with the whole world. Writing a book was a stupid idea, it was a rubbish book and nobody would ever want to read it.

Then on Thursday I sold a short story. Woo hoo! My fourth sale, to The Weekly News who bought my first story too. That cheered me up a whole lot.

And on Friday I found myself thinking about my book quite lovingly, and with some interest, which was a pleasant experience.

Over the weekend I wrote a short story in a new genre, and really enjoyed using language to create emotion in the reader. (At least, that's what I was trying to do. I'm sure my short story group will tell me whether I've achieved my aim.)

Later today, or tomorrow, I am going to start work on the book again. Instead of feeling stroppy and resentful, I'm looking forward to it. I've cleared my way through some other jobs, to free up time, and I've worked out a new way to tackle the writing. I may even take the final stretch at a more leisurely pace. No promises, though!

Things That Made Me Smile Today

2009-10-22T19:31:00.005+01:00

A
J
E
V
U
N
F
S
A
R
U
J
N
F
Y
U
C
D
H
R
D
F
Q
P
W
K
M
There are a few letters to keep you going if some of yours are held up by the post strike. Wahey!

That was a text from a good friend. It made me smile.

And: I sold another short story. Yippee! To The Weekly News - it's the second one I've sold to them.

Also, my lovely mentor sent me some great feedback on chunk 6 of the book.

JJ's terrific post with inside info from the publishing industry is very useful, and made me smile - if a little ruefully in places.

Paolo Nutini's fab CD Sunny Side Up makes me smile every time I play it, especially when I remember that my Paramour gave it to me for services rendered. I particularly like the new single Pencil Full Of Lead (that link is to the lyrics; music version on YouTube here). My Paramour said it even made him feel happy when he was stuck in a traffic jam and that, from a man who does not do queuing or waiting, is a huge compliment.

All my lovely friends on my sidebar make me smile. Sometimes one of them makes me laugh out loud. Hilary is particularly good at this.

And I smile every time I remember that I'm going down south tomorrow for a weekend with some of my lovely blogfriends.

What has made you smile today?

Not Blogging Today...

2009-10-19T11:10:00.001+01:00

...because my lovely mentor told me to have some time off. (I think she meant from working on the book - but I'm a creative, right? So I can interpret her suggestion creatively, right? Sssshhh, don't tell her!)

Gigs and Writing

2009-10-16T09:26:00.003+01:00

Great comedy gig last night: Simon Amstell, supported by Arnab Chanda. I'd never heard of Mr Chanda but he was very funny. "What do butterflies get in their tummies when they're nervous? It can't be butterflies. They would just be pregnant."

There were similarities between the two acts: both men were skinny, clever, fizzing with energy, slightly surreal, self-deprecating, self-mocking. Simon Amstell was on top form, juggling the subjects of being Jewish, shy, gay, single and famous, with great courage and vulnerability. I went with my Picky Friend who has a well-developed critical faculty. After the show, PF unhesitatingly scored it nine out of ten, commenting 'if I ever gave anything a ten, it would have had a ten'.

And tonight: The Unthanks, with my Paramour, which I suspect will be every bit as good, albeit of course very different.

Before then, though, I am going to try to produce another 2000 words (and do various jobs as well, sigh). I'm finding writing really hard at the moment. Each word takes a lot of effort and grunting, as if I haven't had enough fibre in my writing diet. It's not always like this: sometimes the writing flows easily, more often it's an enjoyable challenge. But I think writers need to find ways to write through the patches where the going is hard.

I've been reading some poems by Alice Walker. I read poetry a lot, which doesn't equate to reading a lot of poetry, because I'll often read a poem several times, slowly. This is because I like poetry, yet I've been struggling with Alice Walker's poems. She writes about interesting subjects: feminism, family, racism, love. But it seems to me that her poetry doesn't have the layers, colours, depths that I find in the poems I love best, such as those by Carol Ann Duffy or Seamus Heaney. Then I found a line that struck me in one of the few pieces of prose in the book: 'there is only waiting for poetry, there is no solicitation.' I wonder whether this is why I don't get on so well with her poetry: because she didn't write through the times where writing was hard, and so didn't develop the full range of her abilities to express herself.

Then again, maybe I'm wondering that because I want some justification for my current struggle, and really Alice Walker is a fine poet who I don't get because I'm not clever enough, or not American enough, or not mixed-race enough, or something. Because far from waiting for the muse to strike, I'm soliciting like anything; in fact, I'll probably get arrested any day now.

What do you think? Do you write when writing is, as my dear friend Beleaguered Squirrel so eloquently put it in her latest blog post, like trying to pull a dead cat through your own gut? Or do you only write when you feel inspired? Or some combination of the two?

Frustration

2009-10-14T10:13:00.002+01:00

Life has become horribly frustrating. Everything is thwarting my desires. If I was a character in a novel, I'd be a great read right now. Trouble is, what's good to read about in literature is often vile to live through.

Specifics are as follows.

Many, many short story rejections. I know each rejection takes me closer to the next acceptance. I know I've done well to sell three stories in my first 18 months of writing them. But, dammit, another acceptance wouldn't half cheer me up.

My poor Paramour. As well as his bereavement, he is now also dealing with a very stressful work crisis that may end up with him not getting paid several grand for working his butt off over the summer. He's pale and distracted and not sleeping well. This mostly makes me feel compassionate, but there is a significant side order of frustration because several of our joint projects have had to be put on indefinite hold, and your friendly neighbourhood monarch doesn't like uncertainty, she likes plans and lists. (Plus I want to disembollock the stupid treacherous incompetent people who have put him in this position, and I can't.)

My slightly mad youngest aunt. She's 14 years older than me and mostly good value: funny, intelligent, and a fabulous cook, but every now and again she takes umbrage at something minor, blows it all out of proportion and has a big rant at someone. It has come to my ears that she is currently hopping mad with me. I'm not particularly bothered about this as such, because (a) she's being ridiculous, and (b) one of her redeeming features is that once the rant is over, she forgets all about it - I don't think she'd know what to do with a grudge. However, I've been tipped off by a family member, who doesn't want me to confront my aunt because they will get in trouble for telling me, so now I have to wait for her rant. I hope to goodness I answer the phone when she rings because, if she rants at my Paramour about something that's nothing to do with him when he's horribly stressed and miserable, I may not be responsible for my actions.

Work. I don't have enough paid work. There are rumblings of more to come, and I expect it will, but it looks as if I'll end up doing 80-hour weeks in Jan/Feb/March like I did last year, which will rebalance the finances but will mean I have to postpone working on the book, and I've heard all the platitudes about a break being helpful for your writing so I don't want to hear them again, OK? It's an ongoing source of frustration that my clients are such deadline junkies when, with a bit of planning and organisation, they could have better results and we could all have more manageable lives.

Not getting stuff done. Writing, of course, but I have a zillion other outstanding jobs - plants that need pruning, rogue piles of stuff everywhere which need sorting and tidying, trips to the charity shop with the resulting throw-outs, self-assessment paperwork, correspondence, Xmas shopping (some of which is suddenly more urgent because of the imminent postal strikes), clearing out the dead phones and computers from my office, taking all the cardboard that won't fit into the recycling bin down to the tip because the effing council won't pick up side waste, etc etc etc. Due to the lack of paid work, I have plenty of time at the moment yet it still seems difficult to get through the tasks.

Politics. I blogged about this recently, so I won't bang on about it again, but I did read a terrific article by Jenni Russell that said a lot of what I wanted to say in a much more politically savvy way. The comments were interesting, too, and it's telling how few of them disagree (and these are Comment is Free commenters, who specialise in disagreeing).

Even the last lot of feedback from my beloved mentor Debi increased the frustration levels. Not because there was anything wrong with it - quite the reverse; it was incisive and helpful as ever - but because, dammit, she makes me think, and that slows down the writing process. Yes, I know being made to think is a good thing, indeed it's a big part of what I want from her, but there's so much to think about, and writing a book is so hard, and my biggest fear is that I'm looking down the barrel of another six drafts and another change of tack and never EVER getting the bloody book published!!!

I know the only thing I can do is to keep chipping away at the various tasks and accept the aspects of life that I can't change. I know that having a huge screaming tantrum won't help - it'll use up valuable energy and, when I've finished sweeping up the shards of china, I'll still have to keep chipping away etc etc. I know the chipping away and accepting approach is the sensible grown-up option. But you know what? Being sensible and grown-up, when you really want to have a huge screaming tantrum, is very frustrating - aarrgghh!!!!!

Edinburgh

2009-10-12T14:43:00.002+01:00

We had an inauspicious start to the weekend: a car journey where everything went wrong, from the major accident half a mile from our house which blocked the dual carriageway, through three other accidents and about 10 sets of roadworks, to the final contraflow 100 yards from my Dear Old Friend's house in Edinburgh. Then it got better. DOF lives in one of those gorgeous old Georgian houses with huge high-ceilinged rooms and she plied us with good wine and fab food and excellent conversation. Her mum was there too, I've known them both since I was 10 and my Paramour has known them for over a decade now, it was all very harmonious.

The next day was lovely. DOF had to work and DOF's mum was meeting a friend in town. My Paramour and I wandered into the city centre and met some other friends for a three-hour lunch at Wedgwood's, which has crippling prices in the evening but a rather good set-price lunch (£10 for 2 courses, £14 for three) and, er, the wine is good too. Then we wandered back to DOF's, drank tea until we sobered up, by which time the others were back and DOF took us to the Scotch Malt Whisky Society member's rooms for wee drams and haggis, neeps and tatties.

Sunday was DOF's mum's 87th birthday, so we started with presents and a leisurely breakfast. Then we all went to look round the Botanic Gardens, including the impressive new Visitor Centre and an amazing exhibition of art and artefacts all made from the wood of a single wych elm tree - there were the kind of things you might expect, like a table and a fruit bowl (although they weren't in the styles you might expect), but also a lot of unexpected things like a yurt and an Aeolian harp. The gardens were looking beautiful in the sunshine but then I did my dork act by trying to run up some uneven stone steps.

Falling over up steps is good because you don't have so far to fall. Falling over up steps is bad because there are lots of cornery bits to land on. Tally of injuries: big blue egg on right knee; skinned palm on right hand; skinned knuckle on left hand; small dent on chin; large dent in pride. I suspect it was quite an impressive falling over spectacle as several people rushed to my aid. My Paramour got there first and held my hand and said 'count to 10', which made me giggle. Then I wondered, being only 45 I'm fairly sure I just fell over, but if my 81-year-old aunt did the same she would have officially 'had a fall', so at what age do we make the transition? In the circumstances, I think I should probably find out - any ideas?

As I had no serious injuries we continued round the gardens, then DOF drove us into town where we pottered round the shops for a couple of hours. Shortly before we arrived back at DOF's, my Paramour got a call on his mobile to tell him a Good Friend of his had died. GF had fairly severe cancer and wasn't expected to survive long-term, but my Paramour had seen him the previous week and he'd been reasonably upbeat, talking about the next phase of his treatment, and he was still living independently at home so it came as quite a shock. I asked my Paramour what he'd like to do, and he chose to continue with the weekend as planned; mostly he didn't want to spoil DOF's mum's birthday (she was only widowed a couple of years ago, and these celebrations can be difficult). So we did - we tipped off DOF (which was just as well, because she could help me cover for my Paramour when he needed to go and be by himself for a while) and managed to give DOF's mum the special roast dinner we'd planned, with DOF's lethal margaritas to help everything along.

I liked GF very much, but wasn't close to him, so my job for the next week or two is to do support for my poor Paramour who loved his friend dearly and is grieving hard. Goodness knows he's done enough through my bereavements over the years we've been together - I think I'm ahead 6-2 at present, not counting the shared ones - and he's very easy to support, it mostly involves dispensing hugs and whisky. I can't take away the pain, but I can make life easier for him in some ways, and I'm glad to be able to help.

Let's Stop The Blame Game

2009-10-09T07:01:00.000+01:00

The thing about politics is, it changes as you get older. I've known this for a long time: when I was in my early 20s, a boyfriend's uncle told me that voting Labour was for the young, and I'd shift to voting Conservative as I got older.

I have voted Labour for most of my life, with occasional forays in the Green or Lib Dem directions. Now, though, I am feeling somewhat disenchanted. There are many reasons for this, but one is a direct result of my work. I am currently being funded by the Government to research the reasons why some families with young children, living below the poverty line, don't use the services provided by the state. I wonder why the Government bother paying me with one hand, while with the other hand they are enforcing policies like the recent Ofsted ruling that parents who are friends may not set up informal childcare exchange arrangements and our Prime Minister's plan that 'bad' parents will have to attend parenting skills courses or their benefits risk being withdrawn. Even if you give your neighbour's child a lift, with your own, to an activity they both attend, you will have to undergo a check of your criminal record. Following the tragic and entirely preventable death of Baby P, Social Services departments across the land are reversing the policy of trying to keep families together that they have been using for the last 20 years and taking more children into care. So why do you think it could be that parents who are reliant on the state may not want to use services provided by the state? Can you see a potential problem here?

I'm not arguing that all these policies are wrong. Some of them may be right. What I'm arguing is that there has been a sea change from state support for families to state intervention in families, and in this climate there is little point investigating why some of the most marginalised families don't readily interact with public services, because it's completely bleedin' obvious.

So am I about to cross the floor of the House? I don't think so. David Cameron is machete-happy when it comes to benefits. He'd like to get unemployed people back into work, with particular emphasis on the disabled. Wake up, Mr Cameron! We have 2.5 million unemployed people in this country, most of them desperate to get back into paid work. Yes, getting them back into work is a great idea, but that won't be achieved by slashing benefits; it will only be achieved by creating and sustaining enough jobs to employ them all.

What will I do, then, at the next election? I have no idea. My Paramour and I are off to Edinburgh this weekend to visit friends, and they alerted us to a demonstration to celebrate 100 years of women's suffrage. Frankly, right now I'd chain myself to some railings to fight for the right not to vote for any of the tossers who think they can run this country. If there was a 'none of the above' box on the voting form, I suspect I'd tick that option.

When Labour were elected in 1997, I thought it was the dawning of a new era. As they spent the next few years lambasting the Tories for leaving the country in such a mess, I cheered from the sidelines, confident that Labour would make our nation all shiny and new. But Labour's promises - the ethical foreign policy, prudent domestic economic management, etc - proved worthless. Now, we're facing the prospect of the Tories being elected, spending the next few years lambasting Labour for leaving the country in such a mess, and so on and so forth.

Here's the thing. People who are elected as MPs have to represent all their constituents fairly. They don't only represent those who voted for them. So why oh why oh why can't we put a stop to the blame game which has to be one of the most unattractive aspects of our culture? Labelling some parents, unemployed people with disabilities, people of other political parties as 'bad' is fundamentally unhelpful. If everyone who stands for Parliament has the best interests of our country's population at heart, why can't elected MPs work together to sort out the most sensible way forward, then give each social programme long enough to prove itself - or otherwise - before changing tack?

OMG I BROKE MY RECORD!!!!!

2009-10-06T15:04:00.005+01:00

Three thousand words today!!! I've never written so many words in one day, but I could see that halfway point and it beckoned me on. What's more, nothing else happened - no texts or phone calls and only a few emails, none of which required more than a minute to answer.

I reckon I could write another thousand if I didn't have a few other tasks that need my attention. I promise to write a blog post about something else soon but today it's all about the words.

I'm halfway! It's all downhill from here!

Er, is that what I mean? ;-)

While I think of it, JJ said in a comment on my last post: 'How the devil can you do it? And, more to the point, why can't I?' I think it's practice first, and then having the time available. Four years ago I was writing 500 words three times a week. JJ, too, has made huge strides in terms of her output, as anyone who doesn't know her can see from her blog. It's all about following Terry Pratchett's advice to writers: Apply Bum Glue!

Look At All Those Words!!!

2009-10-05T16:03:00.002+01:00

See my word counter? I broke the 40k barrier yesterday and another 10k chunk went to my hard-working mentor. I can't believe I've done 40k in six weeks flat. Then again, this is a rewrite, after six drafts of a former version, so I ought to know my way by now. That does save some time, because I know what I'm telling, but I still have to deal with the question of how to tell the story. At the moment that's proving difficult. I could claim to be mired in a sticky middle patch, which would be plausible in terms of the word count, but would imply that I have some idea where the end will be. Which, at present, I do not.

Nevertheless, with a fairly free day today, I've churned out another 2k. Two thousand words seems a perfectly possible daily output if I don't have much else to do. I'm nearly halfway! At this rate, I could be halfway by Wednesday lunchtime!

I don't think I'll be able to keep this up indefinitely, as paid work is bound to get in the way - and indeed it needs to, because of pesky things like bills and the mortgage. But, for now, it feels good.

I Blame The Parents

2009-10-02T07:10:00.000+01:00

This meme was passed on by JJ. I have to list five of my obsessions, so here goes. They are in chronological order and, to my surprise, I can trace them all back to my parents.

1. Reading. My mother taught me to read when I was three years old. Her teaching method may have been slightly unorthodox - I remember a lot of bribery involving ice lollies - but it worked, and I don't think a day has gone past since then without me reading something, if only street signs and packaging. But mostly it's been books.

2. Writing. I began to write at school, with lots of supervised practice and encouragement at home, and have been doing it ever since. Learning to type was a bonus (thanks, Mum - again!) because I can write three times as fast with a keyboard as I can with a pen.

3. Cooking. My father is a keen cook, I often wanted to help, and he was usually willing to let me have a go. I remember the excitement of preparing a whole family meal by myself for the first time, I think I was 12 or 13. I love cooking, especially for other people, although I will also cook proper meals for myself when I'm alone (a habit I got into when I lived on my own). I'd write a cookbook if there weren't so many already.

4. Keeping fit. As a child, my mother taught me to swim, my father taught me to play tennis, and they both infected me with the walking bug. I hated PE at school, but started doing yoga seriously when I was 16 or 17, then swam regularly in my early 20s until I developed an allergy to chlorine. I played tennis (badly) and badminton (well) until I slipped a disc in my back and was banned from racquet sports. You might think all these mishaps would have put me off, but no: the doctor advised me to take up weight training which, to my surprise, I loved, and have done regularly for the last 20 years. I am by no means super-fit, and there are times when my exercise programme has had to be shelved for a while - the last year of my PhD; while I was suffering from huge fibroids and then recovering from the consequent hysterectomy - but I always come back to regular exercise because it makes me feel better about everything.

5. Crochet. My mother was a keen knitter and dressmaker, my father a rug-maker and embroiderer. I have dabbled in all four but crochet is my newest obsession, it's only been with me for a few weeks and look:

I think most people have done this meme now, but if you fancy having a go, please help yourself!

Holiday Photos

2009-09-30T08:15:00.006+01:00

This is the little resort of Bosa Marina. Quite unspoilt, just a couple of restaurants and cafes, no sunbeds for hire. Warm, clean sea, and a huge arc of sand - this photo shows about a quarter of the beach. Look for the palm tree in the middle of the photo, our apartment is the one just above and to the right, on the top floor, with the long balcony.

This is a sunset view, taken from the balcony.

A 2 km walk up the Temo river (the only navigable river in Sardinia) brought us to the pretty mediaeval town of Bosa.

There were lots of lizards, they mostly disappeared with a tail-flick, but this one was cheeky!

And another sunset. I couldn't resist them - you're lucky I only posted two pics!

Grey mornings in the Midlands just aren't the same... sigh...

Of Smuggness

2009-09-27T14:58:00.002+01:00

Dear Reader, I am feeling very Smugg. So Smugg that a small 's' and one 'g' cannot convey the level of my Smuggitude.

The reasons for this are twofold. First, I have just had an utterly lovely holiday in unspoiled north-west Sardinia: snorkelling with sardines in clear warm sea (beats dolphins - more appetising), eating pizzas the size of cartwheels, reading book after book after book, gawping open-mouthed at stunning sunsets and frescoes, chatting happily with my travelling companion, and writing rather a lot of words too (5000 new ones plus 2500 lifted from a previous draft and edited).

Second, during my holiday I got the third report from my lovely mentor Debi. She had quite a lot to say, and was a bit worried that I might develop homicidal tendencies as a result, and dismiss her as an evil hatchet woman. Although I regularly seek and use feedback on my writing, it is true that my first reaction to receiving feedback is often to feel defensive, upset, and cross. I usually get past that fairly quickly without the need to inflict it on the giver of feedback. But this time there wasn't a shred of anything other than illumination and gratitude. I'm hoping to apply the lessons learned to the current 'chunk', and to have that ready to send to Debi sometime this week. Paid work is in rather short supply just now, but the upside of that is more time for writing, so I intend to make as much use of it as I can.

I will of course be popping round to visit you all in the next couple of days. Holiday snaps to follow.

Fabulous Friday

2009-09-18T09:53:00.002+01:00

Look at my word counter! Just look! Over there, on the right, headed 'Rewrite In Progress'. See? One-third done! Yep, the latest chunk of 10,000 words went off to Debi this morning. I even managed to write 500 words on Wednesday - and, speaking of Wednesday, thank you so much to everyone who responded to my last post. Your kindness really helped me through a very difficult day.

Today is differently difficult, in that I have rather too much to do for the time available. And the time available is shrinking rapidly, because at 4.45 pm I am leaving to catch a train to Birmingham Airport, where I will meet a girlfriend for a night in a hotel before an early check-in to catch the plane to Sardinia!!!!! We're staying in the mediaeval town of Bosa, in an apartment which looks amazing. The weather looks fab too - around 27 degrees in the daytime and 18 at night, perfect!

I've never been to Sardinia before, and neither has my friend. She is escaping from her husband and two children and her demanding job, so she's looking forward to the break. I will of course take my laptop and intend to write as much, or as little, as I feel like writing. I don't expect to have Internet access, so I'll tell you all about it after I get back (next weekend). There may even be photos!

Have a great week, everyone. Byeeeeeee!!!

My 20th Wedding Anniversary

2009-09-16T07:43:00.002+01:00

Dave and I met in 1985 when we were both volunteers at Centrepoint Night Shelter in central London, which offered overnight accommodation, food and advice to homeless teenagers. We hit it off from the start and soon became friends, often going out with other groups of volunteers.

After a couple of years Dave asked me out on a date. I was surprised, but then I thought, why not? We had a great time and soon became an item. He told me, on that first date, that he wanted to marry me. I told him 'no chance.'

So we got married on 16th September 1989. I'd never seen myself as the marrying type, but he went on and on about it until in the end I thought well, we're living together, I love him, if it'll shut him up we might as well. I wanted to get married in jeans and t-shirts with a couple of people off the street for witnesses. Dave wanted the whole enchilada, but luckily we were too skint for that. We settled on a low-key, registry office wedding, with a bring-a-bottle reception at his brother's house.

Then Dave began to lose interest. I realised, much too late, that he'd been trying to replace his mother who had died in a tragic accident when he was a young teenager. We had lots of good times, but he became increasingly difficult to live with. He was terrible with money and had no scruples about taking and spending mine as well as his. He could be enormously compassionate and loving, and at other times incredibly selfish. If I accused him of selfishness he would think for a moment, then say with disarming honesty 'yes, you're right,' which would have been endearing if it had been accompanied by any change in behaviour. He was emotionally literate, and taught me a lot about managing my own emotions, but like so many people, he wasn't as good at managing his own. At times he would stay up all night for nights on end, either out clubbing with friends or at home listening to music and writing poems. At other times he'd stay in bed all day, or droop around the house, for weeks. I think now that he may have had bipolar disorder but I didn't know enough, then, to seek information or help.

Our marriage lasted for six years. I tried to hold it together, but I couldn't make a marriage on my own. We were both sad when it ended, but we went back to being friends; we were always best at that. We had a great divorce. On the day our decree nisi came through, Dave took me out for dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Clapham. We were ordering aperitifs and starters and more drinks and main courses, and the waiter asked what we were celebrating. We told him. He rolled his eyes, said 'I get all the nutters on my tables,' and walked off. Dave and I laughed till our tears fell.

After a while I got together with my Paramour and Dave got together with Mandy. Dave and my Paramour got on well, and after I left London, Dave came to stay with us a few times. I also went to stay with Dave and Mandy. I liked Mandy, a kind young woman, although she had a lot of emotional problems and phobias and was quite fragile. I think Dave saw himself as her rescuer/protector, and perhaps she saw him like that too.

Then he hit another manic phase. He was preparing workshops that he thought would change people's lives. I asked questions about how he intended to manage the practicalities, which annoyed him, and we fell out. We'd had many arguments before and got past them, and several mutual friends were also finding him particularly hard work, so I didn't worry about it too much; I figured he'd get back in touch when he was ready, we'd both say 'sorry' and carry on as usual.

In November 2003 my Paramour and I came home to find a message from Dave's brother John on the answerphone, saying 'ring me.' I hadn't heard from John in years, so I rang immediately, full of foreboding. He told me that Dave had been attacked on the street in Brixton, near the flat he shared with Mandy; he was on life support; he wasn't going to make it.

The police didn't release Dave's body until mid-January. They never found out who killed him. The funeral was at the end of January and his family created and ran the service themselves. It was a lovely funeral, yet I found it bizarre for three reasons. First, they didn't mention me or our marriage. Second, Mandy read one of Dave's poems; a love poem; one that she said he'd often read to her. We were all given a copy of the original, in his handwriting. It was clearly dated 1993, and I remembered it well; he'd written it for me. Third, at the reception, I realised that Dave and Mandy had been so reclusive that most of Dave's old friends had never met Mandy. I realised this because they were all treating me as the grieving widow. I was grieving, for sure, but it was Mandy who needed to be in that role. I tried to direct people to her but they held back, reluctant, because they didn't know her.

I was, and am, grieving for my friend. My infuriating, funny, loving, clever, selfish, charming friend. I miss him most when a new gadget comes on the market, especially if it has anything to do with music. He loved technology and would have adored iPods, Spotify, Wii, all that kind of thing. I miss him right now, too, because he would have understood how I feel about today, probably better than I understand it myself.

I wish I didn't have a retentive memory for dates. Today is my 20th wedding anniversary, and I want to celebrate, and cry, and get through the day, and I'm really not sure how. I don't think anyone else I know remembers the significance of this date; if anyone does, they've never said. Nobody mentions Dave these days. I guess they don't want to upset me. I wish I could spend the day with people who knew him, and who remember, and we could talk about him, and cry a little, and laugh a lot, and eat and drink and take comfort in each other's company. But that's not going to happen. So I'll find another way, starting with this blog post.

It's Going Swimmingly

2009-09-14T06:52:00.002+01:00

This mentoring business is the business. I had my second lot of feedback from Debi last week, and I was delighted to find that I'm meeting my aim of improving my writing as I go along. Now, as I write, I have a frequent voice popping up in my head saying things like 'Debi wouldn't like that adjective,' 'Debi would say you need an internal reaction here from that character,' and, most frequently, 'Debi would delete that bit.'

Debi is very good at deleting things, at least with my writing. I'm sure she doesn't take the slash-and-burn approach to everyone's work, because not everyone will need it, but I certainly do. As a result I've revised my target word count from 80k to 90k, because then I might end up with 80k that's made it past Debi's machete!

I've been on a writing roll over the weekend and am now halfway towards the next 10k. I hope to get there by the end of the week as I'm away next week. It would be nice to go away with one-third of the draft behind me, although I'm so into the swing of it now that I expect I'll still be writing while I'm away. At this rate, if I can continue to turn out 5000 words a week, I could have a full draft by the end of the year. I'm not setting that as a target, because if my paid work gets busier I'll have to slow down on the writing - but as things stand at present, it is possible, and it would be a great Xmas present to myself.

Ethical Mobile Phones

2009-09-11T12:07:00.003+01:00

I've just come to the end of my current contract with Vodafone, and decided to try investigating ethical options. This was partly prompted by a flyer from the Phone Co-op which has been sitting on my desk for several weeks. All our landline business is with the Phone Co-op, who are not the cheapest but are definitely the most ethical; that's why we're with them, so surely it would make sense to transfer my mobile business too.

I've been with Vodafone for several years and have got used to their system of having a new handset 'free' with each new contract. I need a new handset; my current one keeps crashing. The fact that I'd have to pay £199 for my new handset, with the Phone Co-op, was initially a shock.

Then I started doing some sums. The Phone Co-op do offer 'bundle' packages of minutes and texts for a set monthly amount, but they point out that a lot of people have bigger 'bundles' than they need, and therefore end up paying more per minute/text they actually use than they realise. For example, if your 'bundle' includes 800 minutes per month, but you only use 200, each minute effectively costs four times as much as you think. Everyone's usage is different, which is why it's hard to work out what constitutes a good deal when it comes to mobile phones. But the Phone Co-op recommend their pay-for-what-you-use system, which starts at 4p/minute for calls and 6p/text, with a flat rate line rental of £1.70/month. They suggest that this works out cheaper for most people, in the end - and my sums seemed to bear that out.

So far, so good. Then I started looking into the ethics of handsets. Boy oh boy, what a minefield! We're getting used to thinking about ethical issues when it comes to shopping for food or clothes. Electronic goods are a different thing altogether. When a single component can have a supply chain of a dozen companies, it's really REALLY hard to establish anything definite about the ethical credentials of a finished product. Also, several mobile phone companies are good in some areas but bad in others. For example, Nokia score highly on environmental issues, but low on social issues because they have told newly recruited workers in India not to join unions, and most of their manufacturing is based in China which prohibits unions. Research carried out in 2006 found that staff of handset factories in China, India, Thailand and the Philippines worked up to 72 hours a week with compulsory overtime, insecure employment contracts, unsafe factories, inadequate protection when working with hazardous materials, wages below the subsistence level, suppression of union rights and degrading treatment.

I can't buy an ethical mobile phone. It's not possible to get one made locally by a craftsman. It's also not realistic to go back to life without one. My clients expect me to have a mobile phone and I can't afford to lose business.

So I'm going to bite the Phone Co-op bullet. My reasoning is, if I pay upfront and separately for my handset, I'm more likely to take care of it and keep it for longer, which offers more respect to the poorly paid people who have worked in lousy conditions to produce it for me. Also, I will recycle my old phone through a charity. But I still feel as if I'm in bed with the enemy.

The Joy Of Mentoring

2009-09-09T09:40:00.002+01:00

This writing business is hard, isn't it? While anyone who is literate can arrange words on a page, actually creating an effective piece of writing, whether it's a poem or a brochure, a novel or an email, is really very difficult.

I've been writing for decades, with some small successes: a national competition won, a handful of magazine articles, a very boring non-fiction book, a PhD thesis and three short stories published. For most of that time I've thought I wanted to write a novel. About six weeks ago I changed tack and am now working on a narrative non-fiction memoir, based on events in my life 12-14 years ago.

This has proved to be relatively easy in some ways and surprisingly complicated in others. The easy parts are that I know the characters really well because I know them in real life, and I can lift some scenes from previous pieces of writing so I'm not doing it all from scratch. The hard parts are the new writing, and disentangling threads that were important in my life from the threads that are important for the story.

So what does all this have to do with mentoring, you may ask? It's something I've considered doing before, and I've been very interested in JJ's experiences and those of Shaun Attwood as reported by PI. But I had stern voices in my head saying things like 'you should be past that stage after all these years' and 'you shouldn't spend MORE money on your writing' and 'mentoring is just wussy hand-holding anyway.' Three weeks ago I decided those voices are neither mine nor helpful, so they could shut up and let me get on with my life. Funnily enough they then went all quiet!

Having decided I wanted to dip my toe in the mentoring water, the next question was, who should I approach? I thought of a few possible organisations and individuals but my first choice was Debi Alper, who did such a helpful critique on the last draft of my novel. I wasn't sure whether she did mentoring, so I emailed her to ask how she would feel about taking me on. I was thrilled when she emailed back to say she would be happy to work with me.

I sent her my first 10,000 words, and they came back with suggested amendments and a written report a few days later. Debi's feedback was so useful that, if I had had any lingering doubts about the possible value of her mentoring, they would have been instantly dispelled. In particular, she identified a superfluous character. If I hadn't had her help at the start, I would have written that character right through the book, and it would then have taken much more work to edit him out. Also, she's given me several useful stylistic pointers: for example, I need to be careful not to use too many adjectives, or to overdo descriptions of body language. I'm learning such a lot from her advice, and aiming to put it into practice as I write the next section.

I've just emailed Debi the next 10,000 words and I'm looking forward to her response. She has mastered the art of constructive criticism, not only saying what I need to do but also explaining how to do it. She also seems to have a very thorough understanding of what works, and what doesn't, when it comes to writing and books. I'm so pleased I've finally taken the plunge. If you want to join me, I'd recommend it - it's lovely once you're in!