I visited Bath today. Well, not all of it, just Bath Spa University - very rural, very hilly. Took the eldest (eldest by 5 minutes) on her first uni interview. She's doing an Art Foundation Diploma as a compulsory pre-cursor to her degree course, which will start in October. Made me quite nostalgic for my college days, although the facilities are much better now. I think it was something about the smell. Its not like a school smell - small children (who have an unidentifiable smell all their own), cabbage and toilets, its different ... maybe pheromones and books, who knows, but whatever it is it took me right back. I must admit, I sat in the cafe (a great improvement on Cassio College's refectory - it was more like Costa Coffee without the price tag (medium-sized latte was £1.50 instead of an arm and a leg) - even the sandwiches were from Cranks!) and took out my OU workbook, writing pad and pen and felt quite at home ... if a little more wrinkled round the edges than the in-house students. If I am a little green, its travel sickness, honestly, not envy! Hey-ho - I will not live vicariously and I wouldn't go back to being 18 for all the coffee beans in Costa.
Off to Sunderland tomorrow. She couldn't have picked universities any further away from one another unless she went to Scotland! The Travelodge in Sunderland promises WiFi, so you may get a post tomorrow. On the other hand Travelodge promise a lot that often doesn't appear, so I'll just be grateful for enough clean bath towels and a kettle and TV that work! Apparently this one is built on top of a nightclub, so I'm hoping that, being a Tuesday, it'll be a quiet night. Also, Tasha and I are sharing a double bed and she kicks like a mule.
Wish me luck!
Monday 28 February 2011
Sunday 27 February 2011
Who am I?
An interesting exercise which ties in with the Life Writing module of my Creative Writing course ...
Whilst reading this month's copy of Writers' Forum, I came across an article about biographies. These are often requested by magazines or publishers to accompany work that you submit. Apparently it allows either the editor, or your reader to establish a bond with you, the writer. So, using the examples of biographies quoted in the piece, I decided to write my own. What to put in? What to leave out? How to make it humorous? So far, I've come up with:
Whilst reading this month's copy of Writers' Forum, I came across an article about biographies. These are often requested by magazines or publishers to accompany work that you submit. Apparently it allows either the editor, or your reader to establish a bond with you, the writer. So, using the examples of biographies quoted in the piece, I decided to write my own. What to put in? What to leave out? How to make it humorous? So far, I've come up with:
Danielle first realised writing was what she wanted to do aged 13, when she reduced her English class to tears with a story written for homework. Having buried her ambition with a succession of ‘proper jobs’ while bringing up her twin daughters, she is now practising her celebratory salsa which will be unleashed on her local shopping centre the first time her name appears in print. Danielle lives in Hemel Hempstead with her three cats, her daughters (when they are home from University) and an unreasonably large collection of books.
With a word count of 90, it is a good starting off point. It did, however, get me thinking about how to distil a life in so few words. Some of these word counts are as low as 30. A funny, informative hook in 30 words. Its a task that requires almost as much skill as the short story itself.
And there you were thinking that trying to write stories for a living was all handsome vampires, conspiracy theories or girl-finds-soulmate-and-perfect-life-in-new-handbag.
Friday 25 February 2011
What a great end
Two endings today. They happened almost simultaneously. Firstly the tree men (and, appropriately, there are three of them) lopped my flowering cherry. In my garden I have the most beautiful tree. I can see its topmost branches from my bed and in the spring and summer I can imagine myself far away from the urban sprawl, lost in a glory of blossom, leaves and birds. I now have to say that I used to be able to see it from my bed. I feel very sad to have replaced the pink and white froth of spring and emerald green of summer with a clearer view of the leylandii and houses behind me. I have to console myself with the thought that I am now my neighbour's favourite person and at least the garden will get some sunshine this summer instead of the permanent shade we lingered in last year.
The other ending came in the shape of the book I finished, Edmund de Waal's The Hare with Amber Eyes, (2010, Chatto & Windus). I bought it for my Dad this Christmas, but he gave up on it pretty early on, which is a shame. He's back to his usual fare of Ken Follet, so maybe it was just not to his taste. My Mum, however, loved it and I nabbed it from her when I realised it would be perfect as part of my reading for Life Writing. There were many aspects of this book I liked. Firstly, it was difficult to know if I was reading a family history told through the art they collected, or the story of a collection told through the eyes of the family that bought and owned them. The family themselves were fascinating to read about - a real who's who of fin de siecle Paris and the changes that they and their collection survived to take them up to present day. The writing is really good and the last couple of chapters where the author also questions what the nature of the book is, what biography is about and what he has discovered about himself and his family through this process is thought-provoking and refreshing. There are quotes I will be taking away with me to use on my course and will inform my own perspective. I think the other aspect of this book that spoke to me was that his forebears came from the same place as mine, Odessa in Russia.
When I started Creative Writing with the OU, I read as a reader, got lost in the story and didn't notice the craft behind what I read. Now, increasingly, I find I read as a writer and it has opened up a new dimension for me. Its a little like watching a swan swim - I used to see just the elegance of the effortless glide across the water. Now I notice the feet paddling like mad under the surface.
The other ending came in the shape of the book I finished, Edmund de Waal's The Hare with Amber Eyes, (2010, Chatto & Windus). I bought it for my Dad this Christmas, but he gave up on it pretty early on, which is a shame. He's back to his usual fare of Ken Follet, so maybe it was just not to his taste. My Mum, however, loved it and I nabbed it from her when I realised it would be perfect as part of my reading for Life Writing. There were many aspects of this book I liked. Firstly, it was difficult to know if I was reading a family history told through the art they collected, or the story of a collection told through the eyes of the family that bought and owned them. The family themselves were fascinating to read about - a real who's who of fin de siecle Paris and the changes that they and their collection survived to take them up to present day. The writing is really good and the last couple of chapters where the author also questions what the nature of the book is, what biography is about and what he has discovered about himself and his family through this process is thought-provoking and refreshing. There are quotes I will be taking away with me to use on my course and will inform my own perspective. I think the other aspect of this book that spoke to me was that his forebears came from the same place as mine, Odessa in Russia.
When I started Creative Writing with the OU, I read as a reader, got lost in the story and didn't notice the craft behind what I read. Now, increasingly, I find I read as a writer and it has opened up a new dimension for me. Its a little like watching a swan swim - I used to see just the elegance of the effortless glide across the water. Now I notice the feet paddling like mad under the surface.
Thursday 24 February 2011
Ooh ... someone's seen it!
So, post number two. How did this one come about?
You see, it's all about curiosity. I'm pretty certain that in a previous existence I was a cat. And we all know about cats and curiosity. I'm just hoping that I don't end up with the same outcome! Could be a pretty short blogging life if so. However, I digress. I'm following Cam's blog (and liking what I'm reading, Cam) and have simply been curious as to how she has gone about setting up this blog-thing and posting it in places and before I know it, I've linked it onto my Facebook page and there I thought it would end ... partly because I had no idea how to post it anywhere else. I did not take into account my friend Marie who found my blog link and mentioned it in our writers' forum. So, I've now found the link button and pressed 'share' (I blame our OU course for finding buttons and pressing them, thereby whisking literary offerings out into the ether - we do it a lot and I seem to have got carried away). And here we are. Blog number 2.
The odd thing is, especially if I want to be a writer, which does necessitate having other people read the things one writes ... at least it does if you actually want to be successful at it, or even (good grief, what a thought!) earning a living at it ... I'm feeling a little exposed!! I know! Barking! And barking isn't a good thing for a cat person. It confuses one somewhat.
I'm off to find my comfort blanket.
You see, it's all about curiosity. I'm pretty certain that in a previous existence I was a cat. And we all know about cats and curiosity. I'm just hoping that I don't end up with the same outcome! Could be a pretty short blogging life if so. However, I digress. I'm following Cam's blog (and liking what I'm reading, Cam) and have simply been curious as to how she has gone about setting up this blog-thing and posting it in places and before I know it, I've linked it onto my Facebook page and there I thought it would end ... partly because I had no idea how to post it anywhere else. I did not take into account my friend Marie who found my blog link and mentioned it in our writers' forum. So, I've now found the link button and pressed 'share' (I blame our OU course for finding buttons and pressing them, thereby whisking literary offerings out into the ether - we do it a lot and I seem to have got carried away). And here we are. Blog number 2.
The odd thing is, especially if I want to be a writer, which does necessitate having other people read the things one writes ... at least it does if you actually want to be successful at it, or even (good grief, what a thought!) earning a living at it ... I'm feeling a little exposed!! I know! Barking! And barking isn't a good thing for a cat person. It confuses one somewhat.
I'm off to find my comfort blanket.
Monday 21 February 2011
Well, this is odd then
So, this is something different and new. A blog. Why? Well, because one of my course-mates has done it to go along with our Life Writing module, so I thought, why not? I write diaries, so why not do it on here. Will it last? Who knows. Let's just go along for the ride and see.
The reason behind the title of my blog. I'm over 40 ... actually over 45, but not by much ... and I have only just worked out what I want to be when I grow up. Maybe that's not strictly true. I've wanted to be a writer since I was in school, but was always told I needed to get a proper job. However, at this grand old age and having brought up two children and divorced a husband (not in that order), I now find that my life is suddenly pretty much my own and I no longer have to do what I need to do in order to get done what others need me to get done. By turns a liberating and terrifying experience. So, here we are. On the cusp of great adventures and pastures new. If I have the balls to do it and not just sink back into a mildly anaesthetised, never truly unhappy, but never entirely happy-ness. To keep on keeping on, or to break free and jump into the void? Well ... let's see.
The reason behind the title of my blog. I'm over 40 ... actually over 45, but not by much ... and I have only just worked out what I want to be when I grow up. Maybe that's not strictly true. I've wanted to be a writer since I was in school, but was always told I needed to get a proper job. However, at this grand old age and having brought up two children and divorced a husband (not in that order), I now find that my life is suddenly pretty much my own and I no longer have to do what I need to do in order to get done what others need me to get done. By turns a liberating and terrifying experience. So, here we are. On the cusp of great adventures and pastures new. If I have the balls to do it and not just sink back into a mildly anaesthetised, never truly unhappy, but never entirely happy-ness. To keep on keeping on, or to break free and jump into the void? Well ... let's see.
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