Let Sleeping Cats ...

Two little black heads nestled on the bed.  Bodies curled into mine seeking comfort and security.  One old and deaf now and reaching the end.  She sleeps so long and so deeply these days that we frequently find ourselves giving her a prod when we pass her by, just to make sure that she's still breathing.  Ever fearful of the time when she's not.

The other little head is still a baby.  Still finds life interesting, exciting and terrifying in equal measure.  He starts and bounds and races.  Not for him the staid dignity of the measured walk.  He's all dash and vigour, flicking ears and twitching tail.  And Mummy's comforting smell and touch.  He comes to me and snuggles and snuffles and pads in my hair and curls up on my shoulder to sleep deep and long.  Then suddenly awakens and shoots off in pursuit of who-knows-what.  He sleeps with abandon.  Body out-stretched.  Belly exposed.  His four legs minute and hour hands telling the time at 6 o'clock.  He must feel so safe, so secure here, to sleep so soundly in such an exposed attitude.  What dreams does he dream as his little heart beats?  The rare, deformed valve known only to those who love him or wish to study him.  Unknown by him as he goes about his little life well fed, well loved, well cared for.  Unaware that in all his perfection, this one tiny piece, this collection of little cells that, by some unhappy happenstance, failed to find perfection, whilst in the safest place of all, his mother's womb, could cut that thread and end his bouncing and prancing in the blink of an eye.  How fragile it all is.  And him so unaware as he sleeps so soundly, curled up where he feels so safe.

Ah ha! The Penny Drops

I've just had quick lessons in the advisability of thinking through decisions to their logical conclusions and understanding how something works before using it.

Whilst trying to 'get my profile out there', as advised by many of the successful writers at one of the groups I attend, I have, amongst other things, logged onto LinkedIn.  The ability and willingness of new writers to self-promote is, apparently, favourably regarded by the publishing world - it can bring along with a writer a ready-made audience, thereby reducing the company's risk on a completely unknown voice.

I think I have mentioned previously my techno-twit tendencies when it comes to all things www and computer-based.

Yesterday I received a phonecall from someone, who shall remain anonymous, making assumptions about what went on in my life.  I was, until this morning, confused as to how they came by the information.

These three sets of facts are LinkedIn.  

The caller knew someone who had viewed, in a third party capacity, my profile on aforementioned website (I had noted that a particular person had paid me a visit, but didn't mentally follow through the consequences at their end).  Now, I'm not saying that anything on my profile was an untruth - absolutely not.  However, like any CV, you need to, let's say, skew a profile in order to aim it at your intended target.  If I'm applying for a secretarial job, I'll highlight my secretarial skills;  if I'm heading down the receptionist route, I'll bring those experiences to the fore.  None of these ploys, if honestly engaged, cause inaccuracies, untruths, or for the reader to be misled. They simply change the direction of the beam from my angle-poise lamp.  We are all our own PR agents these days.  In this particular case, I am trying to highlight my writing credentials.  I want my writing to be the bit that people see, not for them to focus on the other stuff that I do in order to shore up my life to enable me to write.

Now, this information could be seen, if read in a particular way (ie, without the entirety of the brain engaged, or by someone looking for justification of an erroneous belief), to imply that I do a limited amount of salaried work and spend the rest of my time in my garret creating.  Ah, if only that were possible.  Proof, I suppose, that 2 + 2 doesn't always = 4.  It can = 6 if you look carefully enough for the extra 2 standing in the shadows.  Unfortunately, one cannot impose conditions on how people read the information in front of them.  You have to have a certain amount of faith that the people who read internet profiles are aware of how these things work.

So my attempt at self-promotion was sent slightly off-course by one mistake, thereby causing the scenario described above.  I hit a return key when I should have hit the 'skip' button and sent an invitation to everyone I have ever emailed in the entire history of my internet life to become one of my connections instead of the chosen few, which was what I had originally intended.  This included Argos, Sainsbury's, a couple of job websites, the OU, some guy who came to fix my daughter's laptop about 18 months ago and people from my past who I probably wouldn't have included (for various reasons, some of which may have something to do with the wrong people being able to get hold of pieces of information that could be taken out of context).  I thought it might cause problems as soon as I'd realised what I'd done, but wasn't au fait enough with the website to understand how to correct the mistake until far too late and invitations had been accepted.  Certain connections have now been severed, not necessarily because of the connectee (not a word, but what the hell, it's been an irritating 24 hours), but because of the third party connection.  I didn't think through the consequences of my actions.

Now the question is, do I put the fourth party straight, thereby possibly giving away even more information that really isn't any of their business, or do I refuse to engage any further and let them get on with believing whatever they want, erroneous or otherwise?  Answers on a postcard, please.

So Now What?

I keep wandering from room to room, thinking I've forgotten something;  I can't make plans because I can't remember the thing that I am sure I'm supposed to be doing, but, temporarily can't bring to mind.  I feel as though I have wandered into some kind of limbo.  Is this how all students feel at the end of the academic year?

I don't recall this feeling of lack of direction from my childhood, but maybe that's because, as a child - or young adult - you view life differently.  Maybe it has something to do with the necessity, as an adult, of having structure in order to function day-to-day. As a lone parent - even if my children are 18 and one of them no longer lives at home full time - I have to make sure that during the course of a day, the cats are fed regularly, I've ascertained how many people I'm feeding for breakfast, lunch and dinner and provided those meals (including removing from the freezer at the appropriate time any ingredients that need de-frosting), any crucial clothing has been washed/ironed, bills have been paid, phonecalls have been made, any running repairs (to cats, children, house, car or even me) have been attended to, the necessary amount of household chores have been done, oh and that I've turned up at work for five hours.  Since September, I've also had to factor in study and writing time and had deadlines to meet for assignments.  If my life hadn't been structured, it simply wouldn't have worked.

I'm not saying for one moment that I'm an exception.  I suspect that the vast majority of adults - especially parents - have a similar setup in place.  What it demonstrates, though, is what happens when you take away part of the edifice you build to contain the different areas of your life.  Its a little like someone has dropped an incendiary device.

The other strange thing I've now noticed, is that writing, in my mind, was an acceptable thing to be doing when it was for studying purposes.  I was allowed to write.  I was supposed to write.  Making the time to sit at my laptop, or read a book during daylight hours was okay.  Now I'm not being assessed or examined, I keep thinking there are other, more important, things I ought to be doing.  Taking time to read or write is simply being lazy.  How am I ever going to be a writer, when I view the writing process as lollygagging?

I think I need to take myself to one side and have a stern word in my ear.  Whose standards am I applying to my way of life, mine or society's?  And for 'society's' you can probably read 'my parents''.  This was demonstrated earlier this week when my father asked me,

'So, when are you going to start earning some money at this writing lark?'

I did try explaining that very few writers are J K Rowlings or Wilbur Smiths and most of us will have to have at least a part-time job in order to make ends meet.  And, surely, life isn't always about what you gain materially from something.  Aren't we allowed to do the thing we love at every available opportunity without feeling guilty?  Guilt, of course, always being about applying someone else's behavioural rules to your own way of life and coming up short.

So, bugger washing the kitchen floor, or doing the ironing, I'm going to go and read my book in the garden.

Thank Heavens for That!

I got locked out of my blog yesterday.  Being the techno-twit that I am (I know how to do what I know how to do, but beyond that it's all QBASIC to me) I wasn't sure if I'd done something wrong, or if there was a problem with the site.  So I did the only logical thing ... I turned it off and hoped it would all be better when I switched it back on again.  And, hurrah, it is!  Turning it off and hoping it will fix itself is certainly up there with hitting it with something heavy, or spraying it with WD40 in my lexicon of how to mend things.  

Spent a lovely afternoon yesterday watching Saracens put Leicester Tigers back in their cage.  Good rugby ... and some very nice legs, bums and pecs on show on and off the pitch!  Shocking, I know, but, hey, I'm an unattached girl, I can ogle as long as I don't drool in public.

Got the last week of my first year at OU next week.  Exam piece is to be submitted on or by Thursday lunchtime.  I'm partly relieved, partly terrified by the prospect of handing in that final story.  My last mark for my TMA05 wasn't what I hoped - I got 72%, which isn't tragic, I know, but a bit of a smack across the chops after an 89%.  It took me a good week to climb down from my huff and re-read my tutor's assessment, which was (to summarise) that the relationship between the two characters needed to be further developed in order for the reader to have some emotional involvement.  So, not, I think you'll agree, total pants.  Seeing as it will have to be revised before it is good enough to be considered being sent anywhere for either a competition or for publication (ah, the dream of seeing my name in print for the first time), I think I'll post Janus Man so you can see what all the fuss is about.

It's the constraints of word counts that frustrate.  I think it has made me realise that I prefer the parameters of writing novels.  You have the time and space to develop your characters at whatever pace you feel the story needs.  It's true that writing a short story (especially if you only have 2,000 words) is a bit of a nightmare and I do take my hat off to those who can do it and who choose that as their discipline.  It's a great skill to master as, similar to poetry, you have to distil your language, reduce it down and concentrate it so the flavours are distinct, but make the whole a rounded, satisfying slice of life.  It's a shame it's such an under-appreciated art-form over here.

So the next thing you will be watching me do (hopefully, if you stick around), is start my novel.  I do, after all, have to put all this new-found knowledge into practice, otherwise it's been a pointless exercise.  And I have to find something to keep the juices flowing between now and October when Level 3 starts.  First of all, I need to decide if I'm going to take one of my previous ideas and work on that, or find a completely new subject.  Ah, so that's what my writer's notebook is for!!

Watch this space.

How Time Flies

We are coming to the end of our Level 2 Creative Writing.  All the assessment pieces have been submitted and marked.  Just the exam piece to go.  I have 'classmates' who are tying themselves in knots over Distinctions and 2:1s or 2:2s.  It does make me wonder about how indicative of good writing these marks are.  Judging a piece is so subjective.

Even with classics or icons of literature, there will always be people who dislike an author or a particular book.  Personally, my heart sinks when I think of Dickens, Hardy, Woolf or a Bronte (pick one, any one).  I think I'd rather stab myself repeatedly in the leg with a fork than have to sit through Return of the Native or Wuthering Heights again.  I understand there are those who love these books and the authors are thought to be literary genii, but personally I don't get it.  Give me Austen, Shakespeare, Chaucer or Wilde every time.  The same goes for modern authors.

So, bearing in mind that, apart from the rudiments we are taught, like metaphor, point of view, showing not telling, etc, Creative Writing doesn't have tick boxes or facts on a checklist, how does one judge?  A history essay can be judged on whether you have your facts right, presented them in an intelligent fashion and put together a coherent argument - if the answer is yes, then this is your mark - if the answer is no, then marks will be deducted for each point missed.  At what point might one conclude one is not cut out to be a writer, or at least not a writer of fiction?  Less than 80%?  Less than 60%?  Almost certainly if you are getting less than 50% you might suspect you've missed the point somewhere along the line.  But even if you are getting 90% or more, that won't get you an agent or a publishing contract, which is, I would have thought, what most of us are aiming for.

The literary nabobs deride authors such as Dan Brown, Barbara Cartland, Stephenie Meyer and the chick-lit genre almost in its entirety, but these writers sell books!  Millions of them.  The general public love them.  And, frankly, who are we writing for?  Critics or the general public?

At the beginning of our course, someone in our Student Cafe posed the question:  if you had the choice of writing a book which only sold in limited numbers, but was considered by the critics to be a work of genius, or a blockbusting bestseller that would bring you fame and fortune, which would you choose?  At first I, along with the vast majority, chose to write the work of genius, but now, I'm not so sure.  My aim is to entertain.  I like telling stories.  I want to tell my stories to as many people as I can and I want my readers to be transported to the world I create for them.  I don't want my readers to finish my tome and then have to sit in a quiet corner contemplating the implications of what they've read.  I want them to finish the last page at 3 in the morning because they couldn't put it down, declare that it was a 'rollicking good read' and then go and hunt out something else I've written.

Well, I suppose time will tell.  Will any of us end up on the shelves at Waterstones?  Your guess is as good as mine.

I'm back!

Did you miss me?

I've been busily scribbling away for my last set of assessed and exam pieces. I got an 89% for my Life Writing and am now awaiting my mark for my last assessed piece.  Our exam is due in on 2 June.  My submission currently lies in pieces.  My task this weekend is to start re-assembling it.  I have taken heart from the many quotes from authors on the subject of editing.  As you can see, I'm finding something else to do first.  The prospect is daunting.  Who would have believed that simply re-arranging words on a page could fill a human heart with such terror?

The end of my first year at the OU draws ever closer.  I began with the hope of improving my technique and finding out the tricks of the trade, the blueprint to writing a good story.  I am ending the year understanding that there is no magic formula.  There is a list of rules, but these have been broken by many good writers.  However, you do have to understand them and be able to work within the rules before you can start breaking them successfully.  What is essential, more than anything else, is hard work.  Write, write, write and then read it out to anyone who will listen.  Listen to the rhythm and and the flow.  Listen also to the feedback you get from your audience.  Remember you are writing for the reader and they can't see inside your head.  Then edit your work until every word with which you are left is essential, even if it means cutting out the bits you love. And when you aren't writing, read.  Read everything.  Grow a thick skin; cultivate tenacity; have self belief and develop your endurance.  Don't give up.

I am going to post some of my old work and also some of the work I have done during my OU course.  I hope you will be able to see the difference.  I hope you will like what you read.

... and we've been told there's no such thing as writer's block!

I have a very exciting week ahead.  On Wednesday I am going down to deepest Wiltshire with a couple of OU friends for a 3-day residential course at a place called Urchfont Manor.  It's run as an add-on to our writing course and will concentrate on preparing our pieces for our last two TMAs and our EMA.  The thought of spending three days entirely devoted to writing is filling me with glee.  Actually, it's not three days, it's more like two - we have the first workshop 8.00 - 9.00 on Wednesday evening and the last one 11.30 - 1.00 on Friday.  However, being able to immerse myself in the whole subject of writing and books with a group of like-minded individuals is wonderful.  I do find that people's eyes glaze over after an hour or so of me waxing lyrical on plots and characters and phrasing and rhythm.  I can't think why!

We are asked to take with us multiple copies of the drafts we have already written.  These are, I suppose, to be shared around for feedback.  This would be a marvellous idea if it wasn't for the fact that I have a severe case of writer's block - hence the title of today's piece.  I am astounded by the fact that, as a woman who has read more books than she has had hot dinners - and that probably isn't an exaggeration - I am struggling to find a reason why a woman who has distanced herself from her family because she is ashamed of her roots, will feel compelled to re-establish contact following the receipt of a letter from her nephew.  Other than the impending death of a family member (parents are already dead, so it can't be one of them), which is a little well-used, I am still stumped. Bizarre!  It's obviously playing on my mind because last night I dreamt that I'd come up with the perfect reason and had written it down.  On waking this morning, I remember having that dream; I remember dreaming that I waved at my elderly disabled neighbour when he was brought home by the out-patient ambulance with an orange blanket tucked round his legs.  Do you think I can remember what this perfect plot was?  Any helpful hints can be left in the comments box at the end of this posting.  PLEASE! And keep them clean ... I've got enough to deal with.

To close - really writing this post is simply further procrastination and I must enforce some discipline on my errant grey matter - I must just add that Joanna is home from Glamorgan Uni for the weekend and my heart lifted with maternal joy yesterday evening to have both of my little girls seated round the dinner table.  Their banter and laughter and happiness at being together was brought to an abrupt end at bedtime with a fight over who was washing up and a further verbal tussle over who has possession of their shared car when Natasha has taken - and passed - her driving test at Easter.  Scowling, tired faces stomped up the stairs and I was left without a goodnight kiss.  It was good to have things back to normal.  They're still lovely when they're asleep!