It's seven weeks until the wedding and I have five pounds to lose. It may well have been a mistake to buy a dress last summer, which now doesn't fit but I haven't seen anything I like better. It's a fuschia pink, silk, shift dress from Hobbs. I have the shoes and the pashmina, both in black and am still to buy the 'fascinator'. A friend said to me that a 'fascinator' sounds like a sex toy but I can reassure any worried reader who is not up to date with wedding lore, that it is a feathery thing worn on the head at a jaunty angle instead of a hat. I am relieved about the hat because having rather a large head and lots of thick hair, hats tend not to be a good look. The question remains: what is so fascinating about a 'fascinator'?
My daughter's wedding has been easy for us because she and her partner are organising it themselves. We have been spared the responsibility of searching for a venue, ordering and sending out invitations and poring over the social minefield of the seating plan. They have chosen Hitchin Priory Hotel in Hertfordshire, which is close to where they live. The package comes with a wedding planner, so now that the flowers, the wedding car and the photographer are booked, there is little more to do except get nervous (her) and spend money (me). I am accused of spending more than the bride but my argument is that in order to look passable, I have to commit money and time to the project, whereas the bride could turn up having just got out of bed and still look wonderful.
The biggest challenge has been writing something to read during the ceremony. For those not yet involved in the wedding industry, there are pages of readings and speeches on the internet. Studying these gave me insight into the themes; some dwell on love and romance, others on the joy of the wedding day itself and some, not without an edge of bitterness I felt, dwelt on the trials and endurance ahead. In the end I wrote my own poem, which has been approved gladly by the young couple. It now has to be scrutinised by the registrar. After the wedding, I will post it here.
Saturday, 26 February 2011
Monday, 21 February 2011
This Writing Thing (4): The Cuckoo
The editing has begun and I'm already into avoidance. Maybe this is how I behave in all relationships, enjoying the early thrill but not willing to put in the slog to shape something lasting. Now, there's a thought!
I have a day off and so far I've put my car in for a service, had coffee and read the Times in Cafe Mbriki, sorted the laundry and had a conversation with the Inland Revenue. I've also had a lie down, when the editing seemed too taxing.
It isn't pleasant re-visiting these early chapters. A big hurdle is that they seem only half written. Essentially, they are too short. So I'm having to do a fair bit of new writing. The next problem is character drift. By the end of the novel, the characters have changed (well they've been through such a lot) but in the early chapters I don't recognise them. They don't sound the same or behave as they should.
Another problem, caused by plot development as the novel progressed, is in the early chapters the characters appear strangely innocent of essential knowledge. I believe this novel was improved by the plot change that occurred half way through but I'm suffering for it now.
I may get three chapters off to an agent by next weekend but it's looking less likely.
I have a day off and so far I've put my car in for a service, had coffee and read the Times in Cafe Mbriki, sorted the laundry and had a conversation with the Inland Revenue. I've also had a lie down, when the editing seemed too taxing.
It isn't pleasant re-visiting these early chapters. A big hurdle is that they seem only half written. Essentially, they are too short. So I'm having to do a fair bit of new writing. The next problem is character drift. By the end of the novel, the characters have changed (well they've been through such a lot) but in the early chapters I don't recognise them. They don't sound the same or behave as they should.
Another problem, caused by plot development as the novel progressed, is in the early chapters the characters appear strangely innocent of essential knowledge. I believe this novel was improved by the plot change that occurred half way through but I'm suffering for it now.
I may get three chapters off to an agent by next weekend but it's looking less likely.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
This Writing Thing (3): The Cuckoo
The Cuckoo is finished. The last word was 'enough'. Twenty four chapters and about 72,000 words are safely tucked inside my computer (note to self: don't forget to back up). I am five months behind schedule but it doesn't matter, it was a self-imposed deadline. I now have three completed novels and no agent or publisher. It begs the question whether it is ever possible to write a novel of sufficient quality as such a part-time writer?
I used to write every day but since the stroke I am so tired after work, evening writing has stopped. I can't break my late working habit since the 4.30 to 6.30 shift is often the most productive, as everyone else has gone home. In our new office, the 'airport hanger', the sensors don't spot me and I'm frequently plunged into darkness. I wave my arms but it's not enough; I have to get up and walk around and the lights spring back into life behind me. So I'm often not home until 7.00 and dinner isn't cooked and eaten until 8.00. After that, any old junk TV will do (Mary Portas, Lord Sugar, Phil and Kirsty).
Now I write at weekends and then only in the afternoons. The attractions of shopping and coffee with friends on Saturday and Sunday mornings cannot be ignored. I don't think about the novel in between but as 'writing time' approaches, I find the characters flood back and I can't wait to get started. One advantage of my life as a writer is that I never experience the avoidance syndrome that colleagues with more time seem to experience.
When I was doing my M.A in Novel Writing at Manchester University I knew how this felt. Although I still worked two days a week as a locum educational psychologist in Stockport, our contact time on the course was so minimal I did have whole days to write and it was an uncomfortable experience. I would do anything rather than get out my laptop; cleaning, daytime TV, even coursework in the library was more appealing. Although I protest that I wish it were otherwise, I suspect I prefer that the novel has to be 'shoehorned' into the rest of my week. It makes writing seem more desirable and precious. The question remains: is a novel written in six hours a week publishable, or is it fundamentally flawed due to the breaks?
I still have to do the synopsis (more difficult than writing the whole 70,000 words), then will send it out to a few favourite agents. These are agents I've tried before, who have read my work and although unable to represent me for previous novels, have asked me to send them any new work. My deadline is the end of February. Let's see if I make it!
I used to write every day but since the stroke I am so tired after work, evening writing has stopped. I can't break my late working habit since the 4.30 to 6.30 shift is often the most productive, as everyone else has gone home. In our new office, the 'airport hanger', the sensors don't spot me and I'm frequently plunged into darkness. I wave my arms but it's not enough; I have to get up and walk around and the lights spring back into life behind me. So I'm often not home until 7.00 and dinner isn't cooked and eaten until 8.00. After that, any old junk TV will do (Mary Portas, Lord Sugar, Phil and Kirsty).
Now I write at weekends and then only in the afternoons. The attractions of shopping and coffee with friends on Saturday and Sunday mornings cannot be ignored. I don't think about the novel in between but as 'writing time' approaches, I find the characters flood back and I can't wait to get started. One advantage of my life as a writer is that I never experience the avoidance syndrome that colleagues with more time seem to experience.
When I was doing my M.A in Novel Writing at Manchester University I knew how this felt. Although I still worked two days a week as a locum educational psychologist in Stockport, our contact time on the course was so minimal I did have whole days to write and it was an uncomfortable experience. I would do anything rather than get out my laptop; cleaning, daytime TV, even coursework in the library was more appealing. Although I protest that I wish it were otherwise, I suspect I prefer that the novel has to be 'shoehorned' into the rest of my week. It makes writing seem more desirable and precious. The question remains: is a novel written in six hours a week publishable, or is it fundamentally flawed due to the breaks?
I still have to do the synopsis (more difficult than writing the whole 70,000 words), then will send it out to a few favourite agents. These are agents I've tried before, who have read my work and although unable to represent me for previous novels, have asked me to send them any new work. My deadline is the end of February. Let's see if I make it!
Sunday, 16 January 2011
This Writing Thing (2): The Cuckoo
My third novel is almost finished and I'm reluctant to let it go. If it hadn't been for my spell of ill health it would have been finished months ago. This blog was the beneficiary of that long interval of short concentration span and low energy. I did wonder if I would ever pick up The Cuckoo again and struggled to find the depth of emotion needed to finish it but since I allowed Ros, Nick and Anna to claw their way out of my subconscious, I'm resisting the parting.
Once a novel is finished to first draft, I find that the dreamy period of intimacy, almost like the first flush of love, is over. Like marriage, after that it's hard work: re-writing and re-drafting, again and again, tearing out beloved chunks of prose and struggling to reduce the complex plot into a one page synopsis. Worse, your best beloved comes under the gimlet eye of others, like when your best friend tells you they've never liked your partner.
'It doesn't make sense. The relationship doesn't work. She wouldn't behave like that'. I want to write back, in capital letters...'you're not getting it. She's complex, unpredictable, she doesn't always know what she wants, she's human'. But I pull myself together...she's not human, she's words on a page, a page that has to sell.
It's harder to let this one go because although it is my third novel it's also the one that lay in a drawer for nine years, the one I wrote for my first writing course, taught by Graham Joyce at the Leicester Writing School. It was fatally flawed but I adored the three main characters and some of the prose was good. At Manchester University in 2005 I had it scanned onto a disk and a brilliant technician in the ICT Support Department managed to convert it into a highly unstable Word document which I was able to store on my laptop. It has been so satisfying to rescue this novel.
I've still one final chapter to write and then I'll edit the first three chapters for sending out to agents. While I'm waiting for a response, I'll edit the rest. I have another project in mind but it will have to wait - it's been waiting forty years so a few more months won't hurt. Also stacked up like planes waiting to land is the editorial report I commissioned from Cornerstones on my first novel and the potential outcome of the UK Authors Opening Pages competition, where The Hunting Party has been shortlisted.
Maybe the Public Sector cuts are the answer. Redundancy has never looked so attractive.
Once a novel is finished to first draft, I find that the dreamy period of intimacy, almost like the first flush of love, is over. Like marriage, after that it's hard work: re-writing and re-drafting, again and again, tearing out beloved chunks of prose and struggling to reduce the complex plot into a one page synopsis. Worse, your best beloved comes under the gimlet eye of others, like when your best friend tells you they've never liked your partner.
'It doesn't make sense. The relationship doesn't work. She wouldn't behave like that'. I want to write back, in capital letters...'you're not getting it. She's complex, unpredictable, she doesn't always know what she wants, she's human'. But I pull myself together...she's not human, she's words on a page, a page that has to sell.
It's harder to let this one go because although it is my third novel it's also the one that lay in a drawer for nine years, the one I wrote for my first writing course, taught by Graham Joyce at the Leicester Writing School. It was fatally flawed but I adored the three main characters and some of the prose was good. At Manchester University in 2005 I had it scanned onto a disk and a brilliant technician in the ICT Support Department managed to convert it into a highly unstable Word document which I was able to store on my laptop. It has been so satisfying to rescue this novel.
I've still one final chapter to write and then I'll edit the first three chapters for sending out to agents. While I'm waiting for a response, I'll edit the rest. I have another project in mind but it will have to wait - it's been waiting forty years so a few more months won't hurt. Also stacked up like planes waiting to land is the editorial report I commissioned from Cornerstones on my first novel and the potential outcome of the UK Authors Opening Pages competition, where The Hunting Party has been shortlisted.
Maybe the Public Sector cuts are the answer. Redundancy has never looked so attractive.
Thursday, 30 December 2010
Stroke Diary (17): Signing Off
I hope this will be my last Stroke Diary, since on the 23rd. December I was discharged by my consultant. There are no guarantees. The stroke was without cause and having had one, it's more likely I'll have another. But for now, it's over.
I don't have a firm diagnosis. The consultant wasn't able to commit to Reversible Cerebral Vasoconstriction Syndrome (RCVS) but he did concede that I have a brain that 'tends toward vasoconstriction', which amounts to much the same thing.
I was taken aback by the results of my last CT Scan, which showed the area of brain damage. I thought I'd had a tiny bleed, so was shocked to see a dead, white area in the cerebellum, the size of a fifty pence coin. It's hard to accept that it will never recover; we're used to things healing. I've been left with problems with balance and fine-motor coordination, made worse when I'm tired, so I'm glad I don't work as a bomb disposal expert. The literature suggests I might also expect problems with working memory and processing information. And I thought it was just the new job!
I parted with the consultant on good terms; we shook hands, past tensions forgiven. It was Christmas and I could have some champagne. I could also be insured for overseas travel. There are two things which will never be resolved, so maybe it's enough to leave them behind here: I shouldn't have been left on an acute ward for five days without seeing a specialist and I shouldn't have experienced the confusion and delays that were attributed to the link with Queens Medical Centre. One minor thing still puzzles me, that hospital wards don't think they need to provide a hairdryer. Even if I buy one for both wards, would they offer them to patients? When I asked, it was as if I had requested a hedge trimmer.
Thank you for reading this Stroke Diary and particular thanks to Peter Levine for linking my blog to his: The Stroke Recovery Blog. For a short time I had many more readers in the USA than I could ever have expected due to this generous link. If you have recently had a stroke, or if you are still on the road to recovery, I wish you well.
I don't have a firm diagnosis. The consultant wasn't able to commit to Reversible Cerebral Vasoconstriction Syndrome (RCVS) but he did concede that I have a brain that 'tends toward vasoconstriction', which amounts to much the same thing.
I was taken aback by the results of my last CT Scan, which showed the area of brain damage. I thought I'd had a tiny bleed, so was shocked to see a dead, white area in the cerebellum, the size of a fifty pence coin. It's hard to accept that it will never recover; we're used to things healing. I've been left with problems with balance and fine-motor coordination, made worse when I'm tired, so I'm glad I don't work as a bomb disposal expert. The literature suggests I might also expect problems with working memory and processing information. And I thought it was just the new job!
I parted with the consultant on good terms; we shook hands, past tensions forgiven. It was Christmas and I could have some champagne. I could also be insured for overseas travel. There are two things which will never be resolved, so maybe it's enough to leave them behind here: I shouldn't have been left on an acute ward for five days without seeing a specialist and I shouldn't have experienced the confusion and delays that were attributed to the link with Queens Medical Centre. One minor thing still puzzles me, that hospital wards don't think they need to provide a hairdryer. Even if I buy one for both wards, would they offer them to patients? When I asked, it was as if I had requested a hedge trimmer.
Thank you for reading this Stroke Diary and particular thanks to Peter Levine for linking my blog to his: The Stroke Recovery Blog. For a short time I had many more readers in the USA than I could ever have expected due to this generous link. If you have recently had a stroke, or if you are still on the road to recovery, I wish you well.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
The Hunting Party
This is my second novel, written while I was still with Charlie Viney's Agency. It was Charlie's idea that I try writing historical fiction. He suggested the true story of Winifred, the Countess of Nithsdale's rescue of her husband William from the Tower of London, the night before his execution for his part in the failed Jacobite rebellion of 1715. Since it's a true story, it's really fictionalised biography rather than a novel.
I enjoyed the research but historical fiction is not a genre I read, so writing the novel didn't come easily. I remain fond of Winifred and several agents have shown interest. It's currently on the long-list for the UK Authors Opening Pages Competition.
The Hunting Party will be discussed on December 15th. at 8 pm on the on-line book group for completed but yet to be published novels. If you want to read the novel and take part in the discussion visit http://yettobebooks.wordpress.com
I enjoyed the research but historical fiction is not a genre I read, so writing the novel didn't come easily. I remain fond of Winifred and several agents have shown interest. It's currently on the long-list for the UK Authors Opening Pages Competition.
The Hunting Party will be discussed on December 15th. at 8 pm on the on-line book group for completed but yet to be published novels. If you want to read the novel and take part in the discussion visit http://yettobebooks.wordpress.com
Saturday Night
My Saturday nights are a joy. Friday is the one night I go out, still being on adrenalin from the week and Sunday night is shrouded in gloom due to the imminent arrival of Monday morning.
The evening kicks off with Strictly Come Dancing, a glass of wine and if I'm lucky a log fire. I've come back to Strictly after boycotting them for sacking Arlene Phillips. The success of programmes like this depends on honest judging by people who know what they're talking about, which is why I like Craig's comments. I'm annoyed by Anne Widdecombe and her primary-school 'clever' answering back. She'll never be funny, nor should she try to be, having spent years as an unpopular but serious politician. It reminds me of George Galloway on Big Brother. Why do they do it? And another thing...after years of haranguing from Gok, Trinny and Susannah about the importance of a good bra, can the Rt. Hon. AW be the only one not to have got the message? I'm also cross about Pamela Stephenson for claiming to be a 'serious' psychologist. I wonder how her clients feel about her now?
Next comes Merlin, an inoffensive drama with two nice looking young men in the lead roles. It has the same plot every week which goes something like this: the king, Luther, suspects someone of using magic in Camelot where it's been banned. Merlin (doing work experience as the young Arthur's servant) secretly uses magic to sort everything out and peace is restored.
After that it's a quick flick over to the X-Factor to cheer on Mary (bosomy club singer, who'd be better doing a bit of jazz) before Wallender (the Swedish version) on BBC4, although recently it was no-lips Branagh in the English version. I was surprised to recognise some of the police officers from the Swedish version moonlighting as crooks in the English version.
Meanwhile, I have my laptop on my knee, checking e-mails, posting on Facebook and sometimes writing my blog. It's called multi-tasking or 'not paying attention'.
The evening kicks off with Strictly Come Dancing, a glass of wine and if I'm lucky a log fire. I've come back to Strictly after boycotting them for sacking Arlene Phillips. The success of programmes like this depends on honest judging by people who know what they're talking about, which is why I like Craig's comments. I'm annoyed by Anne Widdecombe and her primary-school 'clever' answering back. She'll never be funny, nor should she try to be, having spent years as an unpopular but serious politician. It reminds me of George Galloway on Big Brother. Why do they do it? And another thing...after years of haranguing from Gok, Trinny and Susannah about the importance of a good bra, can the Rt. Hon. AW be the only one not to have got the message? I'm also cross about Pamela Stephenson for claiming to be a 'serious' psychologist. I wonder how her clients feel about her now?
Next comes Merlin, an inoffensive drama with two nice looking young men in the lead roles. It has the same plot every week which goes something like this: the king, Luther, suspects someone of using magic in Camelot where it's been banned. Merlin (doing work experience as the young Arthur's servant) secretly uses magic to sort everything out and peace is restored.
After that it's a quick flick over to the X-Factor to cheer on Mary (bosomy club singer, who'd be better doing a bit of jazz) before Wallender (the Swedish version) on BBC4, although recently it was no-lips Branagh in the English version. I was surprised to recognise some of the police officers from the Swedish version moonlighting as crooks in the English version.
Meanwhile, I have my laptop on my knee, checking e-mails, posting on Facebook and sometimes writing my blog. It's called multi-tasking or 'not paying attention'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)