A New Springtime
Writing goes through peaks and troughs; and it has to wait its turn amid the tasks of family life, and the unexpected – and predictable – shocks that flesh is heir to.
My dad comes in for a bit of stick in my memoir. And yet, where he might have cause to be upset and to take me to task, he has responded with grace and kindness to everything I have written. He took issue with one outline of a situation, which was useful since he prompted me to re-think and re-write much more realistically. For the rest, I was writing what I remembered, and tried to do that as honestly as I could. Honesty, of course, if it is genuine, is a two edged sword, as cutting against the writer as against any of the other protagonists. That is my hope, that my honesty salvages what could be a maudlin reflection of what I should have done better, into something more worthwhile. And, these days, I like to take my gazillion mistakes and turn them into useful fodder for reflection and, of course, writing.
Dad had given me so many gifts: a quirky sense of humour, an appreciation of classical music, a delight in bright colours, big skies, foreign places and hot climes, an awareness of different cultural approaches, a delight in travel and an awareness of my good fortune. All of these gifts have underpinned my days with the recognition of how beautiful life is, and can be, if we allow it to be.
I am travelling to Belgium next weekend, when I hope to see dad and tell him some of this. Even if I don’t have that opportunity, I hope he knows how much I love him.
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March 22, 2016
Taking My Radio Play to the London Book Fair
Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Memoir, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments
TAKING MY RADIO PLAY TO THE LONDON BOOK FAIR
Okay, I admit it. Most of what I do with my writing, I do on a hunch. I back a feeling, a whisper that suggests a path might be interesting to follow, might lead to something, though what that something might be, is open to question, and probably would not stand close, critical scrutiny. I act without concrete evidence of anything substantial, either to gain or to see; which, you may agree, is an odd way to do business, a strange way to procure results in this world of tangibles, projections and economic forecasts. Indeed, sometimes this method of doing things tests my faith almost to snapping point.
Nevertheless, though I would be hard pressed to explain why I doggedly continue to do so, I guard my hunches carefully and always try to honour them. I know that most of our best and most important decisions are not, in fact, the outcome of logic or common sense, but a response to a deeply felt desire or need. (When we buy a house, we care less about what is on our tick lists and more about how the hallway makes us feel.) That I may not yet see the outcome of a course of action does not mean I should not set my compass in that direction.
So, in a spirit of hope and adventure, I sit here at night printing off my radio play. The printer is small and slow, but efficient and soothing, and, so long as I am careful, I can manage to multitask quite effectively, so I do not feel the paper, the ink or my time is wasted. I am going to have the completed work ring bound, and take it, with my book outlines, to the London Book Fair. Just because. The London Book Fair is an amazing opportunity, bringing together readers, authors, agents, publishers, promoters and industry specialists from across the world. Given that, why would I not take my radio play?
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