December 2016

December 22, 2016

Falling in love again

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Falling in love again

What if, when we write about our characters’ journeys, we find ourselves falling in love again?

I have found that, while I’ve been learning to balance the lives and hopes of my characters in a realistic and tender way, I am brought up short to consider how I behave when I’m with the real people I love, who live with me.  Okay, so my characters are telling me to get a life?  Is this some sort of sad confession, an admission that I spend so much time inside the heads of my make believe worlds that I haven’t time to engage with normal folks?

No, actually, quite the opposite.  Looking at my MCs Lisa or her husband Simon carefully, I can see the value of applying that care in my own home.  To put it simply, making my prose as meaningful as I know how, I have to appreciate anew the value of my family, my friends and acquaintances, and all the gifts they bring to my life.  It would be ludicrous to attend to my MCs needs with minute attention, and then behave thoughtlessly or brusquely with the real people I know.

So I guess this means I’m grateful to Lisa, and to Simon for helping me, this year, to keep going, to stay calm and relatively sane – that, I can’t comment on, so much. You’d be better to ask Seline or Eddie…But I have learned to be more patient, to be kinder and to enjoy the love and laughter with a fresh appreciation.  Not just for what my family put up with, but with full awareness that so many others don’t have the blessings I am privileged to share with my family.

Thank you to everyone, this year, for making my time well spent.  For being here to help and comfort, to console and advise.  I could do none of this – whatever this has been or may turn out to be – without you, and I am blessed beyond measure by my friendship with you.

I hope you all have a lovely Christmas Season. Thanks for reading.

 

 

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December 20, 2016

We write what we know

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We write what we know

We write what we know, of course.  What else could we ever do?  And when we don’t know, we have that wonderful excuse, ‘I’m doing research’ to justify our trips away, our experiments with the testers adorning the perfume counters at an expensive store, our trips around winter markets savouring the festive atmosphere….

Actually, the last Christmas market I went to in Glasgow city centre was replete with the cries of vendors selling sizzling burgers, shredded pork on a roll and barbequed chicken legs; and a pall of chokingly unpleasant blue smoke hung over the proceedings.  Not wanting, on this particular occasion, to end up smelling like a bacon butty, I beat a hasty retreat from the orgy of meat grilling, frying and sizzling.

But perhaps that is my point.  Research brings reality to fiction, taking it away from the festive clichés of delightful lights, the warm aroma of melted chocolate, the scent of pine-needles wafting in the chilly, snow-kissed wind.  It was mighty cold that day, and I risked skidding and ending up sitting on the pavement, but thankfully, I stayed upright…and I did relish the feel of icy wind in my hair.  It was a great day.

We write what we know, of course, but it evolves beyond the basics, to include a heightened version of the spice of life, a bit of adventure, and a few deliciously competent – or lovably incompetent – dream dudes / role models to give us heart for the next dose of real life.

Real life can be so chilly and relentless, that from my point of view, I don’t relish too much more reality piled on top of it.  Enough realism, perhaps, to make me feel grateful for that reality which I am currently enjoying, enlivened with the possibility that anything can happen, and that dreams are lurking just around the next corner.

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December 16, 2016

Reading Old Favourites

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Reading Old Favourites

As anyone who knows me knows, I have spent acres of my life reading books.  I’m not especially well read – I like to discover my kind of a great author and read all their books, and I’m fond of re-reading old favourites – but I don’t mind that.  Over the course of a decade or so, several re-reads of a book is no punishment, as each time, I collect something new from the experience as my perspective alters.

Having come a roundabout route to writing, I suspect that re-reading old favourites has also taught me a few ideas about structure, a bit more about how to plot and has reinforced grammar lessons.  If I ever need to, that is how I justify my tendency to circle the old favourites.  (I have bought the full set of James Herriot’s  books at least seven times and I used to read Tintin and Snoopy constantly.)

But on a broader stage, reading and writing has taught me a great deal about ordinary empathy.

Assuming our characters are composites of real people, with a bit of sparkle and magic thrown in, we certainly get up close and personal with them, wouldn’t you say?  I’m reluctant to offer easy answers off pat about life, and having to live with characters for years, I have had to come to terms with their ambivalence, their flaws, and the very normal tendency of people to muck up and carry on living.  Our books of fiction may be make-believe and contain the usual caveat ‘All characters and events in this book are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental but we still learn a lot from them.

It’s like having the option to experiment with different life choices, but with few of the consequences.

What if our character has a drug habit or an addiction to playing card games?  What will happen to them?  As authors, we can watch our characters, and actually, in that process, we learn what we would do.  It’s nice to have that freedom to experiment.

Thanks for reading.

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December 14, 2016

How are the mighty fallen

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How are the mighty fallen

Is there a pecking order in literature?  Probably, to the purists there will always be.

But surely the most important aspect of any book is not its might, or the puissance of its ambition, but whether people read it.  A book may be erudite, learned and witty, but if it runs to three thousand pages, fifteen volumes, or if it makes too many allusions to literature long past, it will probably end up decorating the shelves…  Which is no bad thing.  Lots of noble books decorate shelves, and contain much useful information…

When applied to fiction of a more populist bent, it seems to me that people can get the wrong idea about that too.  Writing books about ‘ordinary people’ – a description which I take slight issue with, as in my experience we are all extraordinary – an author takes dilemmas and situations that feel everyday, and suggests creative solutions.

A fellow author Diane Dickson  inspires me because her heroes and heroines take their courage in their hands and leave home, or take a chance to start again with something, and it intrigues me to see what twists and turns the characters go through before they get their answers.  From watching the progress of Diane’s characters, I notice that what most of us want most of the time is more courage, more faith and love.  It is a truism that we all want the same things: love, peace, hope, prosperity, and a sense of worth.  We all only differ in the ways in which these can be achieved.

So when someone says, ‘Oh, how are the mighty fallen!’ when I say I’m writing general fiction, I reflect that this is a misunderstanding of what true writing is for.  I write to share my experiences, to illuminate possibility, to inspire hope and add a dash of humour to life’s absurdities.  If my books can do any of that, I don’t give a monkey’s uncle whether they are populist or highbrow.

 

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December 12, 2016

Which matters more – writing or editing

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Which matters more – writing or editing?  This is a big ‘chicken and egg’ question.

Writing is – hopefully – when our imaginations take flight and our fingers skim the keyboard without stopping.  Our feet might grow numb with cold and our stomach might growl, but we have to keep going because the narrative, the characters and the scene unfold for us and we have to sketch it out quickly, before the spell is broken or the doorbell rings.

Editing is when we take that flight of fancy and read a book as a reader would.  A reader who has neither seen nor felt the impulse of creation, nor the energy that has been expended, but who wants – is positively yearning – to read a good book and be taken out of herself into a place where she can dream of different, live the lives of the characters, imagine the scene, believe in the story web that unfolds.  Editing corrects the text so that the intrusion of (outside) reality is minimal, allowing the reader to believe.

These two functions are, in some ways, not so different, even although the first asks us to fly, and the second invites us to examine every detail of our manuscript with the minute attention of a forensic pathologist examining tissue samples under a microscope…. Both tasks are intended to make the writing look smooth and effortless, so that the dear reader can relax and enjoy.

And which is most important?  It depends of your point of view.  Both are about creativity, but while one is close focus, the other looks in broad sweeps at the wider picture.  Without the editing, the broader picture could not be supported, and without the wider aspect, the editing would be pretty mind-numbing.  It’s like asking, ‘is big better than small?’  We need both, to give either aspect meaning, so both are essential and equally important.

Thank you so much for reading.

 

 

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December 9, 2016

How to conquer writers blues

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How to conquer writers blues

We all have days when we feel that this writing spree is rather beside the point, and who do we think we are, anyway, to attempt it.  Writing is, after all, an activity that takes effort, concentration and a lot of thought.

But there is often little to show for our time at the desk, and even the accumulation of several hundred thousand words in several books can feel a little beside the point, unless we hit the publication jackpot and our books make us lots of money.

But when it’s going well, there is no better feeling in the world.  So here are my current tips for banishing the winter blues.

  • One chapter or five pages a day.  It can be a short chapter, or five pages of a longer one.  These might feel half-baked or unfinished.  Is there something not quite ready about it, something we have forgotten?  Writing every day will give us a sense of accomplishment and time to stand back and reflect.
  • Ignore the word count – stop looking at the bottom left of the screen and wondering why the word count never moves.  That hardly matters.  Just write.  It feels like flying, the first time we do it, but it turns out, this is the kind of flying that needs no license or instructor, no log book.  Just go for it.
  • pretend you are not writing – sounds odd, but if we work for ourselves as writers we might think that is what we have to do.  Then, the task becomes heavy and feels unlovely.  Which makes the writing heavy too.  What if we are simply experimenting, having fun, flying by the seat of our pants, following a hunch, doing a bit of detective work, exploring, sizing up the characters on the street, falling in love?  Would that make our writing easier?
  • imagine you are a character with something really important to say.  A character who has the opportunity of a lifetime – literally – to say what s/he has always wanted to, yearned to, from the bottom of their heart.  What would the character say if s/he was heard without judgement?  I really love you?  I loathe you?  Let’s make a dream come true?  The sky is the limit.
  • edit instead – sometimes, sometimes oftentimes, our imagination needs time off.  So edit instead. Set yourself up as a proof reader and pretend this is a manuscript that has landed on your desk.  Set to with a pencil, a cup of tea and a change of hat.

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December 7, 2016

What a relief

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What a relief

Hurray, I have finished the first book in the Lisa Somerville series.  What a relief!

Now I am re-reading what I have written of Book 2, which I tentatively title The Seduction of Susan Scott, underway at about twenty thousand words.  If possible, I would like to have a full, working draft of Susan Scott complete in time for the London Book Fair in March 2017.

Meantime, I’m just so pleased that the first twenty thousand words I have already written seem have stood the test of six months in a metaphorical desk drawer.  Originally, I wrote the first chapters, and then had a change of plan to write Lisa Somerville and heartlessly left Susan Scott to stew.  Thankfully, reading over the material, there appears to be very little I would change, which is heartening.  Which means my plans are hopefully on track, and I may get done what I hope to in the next three months, without too many more derailments and just a bit of luck.

Incidentally, I do believe in luck, if only because luck has that surprising, intangible quality that cheers us up and says, ‘anything is possible, so please keep the faith.’  It may be true that we make our own luck, but believing in the hope of it, makes life easier.

I am really enjoying writing fiction.  The stories of the people I write about are based around my experiences as a lawyer.  All the characters are invented, but the scenarios are all part and parcel of what we might find in a legal office.  The joy of fiction is that I can follow through with a few more twists and turns, and add drama and details as they come to me – I am a firm adherent of the school of writers who plot only loosely, and who wait for the characters to reveal themselves and to guide my thoughts, put words at the end of my fingers.  Being a mere scribe, I have to go where I am bid, which all makes for excitement and, I hope, a more interesting, plausible story.

Thanks so much for reading.

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December 5, 2016

Would I do this all again

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Would I do this all again

One of my sisters and I have a polite disagreement pending, which I suspect will never be resolved.

Whereas I spent acres of my youth sitting still and reading books – in the process learning about life and other people, and how to write, but feeling as if I neither experienced nor did very much at first hand – my sister spent her youth gadding about, and she is still gadding.  She is very much a doing at first hand kind of girl.

Now, with the onset of late middle age, I begin to start moving around, timidly and uncertainly, but finally – YES! – I am finally moving around, and doing things, (because if I don’t start soon, it will be too late).  Whereas my sister, who is getting tired from all her gadding about, tells me she relishes sitting and reading a book very much.

My point being, I have a suspicion that for me, reading, as much as anything, can become an addictive reaction; whereas my sister, who is so active, sees nothing sinister at all in sitting still and enjoying the refreshment of a good book.

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Which brings me to what I wanted to say at the start.

In the last ten years, since I stopped reading quite so much and started writing, I suspect that Life has taken this glimmer of an opportunity, to throw at me all the lessons that I should have picked up earlier, and which I would have picked up, if I had hidden less in reading and had more of an active life.  (I know reading can be an addictive pastime, because I can still feel myself, occasionally, yearning to dive into a good book when I want to run and hide from life.)

I suspect I have learned more about Life in the last ten years, than I did in the previous forty years.  I daresay all the lessons, inspiration and hard work that I have got through to get to this point would have come to me, sooner or later, in different forms.

So, yes, I would do this all again, but I’m very glad I don’t have to.  I’m very pleased and relieved to have got to where I am today, alive, in one piece and with my love, optimism and determination still intact.

Thank you so much for reading.

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December 1, 2016

Almost Ten Years and Counting

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Almost ten years and counting

Welcome to December.  I can’t say I’m sorry, exactly, to see 2016 coming to a close….

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I started writing seriously in 2007, and, as may be a common experience with writers, Trapped was not my first attempt at book-length penmanship.  That honour belongs to my first book, Happiness Matters, which, if anyone is interested, is submission ready.  (It makes me laugh to read occasional reviews of Trapped commenting, ‘my God, she’s pessimistic, isn’t she?’ or words to that effect, because no, I’m not, though for a fairly long time, my life and my world were.)  Trapped is about a period of my life that is thankfully over, and which I look back on with a mixture of sadness and awe.

I’m very glad that I have arrived here, now, with so many apparent lessons behind me.  I can’t say what I’ve learned from them,  whether I have picked up what I was supposed to, or whether I have arrived where I am supposed to be.  But after a decade of what has felt a bit like drill school, I feel an overwhelming, almost paralysing relief, to have arrived here in one piece.  I don’t care about being ten years older, either.

In what feels like an accelerated learning course for people who have spent too long hiding in books and now need to cram a life’s worth of maturing lessons as quickly as possible I can say that yes, the effort has been worth it, but please don’t make me do it again.  Which is another way of saying, yes, I would do it all again if I had to, but I’m very glad that won’t be necessary.

People read Trapped  and, understandably, think they know me.  But although the book attempts to cover forty years of one life in under two hundred pages, readers only glimpse a partial point of view of that one life, a view has become fixed as at the time of writing, and that I trust and hope has grown.

I have changed and moved on – thankfully – and the lessons I have collected so painfully, I hope make me a kinder, more patient woman, willing and ready to deal with what comes next.  As we turn our attention away from the strange happenings of this year towards what is coming in 2017, let us hope that our optimism shines, and makes miracles for all of us.

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