Fran Macilvey

About Fran Macilvey

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November 27, 2019

The dangers of writing memoir

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The dangers of writing memoir

This is a new series about the challenges that attend anyone writing memoir. In this series I will be attempting to address and soothe the largely fictional fears that stop us from writing what we want to about our lives and what has happened to us in the course of them, and more pertinently, what we may have learned through the process of growing older that has benefited us, and may, perhaps, benefit others.

Many writers seem very concerned about the risks of getting their memoirs published, and although there is definitely a good reason why many authors write under a pseudonym – perhaps it helps us to write more honestly, and it can be kinder to others to add that element of privacy – I suspect we can worry too much about the dangers of writing memoir. Our worries may be worse than they need be because we don’t quite know what aspects to consider or where to start.  

Most memoirists fret a bit, especially if family happens to be vocal, numerous or in the public eye. If I write all about this, will my family still be speaking to me once I’ve finished? Isn’t my sister going to be furious at me for washing family linen in public? What right do I have to do that? What about defamatory comments, or even, a totally unreasonable member of the family deciding to take exception to what I’ve written and threatening to sue or cut off contact? Might it be better to not go ahead? Best just forget it?

I haven’t yet met a memoirist who writes under a pseudonym only or mainly because they are concerned that if they were ever to reveal real names and places, they might be sued or disowned. I’ve no doubt there are some. Even in such cases, there are things we can do, well before publication, to ensure that any likely disputes with aggrieved others are resolved before they escalate.

Thanks for listening.

(To be continued)

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November 21, 2019

Why do we write memoir?

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Why do we write memoir?

When people ask me why I wrote my memoir, I can offer many excellent reasons, though it’s never easy to summarise forty years of growing up in a pithy, two-sentence reply.

Though for each of us there will be a differing admixture and flavour, a different weight given to recurring themes, nevertheless the reasons people write memoirs are fairly universal.

We write memoir for many reasons.

~ To share interesting stories and leave a legacy of information for our family.

~ As a way of speaking to others intimately when the thought of conversation is simply too confusing or daunting. I can’t be the only writer who has found it easier to write letters to a boyfriend instead of actually talking to him.

~ To reconcile ourselves to the course of our lives. Coming to terms with our failures and learning to accept ourselves as we are is a major reason why people write. We can, and often do, bury ourselves in fiction as a way of hiding from life, though I’m quite certain that writing short stories, flash fiction and novels also teaches us acceptance.

~ To apologise to others and to ourselves. In the course of writing anything, we do see things more clearly and also from other peoples’ points of view. Even in our fiction, our characters teach us humility and insight.

~ Because we have stuff we need to learn – like empathy and patience – before we can move on.

~ To free us to move forward and make better lives for ourselves. Any writing, be it a diary, a journal, a short story or letters and emails, offers opportunities to lay our ghosts and leave behind a legacy of peace that helps us to go forward.

Thanks so much for listening.

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November 18, 2019

Books are learning tools

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Books are learning tools. 

Writers know how important reading is, even if we go through periods when reading is not a big part of our lives. Books are learning tools not just for kids and teens, but for adults who write or who aspire to write, as well.

I may dislike the content of a writer’s work – I can’t read Jack Reacher books any more simply because they are too violent for me – but I do learn a lot from an author’s style of writing about how to create tension, how to keep the text minimalist and moving so that we quickly get to grips with a storyline. I have learned a lot from Lee Child’s techniques for writing good fiction.

And similarly, I don’t read Stephen King’s novels though I do respect him hugely for his persistence and for the discipline of his writing habit. I also appreciate that he takes grammar and syntax seriously, not merely writing off these aspects of clarity as fussy, fin de siècle snobbery.

And while I recognise the usefulness of daily word counts, I do still feel free to digress from the writerly discipline of these greats, because my circumstances and priorities are different from theirs. Stephen King suggests, for example, that we should aim to write several thousand words a day, every day: which is something for me to aim for, certainly, but until I make my living by writing, not something I can reasonably set my mind to. Though Nanowrimo might be a good place to start, I seriously doubt being able to keep up that kind of work rate.

There are writers whom – ssshhh! – I cannot read. And again, it is hugely instructive to work out why not, and what and how I would do things differently. Since understanding that I need only aim to write for “my tribe” I am quite relaxed about different tastes in writing. As with most other things, it’s a case of different strokes for different folks.

Thanks for listening.

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November 14, 2019

To leave this writing jaunt behind

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To leave this writing jaunt behind

One morning recently, before I rose for the day, I said aloud, “I really want to leave this writing jaunt behind now. It’s been twelve hard years and I’ve had enough….”

Sincerely putting the matter out in the open and wondering what would happen, I waited, explaining, “It’s been good, but I’ve had to work so hard, and I don’t think I can weather any more disappointments. I feel beleaguered.”

And I swear that at the back, someone was smiling as they answered me, “You want to give up the one thing – the one thing, mark you! – that belongs to you entirely and that still offers you hope and something interesting and valuable to think about? We totally get how fed up you are and tired and all that. But it’s not the writing that’s making you tired, it’s everything else you do on a normal day. It is the daily routines and the shopping and the thinking about meals and superglue and recycling that has you exhausted, not your writing.”

“Not for nothing did we ensure you would loathe housework,” the advice continued, “We knew that if you could find any more enjoyment in it than you do, you would cheerfully give up this writing lark and spend the rest of your days cooking, wiping and cleaning. Which is not what we want for you. We want you to be happy.”

I could not help smiling with relief when I then remembered a time before all the daily tasks became oppressive when I truly did enjoy writing and find it engrossing. So why would I give that up?

The obvious answer, is instead, to give less energy and thought to the other daily tasks I bend my mind to, and simply write when I feel like it. For now, that will have to be enough. But I’m glad I’ve finally decided I won’t be leaving it behind.

Thanks for listening. 

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November 11, 2019

When I Let Go

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When I let go

When I let go of all the needs, wants, plans and expectations, one thing remains still to be acknowledged and resolved. In all this “working for myself” gig, there has been – there is – one obsession that pushes at me, and that at the same time almost guarantees that I shall either feel unhappy or as if I have failed.

It is the feeling – the belief – that there is something that I should or could be doing that I am not doing. Some path that I have not walked, some obvious answer I have not found, some way forward that I have overlooked. Only glimpsed until now, this is the belief that makes me anxious or fretful: that I have been given a job to do in which I am failing.

I can notice where this fear comes from – perfectionism, the fear of not being good enough, and also of trying to keep up with others. To give an example, “they” might go to a book fair for three days of networking and mutual back slapping as they meet, walk and talk up and down the escalators. I assume I want to do that too, not for the anxious busyness or the caffeine drive, but for the sense of belonging. That old feeling of yearning transmutes into a feeling that, if I really wanted something enough, I could work for it. So, if I don’t get what I dream for, that’s because I’m slow, lazy, not good enough…

And then I remember that Life – which has brought me this far and which continues to care for me – will, in its way, bring me naturally to what comes next. I can – ok, I must – stop running to catch up. I can invite what comes next by being first peaceful, and then by choosing a path – any path – and walking it.

Finally, I remember that it matters little which path I choose. Like the plastic duck that never drowns and that travels thousands of miles without trying, life still has a way of righting itself, as long as I can stay optimistic and happy.

Thanks for listening.

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November 7, 2019

Letting dreams go

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Letting dreams go

For years now – well over a decade – I’ve had a dream of how I thought my dreams would turn out. Too personal to articulate clearly, I’ve seen in these dreams my varying paths to “success”, “happiness” and all the other achievements we want for ourselves. Who among us does not see that in our dreams?

But instead of a light, colourful anticipation, my wishes have hardened into something akin to an obsession. Instead of loving these dreams into existence, a compulsion has me in thrall. And meantime, my time has passed me by too quickly. Not without results, outcomes, ideas and considerable progress; though never quite what I have hoped for.

Immersed in the dream, I have missed so much colour, action, love; all the things I thought the dreams might bring me. Instead of which, its grip has kept much of what I sought – intimacy, adventure and joy – at bay.

So I’m letting dreams go: releasing them from the cage of my expectations. I know that if the hope is to return to me, it will do so in its own way and its own time. I cannot force the future to be what I want it to be, nor what I expect. I can only keep faith and hope for the best.

We all keep our dreams alive, but not by caging them. They will come back to us if they are meant to. Otherwise, the best we can do for them and for ourselves is to release and get on with loving ourselves better.

Thanks for listening.

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November 4, 2019

Living more actively

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Living more actively

Did you ever feel like the class buffoon, because you said the things or asked the questions that everyone else was thinking? I did, and ended up feeling singled out, not always because of my obvious impairments. Kids are surprisingly perceptive, and often saw me as I was, rather than how I thought I looked.

I did, and do, have unusual priorities, many of which are still being shaped today by “older” expectations: to be good, be no bother, be easy to get along with, be amenable. These expectations are remarkably pacific and keep me sitting. In with the mix, there have also grown newer expectations shaped by being a wife – be thoughtful, think before you speak, don’t judge – and a mother – be kind, listen first, then speak, hold back on that ol’ judgement, because often you forget that younger folk see things more charitably than you do.

But mixed in with those expectations which I could label as “being careful” a whole new bunch has become clearer to me since lately becoming obsessed with “Supernanny” and picking up some of Jo’s parenting tips. Nothing I could point the finger at, particularly, just a feeling that life is too valuable and precious to sit around here all day “being good” and thus failing to live my life to the full and enjoy it as much as I can. There may be limits on what I can do, but many of these can be overcome, and are imposed on me by my own sense of inadequacy.

I have Jo to thank for demonstrating that I can, and should, get out more, see more and do more. It seems to me today, that the best advice I can give myself now is to get out there and experiment with living more actively. It’s no good expecting the world to turn up at my doorstep. I have to take my world outside, where people can meet it.

Thanks for listening.

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October 31, 2019

I can do many things

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I can do many things.

I can do many things. I can drive a car, I can prepare meals – I’m what might be called a good plain cook – I can sing. Glancing through the remains of what might have once passed as a body of work, it dawns on me that I also produce visual art, some of which has, surprisingly, stood the test of time, despite the absence of any formal recognition or schooling. The test being, after twenty or thirty years, do I still like this? And yes, to a surprising number of things I draw, that is still my answer.

Which does demonstrate to my cynical self that indeed I can do many things and reasonably well. Unexpectedly, I procure from some part of my depths, strange, colourful works that hit the mark, often enough to give the whole idea of me as a visual artist more than passing credibility.

But where does this talent come from? With no concrete idea it existed, I’ve certainly never talked about it. Reminding me yet again, that in getting through life and discovering how I can achieve things, I travel an unusual path. I do not, and cannot, seemingly, arrive at outcomes along the same tried and tested routes that others take. If I can accept that I needn’t match more general expectations to get to desired outcomes along the usual paths, life seems to work out better for me.

I have been characterised as not listening to advice, being contrary and defensive. But perhaps a part of my reaction has come from knowing that what everyone else was telling me was “so obvious”, I knew would not work for me. Did I recognise, even as a child, that I would have to do things my own way? Possibly. Kids are not stupid.

I can’t keep up. And my sanity makes a welcome return when I remember that life is not one long battle to match “How things are done around here” with the way I do things. Things seem to work better when I keep faith and keep going, in my own way.

Thanks for listening.

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October 28, 2019

A World of Difference

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A World of Difference         

Or perhaps that should read, “A Word of Difference”.

There is, as I discover after many years of trial and error and trial, a world of difference between someone who says, “You write well, but…” and another who says, “I love this, really, I love what you’ve done here. But it needs work”.

Finding the soul who says enthusiastically, “I see where you are going, had you thought of ….?” becomes a positive, partnership-type of hope compared with, say, someone who opines, “I liked this well enough…” – beware the lukewarm response – “…but I think your characters are…and I don’t like… and this could be different…” Which reader will, I suspect, never be happy however hard we may work to make changes (unless, of course, the final outcome bears no resemblance to our first offering).

I would love to write a Catherine Cookson-style blockbuster.

I would if I could; I would dearly love to fit in with others’ expectations and hopes. But I’ve tried that for years – honestly, I have, and broken my heart a few times in the process – and it simply does not work. If I were somehow to procure a facsimile of what is considered sellable, it would lack heart, soul and meaning and sooner or later, that would become obvious and kill the story.

Besides, my characters have other ideas.

Do agents and publishers only aspire for their authors’ books to be bought by Sainsburys and Tesco? I get it, that this is one market where bestsellers are made, but has this now become the sum total of bestseller ambition?

I fully recognise that these is no point whatever in trying to appeal to everyone. In fact, that is impossible, and the sooner I accept it, the better. And therefore, there is no point worrying about a person’s – or even a whole bunch of persons’ – points of view. To have the help of those who will never fully understand is no help; enthusiasm must be the benchmark for all success. In other words, do I like my work enough that it still enthuses me? And can I reasonably hope that someone else will share that enthusiasm? Because unless we can hold faith with that ambition, everything else is a sell-out.

Thanks for listening.

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September 27, 2019

A Sea of Silence

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A Sea of Silence

I’ve been busy with submissions lately, and shall be taking a break, now, until I come back from Germany. That’s to say, I will be working, but not with a view to meeting deadlines, submitting or fretting about competitions, articles and the like.

The next couple of months are set to be fairly busy, so it will be useful, after all, to keep a little space in reserve, both to help with the unexpected – things do have a habit of keeping happening – and to allow me a bit of a breather. It does get tiring managing the needs and wishes of my husband, daughter, mother and myself and doing my utmost to give the benign impression that I can manage that sort of balancing act indefinitely, no bother at all, chum. No-one can, and it is plain foolish, sometimes, to make the attempt: the Universe has a way of telling us when we need to slow down and stop.

On of the hardest things about managing submissions is that we send our work out into the world and hear nothing back. There is plenty of activity, doubtless, but a sea of silence descends, and it can take a while to accustom oneself. Another sign that I need to rein back is that I read Georgette Heyer compulsively. I have known of women who read her novels every day, a little at bed-time, but my currently avid perusal does suggest that I am needing a bit of escapism. Perhaps if I let go of my usual routines, I may find an adventure or two and work them into something more tangible and with future value. If I do, you’ll be the first to know.

Thanks for listening

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