Let us assume that we have examined all our most pressing excuses for not writing and are finally prepared to face them down, ignore them, and get on.
We are prepared to hear, ‘Oh, I don’t see why you are wasting your time. Millions of books are published every year. What makes you think yours will have any chance?’ and blithely we can dismiss this and other discouragement because we are happy to undertake the pilgrimage. We have decided it is what we want to do, so that is that. Well done.
There is one more species of question to ask which only we can answer. Are we ready to write the story of our life? Is it interesting enough, thus far, to keep us busy and thinking and occupied for the next five years? Will it engage an average reader? Simply put, have we lived enough, done enough, do we have enough years under our belts or not?
This is not a trivial question. John Mortimer, whom I truly admire, lived a very long life, and wrote three main volumes of autobiography, because, I assume, stuff kept happening to him. Only problem now is, that if we hope to read all about him, it is best to read these volumes in sequence, though I suppose it is fine to read about his admission to the bar in one volume, and the problems encountered in being very old, in the next volume we retrieve, being read, haphazardly out of sequence.
And no-one wants to embark on a life-changing project feeling unsure about whether our work will be worth reading. If that kind of uncertainty is nipping our heels, the best thing to do is put aside the ambition – for now – and go and do some more interesting things. After a while, we can revisit our ambition and see how we feel about it. I have done that. The idea of writing has been with me for about thirty years. And I was lucky to spot a natural pause in my life that I could put to good use in starting to take writing seriously.
If the answer to questions such as these is, “Yes, I’ve certainly had an interesting life, and I laugh in the face of your skepticism!” then we are ready to write.
A year ago today, my brother died. He slipped out of this life peacefully, having fought so hard to stay. He had every incentive to stay, children who needed him, and many, many work projects and ideas that he was developing. How he kept track of all that, while working and running a household is mind-boggling. But he did it all, and the reality now, looking back at what he did, and the way he lived, is that his example has taught me so much of the small lessons, the big lessons and the huge, about what life is for.
Interestingly, his example, his strength, has illuminated for me what really matters in life and the patience, compassion and toleration that allows life to be meaningful and to flourish. His strength stands to constantly remind me to be brave and to be authentic, not frightened, when faced with challenges. And I notice, more and more, that challenges come quietly. We have to take these chances when they come along, or their like may not come again.
Another of my brother’s gifts is to have brought our family closer together in the aftermath of his passing. We have had no choice, these last two years, but to let go of past troubles, to talk honestly, to be forgiving and to listen to each other. Adversity forces us to focus on what really matters, to cut to the chase. And yes, to recognise that being grumpy, miserable and resentful are a total waste of time! It has been so totally amazing to notice and reconcile deep grieving and compassion with the desire for real happiness. We can all be sad, and deeply happy at the same time.
Time is fleeting, so let us recognise it every day as a gift and make the most of it.
I may want to write my memoirs, but for some reason – maybe our curtains need washed, or maybe I need to have coffee with my friends – I constantly put it off. Which is interesting in itself, and worthy of a whole book alone. Why do we forever put off doing those things we really want to?
I’m forever making excuses not to write: I’m far too busy, I have to collect the kids in ten minutes, what do I know..? though I have found that as I get older, those excuses and many others like them – how dare they! – have abandoned me.
The kids grow up and make their own way, the busy jobs lose their appeal or are done by others – the jobs look after themselves, perhaps – so assuming I have finally run out of excuses, I am left with only question to stop me getting started, What do I know, anyway?
Simple! You know the most anyone will ever know, about your own life. That qualifies you, above all others, to write about it. The next question or stumbling block is, I don’t like to presume….but, if you will pardon me for saying so, that is rather putting the cart before the horse.
When we start writing memoir, we do this primarily for ourselves. Note, we are not writing for anyone else. We are writing for ourselves alone. So, of course, we can presume to do that, since we are not imposing our views or our undertaking on anyone else – unless we are also assuming that the time we take away from our normal day to write, is presumptuous in itself, and we are keeping our fingers and toes crossed that no-one will object. But that is like saying that we should not paint, or dance or sing, in case the neighbours, our friends our family take umbrage. (We often do think this kind of thing, believing that what our neighbours, friends, etc think about what we are doing, is more important than our doing it; which is rather nonsense, and a little sad.)
However, if we can’t get beyond these kinds of objections – if they keep their grip on us and stop us getting started – perhaps the best conclusion to draw is that we are ten or twenty years too early to get started: As we get older, believe me, other people’s opinions matter, of course, but we get impatient. Eyes on the clock, one day it dawns on us that if we don’t do this now – immediately make a start right now – we may never do it.
So, in considering how to write memoir, it might be an idea to take a quick gander through all the automatic excuses we come up with, and test their strength against that of our resolve. Because we are going to need all the resolve we can muster, to undertake the writing of memoir.
To mark three years since the publication of his second detective novel, A Fistful of Seaweed, I caught up with author John Bayliss to find out about his latest writing projects.
I first met John on the HarperCollins’ writers’ on-line community Authonomy, where I achieved my first big break, securing a coveted first-place gold star and editorial review, thanks to the generosity and tireless support of John and hundreds of other readers and writers. Three years is a long time in a writer’s life…
John, you introduced us to detective Springer with your first novel, Five and a Half Tons, published in 2013 and followed by A Fistful of Seaweed published the following year. What writing projects do you have up your sleeve at the moment?
I have recently finished a brand new novel and I am wondering if I ought to seek out some trusty beta readers. This is the project that elbowed another of my other novels, Serpentine, out of the way, and I believe it does have something of the same flavour and similarly memorable characters. It’s called The Garden of Infinite Vistas and is set entirely within a very large garden. (When I say large, I mean huge.) In terms of genre, it could be classed as fantasy or magic realism, although it’s definitely not a conventional fantasy novel. It is rather long, too (120,000 words).
Do you plot closely, or do your characters guide you?
Bit of both. For the Springer novels (Five and a Half Tons and A Fistful of Seaweed) I literally made up the plot as I went along, which meant I had no more idea of what was about to happen than my hapless hero did. Then I had to do a lot of revision and re-writing to make sure that everything made (relative) sense at the end. There is a third unpublished Springer novel: my contract with my publisher was only for two novels.
In my current and future works-in-progress, I have decided to start by writing an outline of the plot first. I don’t expect to keep to it, because a story has a way of finding its own path irrespective of what you might have planned. Having an outline, however, does mean that I’ll always know where I’m aiming for, even if the story does take a few detours or shortcuts on the way. It’s a bit like a road map that I might take with me on a touring holiday: useful for navigating my way back to somewhere recognisable if I ever get lost, but it won’t stop me exploring a side road if it looks as though it might lead to somewhere interesting.
When I’m writing, lately, I find my characters coming to meet me in my dreams. Does that happen to you?
I often have weird dreams, but I don’t remember meeting any of my characters there. My dreams tend to be dominated by landscapes and unusual buildings, often large rambling houses with secret rooms. There are people in those dreams, but they have very little distinct identity of their own. Maybe they’re characters from novels I haven’t written yet who are planting ideas into my unconscious that will surface again once I get around to writing about them.
What motivates you to write?
I have been writing fiction for almost as long as I have been able to write. To write is a part of my personality, and I cannot conceive of a situation in which I did not write. If I don’t write anything for a day or two, I start to get itchy keyboard fingers.
How do you find time to write?
I was made redundant from my full time job a couple of years ago and decided that my finances were robust enough for me to take early retirement. So basically I have as much time as I need. (I don’t seem to get much more writing done, however…)
And when do you write best?
I can be thinking about writing at any time of the day or night, irrespective of what else I might be doing. Daydreaming about the characters or the situation in the current work-in-progress can be an excellent way of coming up with plot twists and interesting character quirks.
When I write the best is probably the first half of the day. There’s usually a point around four o’clock in the afternoon when my brain says: “That’s enough! I can’t do any more” and that’s when I stop.
A word about your future plans?
I need to decide what to do with The Garden of Infinite Vistas. The choice is either find an agent, find a publisher directly without an agent, or self-publish. I’m not sure at present which is the best course.
My current work in progress is a science fiction novel set on a spaceship, a story that addresses some important questions about the future of humanity. I also have a science fiction short story accepted for an anthology of stories being published by Grimbold Books—I haven’t been told when that’s due to be published, but hopefully it won’t be long. I also have plenty of ideas for more stories, including an idea for a very large ‘epic’ story that will unfold over several volumes, so I’m expecting to be busy for some time to come.
I’m very glad to know you have so many projects coming to fruition. Thanks so much for our interview, and the very best of luck with all your creative endeavours.
I guess it is easy, being alone at home, to feel lonely.
Even so, most us us know, there is no guarantee that, even with a houseful of people, we won’t feel lonely; which is not a good feeling.
Miranda, The Tempest, by John W Waterhouse
I love sitting peacefully listening to silence. And when I sit quietly, that is when answers come and I feel less alone. It is part of a greater realisation that I am actually never alone. If I can only remember, on the days I feel hassled, to listen out for that awareness. Hard to put into writing, but true, even so.
How many of us say we are lonely? Yet, do we make enough good quality time to rest peacefully? Even when doing something relatively calming, like reading a book or listening to music, we fret about all the things we should be doing.
The long school holidays were an interesting time for me. Seldom alone, I decided to abandon all ideas of working, and in doing so, the stress melted away – so I really enjoyed the time off, though as time passed, I felt myself yearning for opportunities just to be alone. Even an hour was rare. There have been plenty of challenges, but staying with them made them easier to resolve easily.
I need a connection with silence, which, however it works, seems to offer lots of answers far more easily than if I decide I have to push and shove. How lovely when we can find answers by doing ‘nothing’ and discern a way forward; when we discover that all the things we create while resting are valuable and on point.
Why should work be a stress, or rest, a snatched, hurried interlude? That doesn’t seem to be a good way to live.
Okay, so perhaps three weeks ago, I completed what I thought was the ‘second full edit’ of my first novel, Lisa Somerville, and set it aside with a great sigh.
Then something rather strange happened. Quite apart from editing, I really itched to write again. And I discovered that I write best in silence. I have been listening and writing in the silence and what I have discovered quite surprises me. Perhaps you can recognise some of this.
I love, love, love!! to write. I really do enjoy giving voice to my characters, and in silence I can do this enthusiastically and with real joy.
Each character in every story has her or his own life and motivations. They each need to fully inhabit their own space. That’s to say, Susan, Sheila and Richard deserve to fully inhabit one novel; and Lisa, Simon and Chrissie to inhabit another. I humbly apologise for my failure to appreciate this sooner and beg their collective humble pardons for this oversight.
I now have to rewrite Lisa Somerville again, because when I read it afresh, I am itching to make changes and bring it to life in new ways. But before I can do that, I need a clean, clear outline for the second book of the series, Susan Scott. Because what happens in book 2 affects what happens in book 1, I must avoid repeating scenes where the lives of the characters intersect.
By writing the second book before I complete the first, I am hoping to clinch that illusive requirement, internal consistency. (I used to complain about writing backwards, but honestly, I’d rather know this has to be done, than wait around wondering why my writing is stalled.)
Though I enjoy writing, and write better with a sense of urgency, there is no especial hurry. I can enjoy writing in my own time. But while I have the enthusiasm, I must write. No dawdling please. Keep going slow and steady.
It’s all about timing. Instead of worrying that I have to do a thing by next week, I’m beginning to notice that all things happen in perfect timing, and that there is no reason in the world of what we do, to make our doing of anything any more painful, stressful or worrisome than it already is. If we are not enjoying what we are doing, why are we doing it? What might seem like a hard knock, or a tall order, simply becomes fun again.
A strange discovery, hardly worthy of a blog post, you might think.
But despite the joys of free music on the internet, and despite our obsession with free, instant, brilliant music available 24/7; despite knowing that some of my best musical discoveries – Take That, Bruckner’s seventh symphony, Frank Field – have been made while I was writing, I have also re-discovered that I work best in silence.
Yes, you might think, that was fairly obvious for the close-focus line-by-line editing. But it stands true also for the creative leaps that come out of no-where, the shape shifting uplifting ideas that simply pop up one day and refuse to lie down.
So I then have to re-write the whole book, again? Introducing a whole new theme bang in the middle, with a looming deadline? No problem. I best get on and do that, then. At least I know how to start again, whereas two weeks ago – hey, even last week – I would probably have panicked. I could panic, but what would that achieve? We have to accept the ideas when they arrive, and welcome them.
I listen for ideas, and I suspect that music and noise simply drown them out or drive them away. It might make my office space a bit too quiet, sometimes, but still, is such an enormous relief to get back to some kind of system that will allow me to work consistently, and produce work that begins to approximate to what I think is good. We are such harsh critics of our own writing, but I do know when my work is not at my best, and when my enthusiasm has fled. Lately – until I rediscovered the creative power of silence – my work felt lacklustre and my enthusiasm like a wilted summer lettuce.
Now I begin, at last, to discern a solution to that, in going back to good old fashioned silence.
Doing a thing badly or not at all, is a question that has rather haunted me.
When I was younger, I was a disciple of perfection, so tended not to do anything, unless I could do it perfectly. That, of course, is rather meaningless, and entails doing nothing for long periods of time – what a waste.
But rather like the drinker who crawls inside a bottle for twenty years to escape the pain and finds, on her re-emergence that all her lessons are still waiting to be tackled, doing nothing for fear of doing or saying the wrong thing, is only a stop-gap. Sooner or later, these same lessons will come knocking at the door, demanding admittance. And it’s not use, either, deciding flatly never to engage, because there is a strong likelihood that the same lessons will come back again in future lives. (This is a subject I write about in my next book, Making Miracles, set to be released next May – which is just my way of saying, as soon as I can find the time to do it.)
I now would much rather attempt a thing, than decide not to bother, so long as I consider it worth the attempt. I think, also, that as we get older, our fear of making a fool of ourselves diminishes. We get to thinking that it might be rather fun to take a chance on something, for a change, it might be rather fun to make a fool of ourselves. If we don’t do it soon, when will we? And who cares? Our time becomes very precious when we can feel its tangible quality.
Also, I admit, this particular lesson – that it is better to try and fail than not to try at all – has real resonance for me because, as a disabled youngster, I felt such intense pressure to pass myself as ‘normal’ – whatever that means! I would sooner have volunteered to fly to the moon, than single myself out for the intense ignominy of failure, no matter how unlikely that outcome, and no matter that most others would not be thinking about failure, while watching my attempt.
Strange, the things we torture ourselves with when we are young. Youth may have a blank canvas to work with but self-definition is often painful in the acquisition.
To answer the question, Is it better to do a thing badly or not at all? I take refuge with something I say a lot these days.
It depends.
We need both motivation and caution, bravery and guile. A tag team of two players works well if one has the courage, another focuses on detail.
As I get older and bolder, personally I tend to the view that it is better to do a thing than sit and think about it, or wish I had done it. I hate regrets. I hate saying, ‘If only I’d had the courage to get on with that ….’ and knowing I could have done something to help life turn out differently.
I would rather have a go at something, perhaps starting small until I gain the confidence to attempt something bigger. There is only one way we learn, after all, and that is by making mistakes; by realising that mistakes are only stepping stones, questions to answers we haven’t found yet.
Who would object to us getting a thing wrong? Authors and writers are not in the habit of creative catastrophe, are we? We’re unlikely to burst the dam, to send someone to their death or to motivate someone to evil… That being so, we really have to decide to go ahead one day, to live without having all our ducks in a row, before we know the answers, before we can be sure.
Unlike in real time, where we build a path, then walk along it, in creative attempts, our path – our luck, our outcomes – are the result of a decision, a choice we make, to do something; at which point, the path comes to meet us as we walk along it. There are no guarantees with that process, except that there is a lot we can learn.
Yes, there are advantages to working from home. I can work at six in the morning and eleven at night – though not in the same 24 hours. I can hang up wet washing and bring it in if it rains, as it has been doing all summer. TIP: during a long, wet Summer, we need only one clear hour to flap off the worst of the moisture from our clothes.
Working from home, we can also be available for Monday bank holidays when the schools are shut, without having to take a cut in pay, or ask the boss for yet another flexi day. We can make appointments with opticians, dentists and the like, and take delivery of parcels, packets, kitchen cabinets, beds and chairs from Ikea at strange hours. Instead of regretting the 7am – 7pm delivery window, now I just see that as an excuse to write non-stop all day at home. YAY!
We can start and stop when we like, and can do all sorts of things in between, to liven up the day. We can eat when we are hungry, rest when we are tired and take exercise… If I’m sounding a bit biblical, it’s because that’s how it sometimes feels. We can take holidays when we want, and decide to do nothing. Actually, doing nothing is one of the best ways to discover what to do next, and to clarify that we are still on track with our plans.
Would I go back to an office job? I could, probably, if I didn’t have so much to do here. But I’ve always relished my independence, so I prefer working this way.
October 9, 2017
Are we ready to write?
Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Memoir, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments
Are we ready to write
Let us assume that we have examined all our most pressing excuses for not writing and are finally prepared to face them down, ignore them, and get on.
We are prepared to hear, ‘Oh, I don’t see why you are wasting your time. Millions of books are published every year. What makes you think yours will have any chance?’ and blithely we can dismiss this and other discouragement because we are happy to undertake the pilgrimage. We have decided it is what we want to do, so that is that. Well done.
There is one more species of question to ask which only we can answer. Are we ready to write the story of our life? Is it interesting enough, thus far, to keep us busy and thinking and occupied for the next five years? Will it engage an average reader? Simply put, have we lived enough, done enough, do we have enough years under our belts or not?
This is not a trivial question. John Mortimer, whom I truly admire, lived a very long life, and wrote three main volumes of autobiography, because, I assume, stuff kept happening to him. Only problem now is, that if we hope to read all about him, it is best to read these volumes in sequence, though I suppose it is fine to read about his admission to the bar in one volume, and the problems encountered in being very old, in the next volume we retrieve, being read, haphazardly out of sequence.
And no-one wants to embark on a life-changing project feeling unsure about whether our work will be worth reading. If that kind of uncertainty is nipping our heels, the best thing to do is put aside the ambition – for now – and go and do some more interesting things. After a while, we can revisit our ambition and see how we feel about it. I have done that. The idea of writing has been with me for about thirty years. And I was lucky to spot a natural pause in my life that I could put to good use in starting to take writing seriously.
If the answer to questions such as these is, “Yes, I’ve certainly had an interesting life, and I laugh in the face of your skepticism!” then we are ready to write.
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