Fran Macilvey
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May 13, 2016

Questions, continued

Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks 2 Comments

How should I act when I meet a disabled person at a social gathering?  There it would be normal to say, “hi”, yet at what point, if at all, should I mention the disability, and what can I say that’s neither hurtful, nor annoying, nor tactless?

Star_Gazer_Lily

All of life is a learning curve – and mine has been perpendicular, at times!  Being disabled offers no special access in itself to wisdom, tolerance or kindness.  But, with the benefit of some hindsight, I might say that meeting people at social gatherings is no different from meeting people while out walking, or at the supermarket.  Really, people don’t change, just because they gather together, though they might be drinking and laughing a bit more than usual….

Do you like this person?  Then talk to them.  Do you see them alone and feel regret that they are sitting by themselves?  Then make a point of introducing yourself, “Hi, nice to see you here, I’m Alison…” and see where the conversation takes you.

By and large, it’s a safe bet that people who self-identify as impaired in any way, would rather not.  So questions like, “What’s wrong with you?” “What happened to you?” or “What’s that all about, then?” are not our favourite topics of conversation.  Best leave them out, and kick off with something ordinary and inclusive, like, “Can I get you a drink?”, “Is this crap music or what?” or “What do you think of Donald Trump’s nomination as the republican candidate for the next presidential election campaign?” (On second thoughts, maybe avoid politics until you can trust them not to be upset.) (And don’t try saying all that if you’ve had a few too many.)

The idea that a disabled person deserves special treatment makes me cringe.  We do not need or want special treatment, though our particular challenges mean that we would like to be recognised as we are, allowed to participate fully in the world, and offered the tools to do so.  We have the right to be happy, just as everyone else expects to be.  But without extra consideration, time and resources to make that possible, happiness is much harder to reach, while we will lag behind and lead teeny tiny lives, narrow and constrained by the complete futility of trying to keep abreast of the rest.

What a waste that is.  Only recently, I finally understood, I can do what you do, it just takes me longer to do it and there is no shame in taking twice as long as you do.  There is no shame whatever in being disabled, and if a lovely guy goes to a party and starts to chat, I don’t give two hoots whether he has one arm, blond highlights or a funny accent.

People with impairments may feel self-conscious, but so may a shy person, or a woman wearing a new dress, or someone unsure about their latest contact lenses.  If you treat a person with impairments just as you would treat anyone else, that is the best you can do, and all that anyone can hope for.

 

 

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May 12, 2016

Questions from a reviewer of ‘Trapped’

Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir 7 Comments

Questions from a reviewer of Trapped.

Lilo very kindly read and reviewed Trapped and in her review she asks these questions. Please accept my sincere apologies for my delay in answering you, Lilo.

Fran, please tell my how I should act when, next time, I come across someone with a disability.

Don’t tell me to just say, “hi”, as I normally don’t say, “hi” to strangers. So this wouldn’t be natural behavior.—Should I smile? Yet couldn’t it be that the person takes my smile for charity?

And how should I act when I meet a disabled person at a social gathering? There it would be normal to say, “hi”, yet at what point, if at all, should I mention the disability, and what can I say that’s neither hurtful, nor annoying, nor tactless?

HELP!

Stargazer_Lily

The first thing I would say is that there is a danger, when we meet someone with a disability – or anyone whom we might consider ‘disadvantaged’ – that we complicate matters too much. Our anticipation of problems, and of judgement can have us thinking around in circles and tying ourselves in knots before we’ve even said or done anything, which is not a comfortable place to be.

It is normal, when we pass someone on a quiet avenue, to greet them, to say, ‘hello’, smile politely, ‘doff one’s cap’ and walk on. Some societies expect greetings between strangers. Then, a standard response, something like, ‘’jour ’sieur’ is merely a tactful acknowledgement that a person we are passing, exists. It grounds one in being, to be acknowledged. Such small pleasantries can make all the difference between having a horrible day and a good one, especially for one who is habitually cast as ‘disadvantaged’.

If we are simultaneously worrying that (a) we wouldn’t normally greet people, or (b) that our greetee might be offended, we are probably giving a passing moment too much thought. If we don’t normally greet people, perhaps now is our chance. Maybe we have a new opportunity to step up, and challenge ourselves to do something different. (Doing something differently doesn’t make us any less sincere or genuine.)

Since reading that the worst thing about being homeless is the way that some people walk past, their eyes raised aloft and fixed in the middle distance, as if there is no homeless person sitting near them on the sidewalk, I make eye contact and say Hello, even if I don’t have a couple of coins to offer.

Anyone who thinks that a simple greeting is an act of charity needs to get out more, imvho. In any case, it’s not what you do, but the way that you do it….

To be continued. Thanks for reading.

 

 

 

 

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May 10, 2016

Existential Crises

Fran Macilvey Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks 4 Comments

Existential crises

There are times when the sheer existential futility of everything threatens to stall – or worse, undermine everything we work for. Family crises come in all shapes and sizes, and come in battalions, to challenge everything we do, and everything we believe in. So, what do we do about that? Answers on a postcard…please.

I have wept, and raged at the unfairness of life. I have come to think that all I did and thought and believed was a waste, a desert of futility and puerile idiocy, the ranting of a deluded soul. I have wished I could run away – don’t we all – knowing that the only run I could manage was a futile, shuffling shamble, probably in the wrong direction, knowing my feeble sense of direction. Music, usually such a panacea didn’t help, and the sun, the lovely flowers dropping willingly from every clothed branch, became a taunt in this beautiful season of blossom, warm breezes and buzzing bees.

And then, some sign of love, some sweet breath of laughter, some curious glance of humour, willingness or understanding, will disarm me totally, and I will begin to let go of anger, the horrible feeling of pointlessness. And that melting, like the thawing of ice, like the smoothing of jagged rocks, will let me go, so that I slide away to something warmer, and more comfortable.

Monet_-_Die_Zaan_bei_Zaandam

Thank God. I have to believe that everything I do is worthwhile, even the less wonderful things. Meantime, I write and write, and edit, and hope that the story which I am writing – and which keeps wriggling away from my grasp and turning into something else – comes right in the end.

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May 4, 2016

Another visit to Belgium

Fran Macilvey Memoir, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments

Another visit to Belgium

Hearing the news of my brothers relapse into cancer (http://hintjens.com/blog:116 ) my family have been gathering in Antwerp, at what was our father’s home and has now become a godsend, a meeting place in the heart of Belgium from which we trip to and fro.

It fills me with delight to see my brother smiling, so much so that I cannot help grinning back and chortling at his jokes. Sure, there is some nervousness beneath the good humour. I want so much to soothe away his worries and reassure him that all will be well, but I can’t do that, so anxiety is never far away. Yet, I love Pieter’s company. And I am able to witness, to share and to be, peacefully, as he asks, though I cannot help wondering, sometimes, which planet I am on today.

Spring is a beautiful, awakening season: The lime-green leaves newly spreading along tree branches, the blossoming buds ripe with promise, the bright, warm sunshine gilding the world with an intoxicating yellow glow, which felt particularly poignant as we walked through mature hospital grounds to and from visits. This is the season of awakening and hope and relaxation. We helped my brother home from the hospital, and it was delightful to be part of that sharing. We returned to his home, where he hopes to live in peace.

Bright_Green_Spring_Leaves_Creative_Commons

Filled with a new determination to enjoy every moment and to act strongly, I resolve again not to waste another second worrying, or fretting about what I might think I need or want. I resolve to take risks for what I hope is the best, most honourable course (which may not always be the easiest) to reach for the stars and hope that one day, my truest, most loving intentions will bear fruit.

Having spent decades sitting and watching from the side-lines, now I shall act fearlessly, in the certain knowledge that whatever happens, I have the comfort of knowing I did my best, instead of simply watching and waiting for the hammer to fall.

With love, and thanks for reading.

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April 30, 2016

Women portrayed reading

Fran Macilvey The Rights & Wrongs of Writing, Women's fiction and chic lit 5 Comments

Women portrayed reading

Browsing art images on Wikimedia I can’t help noticing how women who read are portrayed in art. There is the traditional Madonna pose, two dimensional, upright and devout, harking back to the stilted stylism of Mediaeval art. She is typically portrayed in profile, reading a bible, missal or book of hours, at any rate, something improving, worthwhile, and seemly. Her face is blank, bent modestly in prayer, or at best, lifted heavenward, whence she might locate divine guidance for her state, her sin, or her enlightenment, and we might glimpse the colour of her eyes.

John_William_Waterhouse_-_The_Missal

Then there are the others, young women who have the temerity to enjoy reading. If young, the reader’s eyes are modestly lowered or to the side, rarely directly greeting the viewer. For a young woman reading to look directly into the eyes of the viewer would be too inflaming to male desires, too provocative by half, too presumptuous of a woman’s place in the hierarchy of expectations.

Women who read anything racy, modern or even, erm, suspect, are portrayed as loose, lazy, boneless, filled with the lassitude of immodest – and faintly improper – activities that a young woman should not be wasting her time with, frankly. Far better that she should wash the family’s laundry, visit paupers with nourishing meals and generally deploy her talents for the common good. Shocking, that she might actually be seen to smile! At most, a modest smile is allowed.

George_Goodwin_Kilburne_The_Thick_of_the_Plot

Older women, on the other hand, the older mothers and the post-menopausal matriarchs can do what the hell they like, and are quite freely painted full face, frank, and honest. It is one of the real blessings of growing older, (and, by implication surviving childbirth) that older women are freer of the conventions of good behaviour and submission.

 

Old_woman_reading

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April 28, 2016

I Am Writing Books

Fran Macilvey Fran Macilvey, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing, Women's fiction and chic lit 2 Comments

I am writing books.  Not only my first three (a series of MBS – the next two in the series after ‘Trapped’ being publication ready) but now fiction, which, despite everything, is fictional, rather than invented.  It is about realistic women and men, their frailties and weaknesses, as well as their triumphs.  Though I often find myself taking shelter from harsh realities of life – and have often read to escape – I have always believed in portraying all my characters as convincingly as possible.  I hope they do sound and feel true to life.  I could not write about a pasha or a woman seduced by the Sheikh of Arabia, because, apart from empathising with the human condition I know little about life in a harem.

MartineauLastChapter

I have entered a very determined phase in the writing, in which I can see, and know I can write, three or four books in a series of books about women of a certain age who are having to navigate domestic responsibilities, work challenges, and caring duties that, a generation ago, would have been shouldered by a wider extended family, but these days, increasingly fall on the shoulders of one or two individuals.

And what have I learned in the last few months?  That we all try our best; that human lives are filled with broken dreams, with hopes that die in bud, with ideals that are warped by the pressures of the daily grind.  But, in the midst of the daily grind we have a responsibility to be gentle and forgiving with each other, to take on the responsibilities as well as the joys of love; and to live each day as a gift, which it is.  Above the clouds, the sun is always shining.  During each second that we breathe, we can take a stand for what we believe in.  We can declare for all the world to see, our right to be wrong, to be frail and sad, but also to be cheerful and pleased with life.  To regret is not weakness, but a chance to try again differently. To mourn is not to lose, but to love more completely.  To write about characters who are flawed, and lovable, is only to reflect the reality of life, even if we dismiss what we write as ‘women’s fiction’ or ‘chic lit’ which must, always, have a happy ending.  Of course it must.  All my fiction does.

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April 22, 2016

What did I learn from the London Book Fair?

Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Path To Publication 2 Comments

What did I learn from the London Book Fair?

The London Book Fair, and all book fairs like it, is a networking fair for industry insiders, which, for the most part, does not really mean authors and writers. You might think it does, but actually, it is about agents meeting publishers, distributors selling to publishers, publishers networking with agents and distributors, technologists selling e-book and anti-piracy software to publishers….you get the picture.

That said, my wander around Olympia over the course of three days was not wasted and taught me a great deal. Not the lessons I might have expected to learn, but these are often the best.

The London Book Fair is a networking fair for industry insiders which for the most part ……will be busy with industry insiders talking to each other. They will not have time for anything else unless it is by appointment

If I want to meet anyone who might be attending the Fair, I can try to make an appointment too, using the ‘set up a meeting’ function on the Book Fair website. (Buying a visitor ticket for the week of the LBF does not mean you have an account.) Visiting the LBF website, setting up an account – which I finally did – gives you more options, the most valuable of which might well be asking for an appointment with an industry professional, through the ‘set up a meeting’ link. It pays to do research first, though, checking out which of the exhibitors at the fair are a good match. If you can take rejection well, it is worth a try.…wallflowers need not apply

Wearing a bright jacket will get you noticed. Polite flamboyance is rewarded with a few more smiles.

It is lovely to listen to the authors who do speak, about their experiences with writing and getting published.

If I plan my itinerary and have a rough idea of the floor plan, wanderings are less aimless and exhausting. Note to self: Next time visit authors’ HQ on the first floor.

Pace yourself. I ran around like a rabbit with spring fever on day one, so that by day two, I was exhausted. By day three, I was more accustomed, and able to wander around peacefully, and productively.

Girl_reading_map_at_Trevi_Fountain_in_Rome

I may go next year.

Thanks for reading!

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April 18, 2016

At The London Book Fair

Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Path To Publication 2 Comments

I spent the first day at the London Book Fair gadding around like a woman twenty years my junior and feeling rather as if I had landed on a strange planet: So many new things to see and appreciate! The exhibitors’ stands, the crowds of people who all seemed to know each other, and were circulating, or meeting appointment times with a sense of mission and purpose.

In the morning I had the great good fortune to hear Jeffrey Archer, and in the afternoon, Marian Keyes, both interviewed at the English PEN literary salon. Archer and Keyes are two of my favourite authors, and I was pleased to hear their insights around the processes of writing, and to learn that an editing style that takes in dozens of edits is not at all unusual, thank goodness. I’m glad I’m not the only one who wakes in the middle of the night wondering about a single word in a book…..

In the vast space of the Olympia Centre, with its several large halls and wide expanses of flooring illuminated under glass ceilings reminiscent of railway stations or the glass-houses at very large botanical gardens, it was easy to get lost, and, in the event, I walked too far on the first day, and exhausted myself. Grateful of the balmy warmth of early evening, I took my time sauntering home to my digs around the corner.

Tuesday was a strange mix of sad messages from home and exhaustion; so I took the afternoon off. (It turns out there was a seminar happening then wanted to go to, but I doubt I would have known where to find it. The Olympia complex truly is vast.) Enjoying the weather and appreciating the tantalising glimpses of a private garden nearby, I pondered the necessity for hiding banks of flowers and tropical trees behind high hedges and locked gates. I can see why Londoners need private gardens, but how I longed to appreciate the beauty they contained! It seems odd to pay to keep beauty hidden. And if it is hidden, does it lose its value? Is the value of a blossom found in its being appreciated?

Apple-flowers-spring

I was grateful to eat a proper, sedate lunch at a nearby Persian restaurant, and to discover further along Kensington High Street, a lovely café serving delicious, fresh food.

As my energy returned on Wednesday, I enjoyed peaceful perambulations, got my bearings (at last!) and found what I was looking for, in the midst of the small presses and the writers’ hub. There I had the great good fortune to meet my friend and fellow author, Margaret Skea, who filled me in on what I hadn’t known, (and what I will know if I go to the Fair next year). It is set to be during March 14-16th inclusive, less than eleven months away.

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April 8, 2016

What about editing?

Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 6 Comments

What about editing?

When I write a book, I don’t leave it to an editor to do all the tidying up, the trawling and correcting. The chances are, for every time I write a phrase, I will edit it about four times, and even then, I regret the words that didn’t make it onto the page.

Writing, for me, is at best a compromise, rather like the one that faces a youngster deciding what to do with his or her life: the horizon is so wide, which way should they go? What subjects should they study, specialise in, care about and invest in? What will they do when they grow up?

And as with writing, the blank page is full of potential which somehow, mystically, never quite lives up to the dream. I would make the same suggestion as I would for work. Write what you are good at, write what you know and what you enjoy.

Edouard_Vuillard_-_Lucy_Hessel_Reading_(Lucy_Hessel_lisant)_-_Google_Art_Project

Editing – the second stage, third stage and nth stage tidy up – is so much a part of the craft of writing, that it is hard to know where the line between them is drawn. It is with editing that we discover newer, brighter, wittier ways of showing our thoughts at their best. Editing fills in the gaps between what we think we are writing, and what others take from our meaning: the two can come apart in startling ways. Editing is also polish that makes a work look effortless, and gives it slick clarity.

My sister, who edits, was telling me that a lot of people these days, they either don’t edit, or they expect that mythical editor to do it for them. Indeed, this seems to be a common assumption, based, understandably on the fact that there are those out there who call themselves editors. Writers write, and editors edit, right? In truth, not always, and I find it unwise to rely too much on others, or – even more deadly – to expect from them services which they don’t or can’t deliver. Yes, I get my work edited by professionals, especially when I need a shove down one particular avenue or towards a particular theme; but I always, always endeavour to edit my work as much as I can, before and afterwards, and to stay on the course, take responsibility for the final version of what I write about. That seems vital to me; or else, how can I put my name to it?

 

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April 1, 2016

A visit to Belgium

Fran Macilvey Fran Macilvey, Memoir 6 Comments

A Visit to Belgium

When I went to see my father, I wanted to tell him – well, what I wanted to tell him is all in my earlier blog post about that. What actually happened was that on Saturday evening, when I finally arrived in Antwerp and got to his hospital room and held his thin hand, I heard the bells chiming the hour at seven in the evening, and felt like a child again, taken effortlessly back to the days when I would marvel at that continental tunefulness, the high-flown, golden notes so filled with bright energy.

On Easter Sunday I sat and watched, listening to my father’s jokes, and bearing witness to his frustration, his simmering despair, and his battle with politeness, decorum and keeping up appearances. The food was awful hospital fare, and when my father gamely ate some – knowing he might choke at any second, the bravery was fairly mind blowing, even for that small act – he offered me a portion, saying, ‘Eat, eat!’ as he would have done when he was at the head of the table at home, watching over his brood. The efforts he took to preserve his normality, stilled my voice and filled my throat with pain.

Peacock_butterfly_-_geograph_org_uk_-_1454690

On Monday, as the family were gathering for a farewell in another room, he wheezed, could not breathe and hated the endless coughing with its squeezing pain. What a crucifix of agony he straddled, as the nurse said, ‘sorry, I cannot give you any more antibiotics, but I’ll give you a sedative…’ and it was painful to watch him begging. There was nothing to his body then, but waste and sorrow, and I wondered, in the stillness, at the forced cruelty of medical treatments.

On Tuesday he died, peaceful and released from a torment that has been building for at least nine months, and from a process of physical frailty that has been gathering pace over the last four years. How I wish he could have gone out as he would have preferred to, in a blaze of glory. Now he is at peace, and there is a relief in knowing that his presence, while not physical, will be with me in the quiet moments, and in every chime I hear of the bells.

Spring__(8545350326)

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