I’ve just come back from the most wonderful holiday time, spent with my family. We went up North to be with my sister and her husband and son, and while we were there, our brother and his three kids came too. We have a rather extended family, and we are now living in different places, different continents, even, so to meet up is a rare and truly wonderful treat.
The three kids are like their dad: thoughtful, clever and so quick. They made me smile and laugh with their antics and their way of seeing the world. I like kids because they show me thing I have generally forgotten about. In the business of writing, playfulness is often overlooked, yet it sheds light on what truly matters: joy, peace and sharing love. I truly love my brother too, and am grateful to be reminded just how much his joy means to me. In some ways he has had a tough life, and I was so pleased to see him smiling and happy.
While I’ve been away Susan Finlay has kindly published my short article, ‘Writing is a Funny Business’ on her blog. I hope you will have a read of it, and some of the other articles in the series. Thank you, Susan, for your thoughtful support, over many years. It means a lot to me.
I thought I had enough to do, what with holidays round the corner, and books to edit and finish, and talks to write and writes to talk….but apparently, I am also writing a radio play of Trapped.
A very different experience this is turning out to be. I am a very visual person, so having to write lots of dialogue and background information in a way that can be conveyed with a voice is rather like writing with the eyes shut. Not uncomfortable, but an interesting and very revealing challenge.
What to include and what to leave out will also depend not only on what is within my knowledge to recount, but also what will work, on radio. For obvious reasons, I am using the book as a template for the draft. I can add lots of interesting dialogue which had no place in the book, but I have a feeling the radio play will turn out very differently.
My friend Lucinda E Clarke is an expert with dialogue and has sent me part of a radio play she has written which she says is unfinished. Thanks for your help, Lucinda. I think you could finish that play…
“La Lecture Interrompue” by Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot
Having written up a second, third or thirtieth draft of any substantial writing project, I find that it benefits from resting a while. Writing and resting work in progress, I may decide not to look at it for, say, four or six months, and meantime take up another project to work on. It is good to have several projects on the go at once, I find, because that keeps me fresh.
Letting a book rest has obvious advantages. The more we write, the better we get, and sometimes, with the passage of a short while, it is very clear where a passage can be improved, which we thought perfect when it was being consigned to its enforced rest. I am grateful for the opportunity to improve, which time offers. After all, where’s the hurry? Unless an editor is actually breathing down our necks, why not slow the pace down and focus more on thoughtful enjoyment? Sometimes, my focus on a daily word count is a bit counter-productive.
Working alone, I also value the shift in perspective that time offers. Ideas that now feel hopelessly naïve, opinions that are exposed as a little under-proved, and examples that are perhaps just a bit too esoteric, are all easier to spot with a bit of distance. Plot weaknesses are also easier to home in on. It is amazing how often I can read through a piece without spotting that I’ve changed names half way through.
And we writers can be touchy. We don’t like other people to tell us what is ‘wrong’ with our writing; so leaving a book to mature is one way of making sure that when someone doesn’t like our writing, it is for personal, rather than pedantic reasons.
I am honoured to be part of your launch for the ‘Great Scottish Book Off’. It was a privilege to represent you on ‘Good Morning Scotland’; (at 02:36:14) and the appearance at Blackwells last night was such fun. Thank you for organising everything so beautifully. It is a total pleasure to work with you, and I hope that my small contribution has helped to give your campaign extra lift.
Thanks also to Blackwells for their generous support hosting last night’s event.
I just want to say… I sincerely appreciate everything Capability does to promote positive, inclusinve living. We all need Capability, to remind us that everyone has something valuable to offer to the big picture. Our part may feel small, only one piece of the puzzle, but…you know how it feels when that one piece of the puzzle is missing. Imagine spending months putting together a thousand piece jigsaw, only to find a piece missing. And if that puzzle is made up of millions of pieces…..?
Whether we are campaigners, volunteers, tea and scone makers or listeners, each one of us is uniquely important. We celebrate life’s richness, when we work together!
Tomorrow, on 5th March, which is designated as World Book Day 2015, Capability Scotland are launching their newest fundraising event, ‘The Great Scottish Book Off’, which will then run through the rest of March.
Paul Delaroche, Portrait of Son Joseph Carle
Family, friends, colleagues and neighbours are invited to get together and swap pre-read books. If there is a modest charge for admission, or a collection, the idea is to pass these funds to Capability, to further their work and projects in Scotland.
I am delighted that tomorrow morning, at 8.30, I am making a guest appearance on Radio Scotland, live from their Edinburgh Studio, to help publicise Capability’s campaign. I look forward to a friendly and candid interview. Later in the evening, at 18.30 – 19.30 I shall be giving a short talk and a reading from ‘Trapped’, as well as answering questions. If you can, please do come along to Blackwells, South Bridge, Edinburgh. It is going to be a great event.
My sincerest thanks to Capability for inviting me to be part of their event, and to Blackwells Bookstore, Edinburgh, for being so generous and accommodating.
Books, in one form or another, have been lent and borrowed for thousands of years. In the modern age, when kindles are all the rage, we cannot swap electronic devices so easily, when we wish to share our discoveries. ‘Real’ books remind us of the joy of sharing and engaging with others as we discover new reads. Books are made to be shared.
In the run-up to World Book Day on Thursday, 5th March, Capability Scotland are running the Great Scottish Book Off, inviting us all to dig out a few books we have read, and arrange a book swap event with our friends. The idea is to organise a get-together, charge a modest admission, and then pass any funds raised to Capability Scotland.
I am delighted to announce that on the evening of 5th March from 6.30 – 7.30 pm at Blackwells Bookstore, 53-62 South Bridge, Edinburgh, EH1 1YS. I will be giving a reading from Trappedand answering questions. Please join us if you can.
I am very grateful to Capability for inviting me to contribute to their fundraising campaign, and I am looking forward to a lively and friendly event.
“Narciso (Narcissus pseudonarcissus), Jardín Botánico, Múnich, Alemania 2012-04-21, DD 01” by Poco a poco – Own work.
Her dark anxiety faded as a dazed, fretful bundle nudged and stretched. A fist found and grasped Helen’s finger like a lifeline, so tight, Helen knew she could never let go, and her heart contracted lovingly. Creased lines in the tiny face would gradually relax as the days slowly widened. Eyes open, Cassie gazed longingly into her mother’s eyes.
‘She looks like her Dad, see?’ and Helen began to cry.
‘Yes, she does…’
The pain of loss stretched her chest and caught her breath. Ordinarily, she took condolences politely, with a hint of a tear and a rueful smile, ‘Yes, Jonathan was a special man….very special…’. At night, the covers over that cavern slipping, she fell and could not breathe. While their babe slept, heaving sobs gripped her throat. She welcomed them, let them wash her grief, clear the stains of loss, the waste of his stinking sickness, and the happy times before he died and left her alone.
It got easier. Cassie smiled so brightly, and her golden hair, at first so sparse and fine, grew over her crown into thick, shiny tresses.
At nine months, Cassie played and cooed on her mat, flicking the crinkly cow’s tail and pressing the buzzy bee’s wings. Cassie lifted her chin to Mum sprinkling glitter, blissful blue eyes catching sparkles.
Doorbell. Letter. Who writes letters these days?
Darling Helen
Thank you for being so brave.
With all my love, always,
Your Jonathan
Johannes Vermeer – ‘Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window’
The more I write, the more I discover there is to write about. It seems to be one of these laws of universal truth, that committing to a writing habit and blogging five times a week is easier and more fulfilling than writing less often, (at days and times which constantly need considering). Somehow, committing is the most important part, and then the rest comes more easily.
I have gaps in my schedule and become increasingly used to working around whatever else is going on. So, the plumber has just phoned to say he is coming over on Wednesday to get started on fitting a new boiler (YAY!) at a time when I would usually be swimming, or writing, or sorting out laundry. Instead of worrying that my life needs to be reorganised, I just accept that gratefully, and swim later, or another day. Life becomes so much easier, with the help of a few regular habits that become increasingly enjoyable. Blogging has become one of these: a personal diary and place for reflection that gives structure and support to me through the day. And, most importantly, writing it is soothing and pleasant. I do enjoy sharing snippets of my life with you, and reading about what you are doing. I am grateful for every comment, ‘like’ and ‘share’.
My brother tells me that the only thing other people cannot do for me, is write my material, which does galvanise me. Increasingly I find that blogging is useful to get me started and sustain me through book writing and editing too. There are many, many benefits to blogging, which are not immediately obvious. But I discover more every day.
I have spent five years mostly sitting here, reading, writing, editing, chatting, commenting, and being around the internet communities where I continue to meet amazing people and make friends.
In my more retiring moments, I sometimes wish that I had done other things, like walking into the hills, where the breeze would rouse me and the views from the Pentland Hills down to the coast would invite me to remember the long view. Or watching the spring flowers unfolding in March. Often, I have missed entire seasons, so wrapped up have I been, in the cocoon of communications that is part of my work.
Aware that time is fleeting, I sometimes wish I could have spent more time playing with Seline, teaching her the card games of my youth – must see if I can remember how to play double patience – great fun – and generally laughing so hard, I feel my spirit floating out of my body.
Then, I consider my accounts: my Facebook pages, my twitter and Amazon accounts, this blog and Goodreads account. I remember their genesis in the world of Authonomy, and I think….wow, I set that all up. Little phobic me, the girl who first turned on a computer monitor when she was thirty, set this all up and, with the help of so many friends and supporters, has kept it going, one way or another. Through everything, this small network has linked me to sources of information and advice, consolation and inspiration in so many ways that I can hardly articulate.
But there we are. Life creeps up on one, sometimes. And our achievements are not always obvious until later, when we take a moment to look back.
Thanks to everyone who has been part of my on-line life, all this time. I value you, and your presence, more than I can say. I count it a great privilege to know you.
‘Shambles is as shambles does…’ he muttered to himself as he hirpled along the road, his shoes scuffing softly on the cobbles. ‘Just what my mother used to say….’
Sauntering past in the other direction, happily linked on the arm of her lover, Susie turned and very obviously watched the old man, as he clattered into the doorway of the newsagent and in under the jangling bell. She was having one of those days when she saw everything: the curve of his lean jaw above the twist of his scarf and his unfastened coat; the pallor of his cheeks; the way his hair, obviously unbrushed today, twisted affectionately at the back of his head. Absently, she wondered if he had eaten yet this morning.
‘Wait a minute, Alice, will you?’ she queried, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze. She turned and followed the man into the shop, aware that she was being even odder than usual today. If everyone indulged their hunches, the world would be a peculiar place….it was peculiar enough, and she hardly needed to draw attention to herself, but still.
Susie took in the slightly dusty air, the rack of newspapers and the colourful array of crisps packets and fizzy bottles near the exit. But her attention was focussed on the old man, carefully clutching a small carton of milk and rooting in his pockets for change, while the shop-keeper waited, watching a screen pinned somewhere overhead. Absently he took the pound coin held aloft in icy fingers and proffered change. The old man’s head was bent slightly forward, as if the weight of the world had warped it. Susie approached the till.
‘Are you all right?’
The old man blinked myopically.
‘Yes, thank you’ he answered, slowly and with great dignity. ‘I’m fine, thank you, young lady.’
Susie wanted to ask him if he had had breakfast, if he was eating properly. She had an absurd longing to go round to his place and make a pot of soup, switch on the radio and fill his kitchen with the clatter of domestic noise, but instead, she just smiled and said, ‘That’s fine, then. Take care of yourself.’
‘The name’s Thomas, and I live up there – …’ he pointed absently, ‘Up the hill a bit. I like to come out for my morning walk every morning. My sister tells me it does me good, though I sometimes wonder.’
‘Your sister?’
‘Ena takes care of me.’
‘I’m very glad.’ Impulsively she gave the old man’s hand a squeeze. ‘I’ll see you again.’
April 12, 2015
Writing is a funny business
Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 0 Comments
Writing is a funny business.
I’ve just come back from the most wonderful holiday time, spent with my family. We went up North to be with my sister and her husband and son, and while we were there, our brother and his three kids came too. We have a rather extended family, and we are now living in different places, different continents, even, so to meet up is a rare and truly wonderful treat.
The three kids are like their dad: thoughtful, clever and so quick. They made me smile and laugh with their antics and their way of seeing the world. I like kids because they show me thing I have generally forgotten about. In the business of writing, playfulness is often overlooked, yet it sheds light on what truly matters: joy, peace and sharing love. I truly love my brother too, and am grateful to be reminded just how much his joy means to me. In some ways he has had a tough life, and I was so pleased to see him smiling and happy.
While I’ve been away Susan Finlay has kindly published my short article, ‘Writing is a Funny Business’ on her blog. I hope you will have a read of it, and some of the other articles in the series. Thank you, Susan, for your thoughtful support, over many years. It means a lot to me.
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