The Rights & Wrongs of Writing

September 27, 2019

A Sea of Silence

Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments

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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September 20, 2019

In their own words

The Rights & Wrongs of Writing, Women's fiction and chic lit 0 Comments

In their own words

Yesterday a funny thing happened. For the first time, as I was writing more of book 3 in my fiction series, I felt as if I was a privileged insider, given unparalleled access to write my characters’ lives in their own words, and, with my trusty pen and paper to hand, allowed to explain their motivations and hopes to readers.

Perhaps that sounds obvious, but in the past, I’ve never felt quite that level of inside awareness, as if I was writing a fly-on-the-wall documentary… and the words kept coming, only to be interrupted by the realisation that it was well after six in the evening and hubby had arrived home from work.

Of course, my characters remind me, I know them as no-one else does, so naturally it is my job to explain, and to highlight and help them resolve their dilemmas. I can show too, how often ordinary people are uplifted by humour and love, even in the midst of heartache.

When I resume writing a piece, I very rarely pick up where I left off. I like to go back a couple of pages, a chapter or two, and begin with a bit of rereading and editing, to check for tone and consistency. While I’m doing that, other ideas crystallise and I can more smoothly move forward. And usually, these days, that process is fairly easy, not least because, on my perambulations through Facebook, I collected a piece of very useful advice – it works for me, at any rate, though it may not work for everyone – to leave writing a story, if you have to leave it, while it is still interesting. To leave when you would rather not, rather than at the end of a good chapter, say.

Yesterday, in my reportage frame of mind, I felt as if I could simply keep writing until the story was finished. I have not far to go, and I did contemplate an all-nighter – briefly, it rarely works – but today, instead, I shall resume and simply hope that my journalistic bent returns. It is lovely being beside my characters, listening and watching as their stories unfold and trying faithfully to record what happens to them, in their own words.

Thanks for listening.

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August 8, 2019

Memoir writers and privacy

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Fran Macilvey, Memoir, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments

Memoir writers and privacy

Here’s a new idea that I saw voiced on a FB thread recently. That it is rich – and I paraphrase – for a memoir writer to complain about breaches of privacy.

The imposition on online users of various extra security rules and requirements, for example, being asked to supply our phone number for extra security, or told we “must” download our banking app onto our mobile phone, seems to be becoming more widespread. These extra security measures sound harmless enough: if we are in France our holiday, say, and we attempt to log in to Facebook, there are times when we will be blocked from doing so. I assume that the mega computers are suspicious that we are not ourselves, and we are therefore asked to supply extra data for verification before we can access our accounts. (At least I now know what “Please add your phone number for extra security” is all about. I have not and will not give out my phone number. And so, I won’t use on-line networks when away from my usual domicile.)

However, I started this blog post to probe one suggestion made, that it is rich – and I paraphrase – for a memoir writer to complain about breaches of privacy.

Huh?? Memoir writers are people with lives that go well beyond the content of a memoir or even a confessional, weekly newspaper column. And if we write sensitively, no-one else we mention in our memoirs – and other people usually feature tangentially – should not come off too badly. I change names, alter circumstances, and in any case, my recall is often at variance with that of others, which acts as a natural, protective barrier around our personal lives. “What? I don’t remember that!!” is not simply about perspectives: it places our recall at a remove which ultimately, is like a safety valve.

I think, I suppose, probably, that the assumption made, that memoir writers have no expectation of privacy, has two parts. First, that memoir writers have already laid their lives out for public scrutiny, and therefore, they are used to it, expect it, and have somehow forfeited their rights to privacy. Second, that they – I am supposing – have already made reference to the lives of others in, I am supposing, a rather presumptuous fashion and therefore, have a bit of a cheek supposing that they should be entitled to privacy when those they write about have been “outed”.

Both these assumptions are questionable at best. Memoirs are often an attempt by writers to make sense of chaotic or baffling circumstances. They are an attempt to join with others in understanding, to reach out and console, and to get beyond first base and live better lives. That all seems very useful and worthwhile to me, and doesn’t lend me to suppose that memoir writers have skin like rhinos or are uniquely tough and open-all-hours type of people.

Thanks for listening.

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June 27, 2019

Having an impairment

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', cerebral palsy, Happiness Matters, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 8 Comments

Having an impairment

I hear from readers quite often, writing to me and talking about having read Trapped. Typically a message will begin, “Hi, I’m Andrea, I’m 27 and I have cp. I read your book and…”

Which makes me wonder. Some readers want to write, and ask for advice about that. And I would say, if the first thing you identify about yourself is that you have CP – or any kind of impairment – then yes, you do need to write, if only to get that narrative out of your system.

For decades, my intro line was, “Hi, I’m Fran, I’m X years old and I have CP.” But really, identifying what might be the main challenge in your life as essentially You, is a bit limiting. I have CP, yes, but it no longer defines me, or limits me. The sense of having limitations is odd, relying as much on other people’s ideas of what is possible, as my own. And, I choose not to see myself like that anymore, because to do so is unnecessary and unhelpful.

I’m Fran, I am fifty-four and I have blue eyes; dark blue, almost teal, with a ring of brown around the iris. I like singing, so much so that even at my age, I do so unselfconsciously only dimly aware that other people consider this eccentric. I sing along to music in the supermarkets, because there seems no reason not to: it’s the kind of thing that other people would do, if only they had the nerve.

I’m Fran, I’m fifty-four, and I’m a carer. I care for my family, and for my mother, and I care about the environment. At the moment, four large men – or is it five? – are trimming back the trees at the bottom of the hill at the back of our garden, and I have wept, because I love those trees, which, for me, are a precious glimpse of wildness in the city. I love those trees for being a refuge, for whistling when the wind blows, for being solid and optimistic, and for growing with branches extended wide. And for being taller and bigger than me. For being unfathomable and private to many creatures I will never see. For being faithful, for believing that growth is good and life is sacred.

As for having an impairment… What is that? Is it, as the social model of disability would have me believe, something that I really should be able to ignore? I’d like to, but actually, trying to ignore it is like trying to ignore the elephant in the room…

So instead, I try to make friends with the elephant and listen to what it might be trying to tell me. Often, I might chance a ride on its shoulders, from where I have the most amazing view of life. It’s a metaphor I prefer to play with, rather than push against. And, if we are playing with this particular metaphor, it might be an expensive thing, that hints at a grander life, needing a bigger space to play in. I love those trees because they were elephant sized, and expanded my sense of what I was. Looking up at them, I forgot about having an impairment.

Thank you for listening, and have a wonderful summer vacation.

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June 17, 2019

Reading real books

Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 3 Comments

I like electronic readers. They are handy and lightweight and they fit easily into a pocket. I can carry one anywhere and load literally hundreds of books onto it. E-readers are slimline and sensible.

But – there’s always a “but” with that kind of optimistic opening statement, isn’t there? – despite their bulk, I still prefer reading real books. Perhaps some part of me is put off by the way in which electronic text sits flat behind a screen, perhaps it’s the way that the obviously monochrome quality of the delivery leaves me feeling disengaged and somewhat unconvinced, perhaps it’s that real books all feel different – different weights, different sizes, fonts, covers, page thicknesses… Reading a book, I can almost feel it speaking to me, in a way that I find missing with electronic media. Is it that electronic book files are almost too alike, or self-consciously clever? I’m not sure.

In any case, my house is now overflowing with books – and I speak as one who keeps her sentimental attachment to them well under control. Living in a small flat, with a husband who is loath to part with his volumes and a daughter whom I am trying to encourage back into a reading habit, I cannot afford to do otherwise.

I’ve also been helping my mother to sort and deliver many of her books to the local second-hand stores, where they are gratefully received. Mum adores books and sees each of her favourites – and there are many – almost as a personal friend, an intimate acquaintance who has been with her on the journey as she has researched and written a dozen books. While she has done a great deal of her research online, still, she would be appalled if I suggested to her that all the material benefits of real books could be replicated by reading electronically. Indeed, she would scoff, demonstrate my folly, and then perhaps suffer a panic attack at the very notion. So we are, and will be, reading real books for the foreseeable future.

Thanks for listening.  

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June 10, 2019

Getting life into gear

cerebral palsy, Happiness Matters, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 4 Comments

Getting life into gear

My “to do” list reads like this: housework, swimming, shopping, recycling, visiting my mum, shopping, tidying, answering the door, and getting life into gear. You know, get a grip, get organised, do things.

But… I’m doing them already, and there must come a limit to the number of times, or the speed or the efficiency with which I tackle the jobs in my life. Some things are more fun than others. Visiting Mum, while sometimes worrying, is also enjoyable, interesting, and a good way to remind myself of life priorities, in other words, how lucky I am.

But still, the notion resurfaces occasionally that I could do with being more disciplined about my own work, that, “I need to work harder”. Periodically, I glance at the stats comparing average earnings with mine, and think, “Right! It’s time to get organised…” and I wilt, thinking that surely, hard work alone does not answer that particular ambition.

So perhaps there is something else I could be doing, some different way in which I can frame life challenges that would make achieving things easier. Perhaps I’ve known all along that if I can make enjoyable what I am doing, that is worthwhile in itself. When I am happy, life is already lighter and more interesting, and my life automatically becomes what I want it to be.

More soberly, I begin to perceive that there is a marked difference between pain – which is, I believe, an inevitable part of life, the see saw of change – and what we generally call suffering, which is what happens when we internalise pain, in some ways erecting it into our next great project. Pain of all sorts is both natural and inevitable; our thoughtless conversion of it into what we call suffering might become a bad habit. I know myself, that I can tolerate quite a lot of pain. And so long as I do not rehearse it, hold on to it, I can accept it, feel it and allow it to be until it goes away. I do not also need to say, as I have been in the habit of doing, “Ah me, I am in such pain, life is hard etc etc etc.” Which is a bit like picking myself up from a fall, only to bash my head against a brick wall…

Funny what I think about while waiting at traffic lights.

Thanks for listening.  

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June 7, 2019

Use of idiom in writing

The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 6 Comments

Idiom: A group of words whose meaning cannot be predicted from the meanings of the constituent words. As for example, “It was raining cats and dogs”.

Creative writing is as much about playing games as anything in life is. We play games with words and meanings. If we are writing sci-fi or fantasy, we may even invent languages for our characters, whole new worlds springing up from our writing. I am delighted with inventive writing, and if I venture thus far, I will try to ensure that my worlds are internally consistent, and that I have given enough information in the back-cloth of the story to make clear the meaning of any particular idioms that I might then deploy in dialogue between the characters.

The use of idiom – throw-away phrases usually found in spoken language that are hard to translate but which carry with them whole worlds of meaning – in novels can be interesting. Because it is so hard to explain, the colour and purpose of idiom is usually demonstrated obliquely, through snatches of dialogue between characters. Words spoken between characters can show their common history and understanding, and will also allow readers to deduce the intention of phrases which, taken literally, appear meaningless.

If I write, “The lady said, was I pulling her leg, and that she would sock it to me if I didn’t mind my manners”, an editor might ask, “Pulling whose leg? Putting the sock on the leg?” “Hang on a sec,” might raise the question, “What is a sec, and why should I hang onto it?” If you write, “Betty’s going to give Bert stick when she catches up with ‘im” you are likely to find that, for an American translation, someone will have prefaced “stick” with an indefinite article.

Our local and accustomed use of idiom, which we feel so entirely comfortable with, is so enmeshed with our use of everyday language, it can be hard to notice when other people find local expressions peculiar and unfathomable. They can be hard to explain; they are never self-explanatory, and when I find myself trying to elucidate, embarrassingly, several more idiomatic phrases always seem to rush ever so helpfully to the rescue, so that conversation becomes a series of short snatches and embarrassing confusion.

But writers want to be understood, I assume; so although I use idiom all the time when I’m speaking with my family and am probably not even aware of doing so, I now try to avoid it in my writing. Written language is no less colourful for that, just different from what we might say to each other socially.  

Thanks for listening.

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June 5, 2019

Writing Honestly

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments

Writing Honestly

Whether I am drawn to writing self-help, science fiction or fiction, for me, there is nothing more fundamental than writing honestly. Not brutally, but endeavouring always to be clear about my motives and what I am trying to say.

It is through writing honestly that the conviction forms in me that can lead to convincing writing, authentic dialogue, heartfelt emotions. For each genre the disciplines will naturally differ, but without core honesty – which perhaps I could call freedom of expression – I find my writing withers and loses its purpose.

We write for a number of reasons:-

– To learn about something or to gain empathy. This drove me to write my memoir.
– To earn money and make a living: an honest and worthy motive, which helps us to be clear what parts of our material might appeal to others and thus bring commercial success.
– As an outlet for personal or artistic expression. For joy, for hope, writing has its purest justification, one which is often at risk of being downplayed, particularly by writers who are dismissive of what they bring to the writing table.

But whatever our motivation, it seems to me that our writing can only take root and flower if it is an honest reflection of our lives and experiences. Naturally we hope to emulate writers we admire – how else can we refine our own style? – but though imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, flattery, almost by definition, flirts with the truth. I do adore flattery… – I’m sure I’m not alone – but when the chips are down, I find that gently offered truth is more valuable.

Thanks for listening.

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June 3, 2019

Emotional support for writers

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 0 Comments

Since all writers borrow from their lives to pen their novels, articles, memoirs and stories, emotional support for writers is essential. Yet the habit which writing breeds of doing things alone and by oneself, can be hard to leave behind.

We write, presumably, because we feel compelled to; and presumably also because some part of us enjoys the process or the sense of achievement from the final product and its outcomes.

Yet perhaps, since reading – so often a precursor to taking up the pen – and writing are silent, we writers may well become accustomed to learning, listening and doing by ourselves, quietly. We may not all begin life as rugged individualists, but I suspect that, in order to write, we may also have to cultivate the art of doing many things tolerably well alone. Words on the page are quiet and perhaps we assume we have to be too?

All of which helps to explain how writers can become isolated. And to excuse the fact that, with all that training in aloneness, it can be very difficult to ask for emotional support. Asking for help isn’t easy, though there is little doubt that having practical and emotional support helps us to stay grounded, relaxed and on top of our workload.

Paradoxically, I’m not sure that I would have managed to write or publish what I have, without the demands made on me by others: I must eat, and yet, when I lived alone I rarely made the effort to eat well. I have to sleep, and there is something in the routines of next day, that encourages me more often to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I know that twenty-four-hour days do not suit me, yet when I live alone, I tend towards exciteable neglect.

I do know, that although it has ultimately saved my life, writing my memoir was a long and very difficult thing to do. Ironically, I wrote it and dreamed about it, and lived through the pain of it alone, because I needed to come out of isolation. I am grateful also to remember, now, that when we need help, we can ask for it, and benefit from precious friendships we make along the way.

Thanks for listening.

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May 30, 2019

Testing my resolve

'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Fran's School of Hard Knocks, Memoir, Path To Publication, The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments

There appears to be a belief among authors that of course we enjoy our writing, or else, why would we bother writing anything? And for most writers, that assumption is probably broadly true, though I suspect many of us also have procrastination down to a fine art. But when I began writing, it soon became obvious that doing so was testing my resolve almost to breaking point.

Though memoir reads like fiction, and enjoys elements of fiction, we may not get much enjoyment from writing our life stories.

Interestingly, while writing my memoir, I felt as if I was inhabiting a parallel universe. Writing about something that happened when I was, say, fourteen years old, other forgotten parts of that time would come vividly to mind, prompted, I am sure, by my sojourn with a particular set of recollections. These felt so sharp, as if they happened yesterday, which realisation has given me many occasions to wonder about the nature of time and memory.

Is everything we have ever thought, felt and believed stored in our minds, just awaiting recall; and, like a song learned fifty years ago, never forgotten? Why do our minds work that way, recalling sounds, conversations and scents decades after the event? What a massive repository of experiences our minds turn out to be.

Writing for me started as a compulsion, not at all enjoyable. But it had to be done, both to push against the boundaries of what I thought I knew, and testing my resolve to see how far I could push. Perhaps that was a bit reckless, but it was my version of the physical and emotional risks that we all have to take – the cat climbing the wall may fall to her death, but that doesn’t stop her trying to reach the window above – if we are going to take our personal leaps to the next stage and live life to the fullest.

Thanks for listening.

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