The Rights & Wrongs of Writing

May 7, 2019

Ownership of our writing

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Ownership of our writing

Here is a listening version of this blog post.

How proprietorial are we about what we have written?

For me, the most fun part of writing is the first bit, when ideas are running away from me, down the page, sometimes so fast that my fingers slip off the keyboard while my thoughts are pushing ahead. The excitement of chasing down an idea and framing it to the page is really the best part of the writer’s day. Having these ideas, and the words to work them into something, is what art and craft are all about. That first draft, the energetic outline, may be fleshed out very quickly. But we cannot leave it like that, can we?

A good first working draft is one thing. But surely, the most difficult part of creativity – and one part of writing which I actually enjoy very much – is the discipline of re-reading, discarding and re-writing, even if that means that sometimes we agonise for hours or days over one sentence or turn of phrase.

Every artist has pieces of their creativity littering their lives, the piles of which would very quickly become unmanageable without some sweeps of culling and clearing. I find that it is the processes of tidying, reinvention and re-writing that most tax a writer’s courage: how often should we re-write, and what should we throw away? Anything that we know in our heart of hearts will not appeal as much to our readers as it does to us, will probably be heading to the recycle bin.

Madrazo, Portrait of a Lady, MM.2014.03

Writing is not only about retrieving beautiful passages of prose and poetry from our souls. It also encompasses the benign destruction of our favourite passages, to allow the light of understanding to penetrate so that others can more easily share our enjoyment. Like a rosebush that is pruned hard to the ground and blossoms easily and wildly the following year, if we have faith in what we are writing and some patience to brew the final result carefully, that first taste of a good finished piece is surely worth the wait.

Thanks for reading.

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April 3, 2019

I got my mojo back

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I got my mojo back

I got my mojo back after reading another page of A Course in Miracles.

Which reminds me – again – that the mind never sleeps and that there is no such thing as an idle thought. Since the mind is always working, and since it cannot stop working, it might be a good idea to use mind energy more productively, to help myself. Now, there’s a novel idea.

For sure, we can and often do use our thoughts, our brain-power, destructively. But it turns out to be surprisingly easy, and diverting, to use it for lighter purposes – to be relaxed, happy, to have fun and be immersed – however briefly – in the joy of something new and pleasing.

It turns out there is always something more enjoyable I can turn my sights to: a colourful sky, a nice piece of fruit, a fluffy guinea-pig squeaking for attention, a piece of music that makes me fizz with excitement… And, perhaps when I can’t raise a smile, I should maybe just accept that I’m exhausted and would love to sleep for a while. How many times have we berated ourselves and felt bad because we are simply tired? I wonder about that.

I discover it is remarkably easy to be happy. But I’ve got used, as I suspect many of us have, to supposing that I ‘have’ to get upset when I read awful things in the news. In fact, it is possible to sympathise deeply and genuinely without joining in the suffering by feeling bad. A liberating discovery.

Thanks so much for listening.

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March 21, 2019

To throw in the towel

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Lately I’ve wanted – despite the joy of being at the Book Fair – to throw in the towel on my writing. To say, “I gave it my best shot, and I’ve had enough.” But what stops me is the realisation that this is one field of endeavour that I can honestly call my own.

True, it owes its genesis to the generosity and encouragement of others, in particular, my husband. But having cultivated this particular creative garden, it has taken root and is well established. So I don’t feel justified in pulling it all out and leaving behind bare earth. And if I did, how would I spend the time that not writing would free up? Would I have the courage to do what I want, or would I expend even more of my efforts in helping others?

I realise my cogitations make me sound very selfish. I’ve just had four days away from home, exploring to my heart’s content. But doing that, I have been able to notice how lopsided my ‘ordinary’ life has become, how joyless; and just how much of my effort has been invested for others. I say, automatically, “I don’t mind,” but actually, I mind very much. And however often I may assume it doesn’t matter, clearly my body has other ideas: I am forced to recon with my giving tendencies when I am sore, exhausted and depressed.

I suppose I have to be more honest about what I would like to do. But I’m not used to it, not really. Hubby says, “Go out and have fun…!” which for him might be easy to decide and do. Whereas I sit quietly wondering what that might entail, pondering what fun might be. Going to the cinema? Not very active. Going shopping? Yes, but that’s a consumerist effort. Reading a book? I recon I’ve done enough of that for a while. Watching television? No, I want to get outside. Go for a walk? Yes, somewhere nice, maybe… I would love to go for a walk, at my pace, in a wooded place, where I don’t have to fret that I’m late, or in the way, but can enjoy great lungfuls of cool, fresh air.

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March 19, 2019

Four times more effort

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Four times more effort

The London Book Fair this year was the most enjoyable I’ve experienced. I met some truly delightful people with whom I hope to keep in touch, and came away with lots of new and refreshing ideas.

Chatting as one does at these events with like-minded and generous souls, we take away different thoughts, and ideas that stay with us. Like this one from a new friend, that, apparently, for a person with impairments – like mine, I presume – it takes five times more effort to do anything than for an average bod. In my case, perhaps four times as much effort, or three; but the point was made, and made me think.

If it takes me four times more effort to undertake a physical task, which takes me three times as long, how does that impact on my life? It must mean that I will, probably, get less done in an average day than you would, and that my efforts need to be carefully considered. To put it bluntly, doing jobs I dislike takes me so much effort, that I should not do them. I should spend my time doing what I enjoy.

Well, yes, of course, we all should. Doing what we enjoy is the key to our success. But I suppose my point is that, given the energy and time and thought expended, I should really never do jobs I dislike. And if I have to do them, I must, for the sake of my sanity, find ways to do them that I can enjoy, or at least, appreciate: I do notice that I am slower and more laboured than others, a realisation which is hard, sometimes, to accept.

On the one hand bolstered by having this understood – Wowee! At last someone recognises the sweat that goes into this! – I am rather depressed by having it confirmed: How much effort have I wasted doing jobs I hate? I mean, we all have to do things we don’t like, but in the normal course of events, “other people” – how I hate that phrase – can do them much faster and with less physical and emotional investment than me, so in fairness, they should do them, while I put my efforts into being happy.

Which raises more questions that need answers, like, “Why haven’t I?” and “When will I?” and “What is stopping me?” I seem to have spent an inordinate amount of my effort and time doing things for other people. Of course, again, we all do. But how much is too much?

Thanks for listening.

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March 10, 2019

Visiting the London Book Fair

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Visiting the London Book Fair

This year will be my third visit to the London Book Fair.

I bought my train ticket early, booked the same room as in previous years, and have printed my entrance ticket. Apart from checking dates and times obsessively, I only now have to pack my gear, and catch the train to London for the Book Fair, which is running this year between the eleventh and fourteen of March.

Was it brought forward from its usual slot in April because of fears of Brexit? Perhaps. But whatever way I look at it, I intend to have fun, to rest a bit, take a stroll through the green parts of Kensington and take refreshment in the warmer climate, the trees doubtless already in bloom.

I’m taking my three books of fiction, two copies of Trapped and a copy of my radio play. For whom? Who knows? But I know that if I don’t go, I’ll never know what might happen, who I might meet at the Fair. I may perhaps meet some of my on-line friends there, as I sometimes do.

There is no way to progress one’s life by sitting quietly alone at home… And husband is happy to support me, which helps so much. Not once has he suggested I surrender this writing lark in exchange for a more reasonable prospect of remuneration – in other words, an ordinary job. Instead, he has been totally supportive with my plans. I am blessed in this, as in so many other ways.

Thanks for reading.

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March 4, 2019

Writing again

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Writing Again

I’m happy to be writing again. Yes, I know I’ve said this many times before, but this time – and I know I’ve said that many times before too – I know that I’m back on track. I have life organised, so before it throws me any more curve balls, I’m writing as fast as I can. Fast and furious. Because I’ve realised that when we are getting a work done, any writing will do. Any writing on a longer piece of work is worth doing, and we had best simply write it and censor later, edit later, later… First, write. In so deciding, the path clears a way forward.

So that is what I am doing. And feeling happy about it too. I am so reassured that the lessons I have previously taken on board about the way I write, appear to be holding true for each successive piece that I set myself.

But there is another agenda going on, which is that the third book in my fiction series will not be my last piece of substantial writing. I also want to get on with a stage play for Trapped which I was prompted to start some years ago by a series of dreams. So, as I sometimes do, I put down the introductory scenes which I have left until now. I was re-reading them lately, thinking – as we sometimes do after a long break – “This is surprisingly good…!” which means, I have to get on with that soon.

I work best when I have an end in view. Which, perhaps rather unusually in this case, is to make space for a stage play.

Thanks for reading.

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February 25, 2019

Writing is hard because…

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Writing is hard because…

When I was a kid, my idea of heaven was to go with my father to his work, and into the store-room where they kept the stationery. The blocks of A4 pads of lined paper, the fancy water-marked paper for posh letters, which we would hold up to windows so that we could trace the lion rampant and colour it in, where my idea of infinite possibility, with so much room for all my ideas to go anywhere I wanted – heaven!

It’s a pity that, instead of preserving that sense of the infinite and using it to my advantage, writing now feels a bit daunting, as if there are simply too many words to choose from, so many ways I could take a line of thought. So, habitually, I think that writing is hard because it contains too much possibility. How easy it is, by comparison, to write to a brief, to follow instructions, to know where you are heading.

But perhaps that is to look at the way I write, the wrong way. Perhaps the better idea is for me to wait patiently in writing mode, wrists and fingers at the ready, to see what comes through. I’ve heard of other writers who listen and write, and who record stuff that they later read and think, “Did I write that?” and who, reading it, decide, “This isn’t half bad, actually…!”

Perhaps that is the best way to go forward. It’s certainly one of the more restful ways, and who knows what it might produce?

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February 22, 2019

My sister is reading my book

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My sister is reading my book

My sister says, if I can’t get peace at home, I can go to hers for a few days. A writer’s retreat, she might call it, with time to think during the day and lots of space in which to allow my thoughts to wander without interruptions, and without having to think about school timetables or the soup boiling over in the kitchen… Nice idea. Problem is, life keeps getting in the way, so a more useful way to proceed, is to get up earlier, get organised and get on. Which I am doing.

Meantime, I am very heartened that Martha is reading Susan Scott and, she says, thoroughly enjoying it. She has found one typo – corrected – and pointed out a few small changes that I have taken on board. Very useful. But what is really truly heartening is that she says she stayed up late one night to read it…! A sudden gift to me that makes me realise, “Yes, I must do this, keep going and finish it.”

Book review sites, in particular, pour scorn on reviews by family members, suggesting that they are bound to be partial. It may be a fair assumption to make, but it is not my experience. Be that as it may, I am delighted to accept my sister’s encouragement as a signal that to continue and finish my latest project is worthwhile, and that the time to write is now. How lovely to have that vindication from a woman who is already immensely busy, and who has a rather less saccharine view of the world than I do.

I read women’s fiction because, just occasionally, I need that species of escapism. Martha would not usually delve into women’s fiction, assuming she would find the time to read at all. Further vindication, if I ever needed it, that my writing is worth persisting with. Thank you, Martha.

And thanks to you for reading my blog posts.

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February 5, 2019

To turn my mistakes into opportunities

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To turn my mistakes into opportunities

By some miracle, I now have three books published, two more written, and another underway. What will I do with myself when I’ve finished writing my latest book? Write another?

I endow my characters with more practical skills than I have, more confidence, as well as the hope that everything will work out in the end: I am writing women’s fiction, after all, and it seems only right to have an optimistic ending. But also, I write because I can make use, then, of some of my mistakes and turn them to more hopeful account. Writing is not merely wish fulfilment, it is also a form of apology, it allows us to consider different endings, and maybe, just maybe, it gives us extra courage to try for happy endings ourselves.

There is no doubt that an eventful life is excellent fodder for fiction. So is a life littered with wrong paths, poor choices, and the boulders that crop up when we know we are going the wrong way, but seem powerless to turn away. In some ways, fiction represents a synthesis of the best and the worst bits of life lived thus far, with a sprinkling of magic and strong characters whom – oh, yes – we can love and loathe, but whom it is hard for us to ignore.

It seems a very worth-while thing to do; to take a million-and-one mistakes and turn them to good account by writing about them, so that I can laugh and learn the lessons of acceptance. Letting go of my mistakes in such entertaining fashion, I move forward into something better.

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January 7, 2019

Plans for 2019

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Plans for 2019

My plans for 2019 are still in flux. A lot depends on the health of my mother, which continues to be a cause for concern. Vagueness morphs into neediness which might, at any time, slip into a gentle crisis, though I suppose if I am not there to help, so be it. One thing I have learned is that it is not possible to be in two places at the same time.

I am travelling to the London Book Fair in March this year, with my novels and my radio play. What will be the outcome of my visit, I cannot tell, but I do know that nothing was ever progressed by sitting behind one’s desk for all eternity: if I don’t go, I won’t know. If I have good news, I’ll let you know, and if not, at least it will procure me some food for thought and the occasional blog post. To prepare for that, I would like to finish Book 3, or at least, have a notion about plot developments so that if anyone does express an interest, I will have some idea of to what to say.

Preparation is key, so in 2019 I shall be doing my best to clear backlogs, keep up to date and work efficiently, with minimal interruptions and expectations that bolster my ambitions, instead of sidelining annihilating them.

We’ve all been guilty of expecting too much from ourselves, so this year, I also intend to go more gently and have more fun. I do so enjoy being happy; and if that is not the point of life, I’m not sure what else could be. So that is my aim in 2019. To have fun, to appreciate all my opportunities and make the most of them in the right spirit.

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