Claire is one of my mentors, instrumental both in motivating me to continue writing, and in helping to edit the manuscript so that firstly, it was more readable, and secondly, that so it didn’t end up telling lots of stories about other people. In this blog I have touched on the difficulty of writing memoir and, while endeavouring to be as truthful as possible, not treading on other people’s toes.
Her honest feedback also motivated me to keep going with the quest to find a publisher. It may have taken a few years, but it has been worth it! Claire has written ‘Fifty Two Dates For Writers’ to keep writers motivated.
Thank you, Claire, for being such an inspirational friend and a thoughtful critic.
You can find Claire’s interview, ‘Writing One’s Life’ on her blog today. Anyone who ‘likes’ this interview has the chance to win a copy of my book.
On Wednesday morning, I received some wonderful news.
The Review of Arts, Literature, Philosophy and the Humanities – RALPH Mag – (not to be confused with a lads’ magazine featuring busty ladies on the covers) published a full and extremely complimentary review of ‘Trapped’ in their latest edition (number 251, midsummer 2014). The Editor found my email address and emailed to let me know.
This was a lead that my publicist at Skyhorse found, as she has been quietly going about her business on our collective behalves.
I am humbled and gobsmacked in equal measure. Yes, I know, a speech of gratitude would not normally include the word gobsmacked, but no other word comes close to expressing my gobsmacked-ness. I am delighted that they not only reviewed ‘Trapped’ so favourably, but gave it a major slot, and published an excerpt. A hat-trick! A truly humbling realisation.
I spent most of the day attempting to log on to the RALPH.org webpages, without success, but have now learned that material from a particular address can often be found in Google’s cached memory so that, if you can’t access the page, you can discover its content by clicking on the small green arrow pointing down, which is listed in the Google results page. The word ‘cached’ comes up, which then shows the content, even if the page or website is off-line. A very handy thing to have learned.
Finding and pursuing leads is an odd business, rather like being on a bobbing boat, or at a funfair. Up one minute, down the next, as reviews, articles, ratings, comments and missed chances catch us unexpectedly. When lovely things happen, it feels awesome. When something doesn’t work out, if a lead fizzles out or hoped-for results don’t materialise , we can learn something from that process, even if it might be, how not to rise to indifference, how retrieve information from the web or accept that the time may not be right.
Meantime, the latest good news gives my optimism wings!
This is meant to be a faintly amusing post. Unlike the last ‘Lopsided’ though it hobbles along on much the same theme.
I have started journeying to the Commonwealth Pool – rebranded “The Commie” since I last used to go regularly – an Olympic-sized space, ideal for floating, stretching and generally larking about. At last I can swim in peace, without feeling in the way, without needing to excuse those who do not yet have the nautical equivalent of a driver’s licence. Learning to drive has taught me all about navigating aquatically, but lots of other swimmers don’t seem to think about this need, so in smaller pools, there is much battling for position, and many apologies. Here, in this vast space, there is room for everyone.
The “Commie” is two metres deep, and there are warning signs on the tiles: No non or weak swimmers beyond this point. What is a non? I wonder, flippantly. Getting in, therefore, suggests I am on my own, entering swirling eddies, deeps with danger. But there are places to hang at the side, ledges to rest the feet. It is fun, though I am sure that in a moment, I will discover a catch (apart from the underwater cameras). At the end of the swim, here it comes – getting out is harder than it used to be, when I happily lifted myself out at the side with my arms. These steps are deep, and the height I can lift a foot on any morning tends to vary, depending on several factors. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to the relative virtues of whichever foot or hand to use. Nowadays a chronically sore left shoulder, sore left hip, a sore right knee and a sore right foot give me pause: Once of each, blithely layering themselves over my ease, in their own, special way. That’s okay, but to have to stop so that I may weigh up which pain or lopsided jolt I would prefer is occasionally disconcerting.
There is bad news that depresses – this isn’t it! – and there is bad news that makes me do something. If I have to go swimming to keep myself moving, to keep warm and flexible, I will do that most willingly. I wish I could persuade my daughter to share my enthusiasm. Maybe today….it is a lovely day. Have a great weekend, and thanks for following, reading, commenting and enjoying.
Reactions to my book, “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy” have been overwhelmingly supportive and loving, with thoughtful and generous crits and reviews being posted on Amazon UK, Amazon.com (USA), Goodreads, Facebook and other websites. I am very touched and pleased that my story has already reached so many readers.
Interestingly, a great many people whom I would count as good friends, react surprised, saying, I had no idea. They are really astonished that so much can have happened of which they have been unaware, though of course, being introverted, depressed and solitary for so many years, it is unsurprising that, until now, only little fragments of my life and times, my thoughts, have surfaced to reach the light of day.
I counted it an important necessity to maintain peaceful dignity, but often that is a way of staying away from the helping arms that others willingly extend towards us. We do need to show our weaknesses, our frailty, and allow others to understand. I’m sorry that, for so long, I have been unable to share intimacies, or to trust that the reactions of friends and family would be supportive. I regret the missed opportunities to share more fully, because, at the very least, sharing would have helped me to notice that we all have stuff to deal with, we all struggle and suffer together in this melting pot called “Life”. Seeing that more clearly before now, would have given me the courage to make more mistakes, be more outspoken, to take more (small) risks so that I might move more freely and help others more often.
Today is a new day. And these resolutions build up slowly, gently forcing my hand. Thank God for the kindness of friends and strangers, and for the love that you have shown me. Thank you.
My resolution and cheerfulness held well today, and we managed to finish all the audio recording of “Trapped” by four fifteen this afternoon. Hooray! On Monday, we do pickups, and edits, and that is about the end of this project, about which I have been preoccupied since January. Publication of book – tick! Narration of audio – tick! There is lots of new space in my head for doing some work, for writing, for resting and for getting in touch with friends.
Claire Montreuil, 1945
It is strange to reflect that the engineer, whom I will probably never meet again after close of business on Monday, knows so much about me, and I know only his name, that he drives a dark, diesel engine car, and lives in town. I have his business card in my pocket with his phone-number on it, and that is all.
I have had various names, each one marking a distinct period of years in my life. I am glad to have arrived at Fran Macilvey, and here I hope to stay. I am still getting used to it, though, and often forget that anyone who has read ‘Trapped’ will not need the usual context or explanations, even if I have only just met them. I would be interested to hear what other people feel about the experience of writing memoir, of sharing the highs and lows. Do you brush off the inequality in the information exchange, or does it leave you feeling unbalanced?
Just when I reach one of my lowest ebbs, there come two pictures of daffodils posted on Facebook by a lovely friend. I gaze at these and determine that what I most need is not courage or resignation, but discipline. And so decided, I don my scarf and coat and go outside for all of ten minutes in search of elusive daffodils nearby. It is windy and cold, a blast of spring air. As I gaze up into the sullen, darkening sky which mirrors my mood so neatly, I realise, This is not about me. I must not be selfish.
In writing my book, “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy” and now in narrating it for the audio book, I have at last accepted fully that, regardless of how humiliated I may feel, there is more at stake here, than my privacy or my sense of personal dignity. Other people are working hard for me, it is true, and many of them do so for little tangible reward. But the picture is bigger than this. I can read, and write, and I have a wonderful life. I have freedom to move and the space to express my preferences. I know that, most days, I do not do enough with that freedom, but at least I can move away from here. I have always known that, in life, it is having options that matters most.
There are millions of people in the world who suffer in silence, who endure cruelty, exclusion and neglect, and who have no-one to speak for them: millions of children who are misdiagnosed, misunderstood, pigeonholed, forgotten and overlooked: millions of adults who can do nothing about the places they find themselves in. As I write in my book,
“How many others with issues like mine are languishing in the shadows of institutional ignorance because their families listen politely to advice which owes more to prejudice and speculation than to hard facts or compassion? If it wasn’t for my mother’s decision so often to disagree, to go it alone, I would be in a “home,” possibly dead, having led only a teeny little bit of a life. No one would have known anything about me, or uncovered the thoughts lurking behind my eyes. The smallness of my life would have remained a hidden loss, overlooked, as the lives of so many disabled adults are overlooked.”
If my book can strike a blow for freedom of conscience, self-expression, human dignity and compassion, then the small terrors I have to endure are well worth the price. God will give me the strength to do as I must. And, with that faith, together we can all join and create miracles. I do so hope you agree.
I hope readers of my blog will forgive me: I have not posted anything this week, because I am narrating the audiobook of “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy”. Doing so is heart-wrenchingly difficult.
The audio producer kindly asked me if I would like to read. The word “like” suggests enjoyment, fulfilment. So when I said ‘yes please’, that was fine, and doubtless they see no reason for me to be unhappy about it. Of course, I would do it, even if they asked me again, I would give the same answer, but that does not mean it has been easy.
Writing about the painful episodes of my life – that would be from the age of five to about forty-two, then – is one thing. There is something reassuring in writing that conveys meaning which, while it may have to be spelt out, nevertheless maintains a dignified silence. Articulating the same passages with sound, brings a whole level of new pain to the experience which can hardly be appreciated by those who do not have to endure it. Actually, I am familiar with being told what to do, and my obedient persona complies easily with requests to repeat difficult passages. These are the worst, of course, because they are the hardest to get right, to do calmly, and so have to be done again. I pray continuously, not to break down and weep. I ask for help from my guardian angels. I clench my fists hard and beg, and swallow and wait and hope for the next storm to pass, because there are timetables to meet. Because there are only so many times I would like to cry about this, again.
Brosen Bielsk – Podlaski Aniol
It has something to do with feeling humiliated, and having to expose truths and lies that I have held beneath a dignified silence for so long.
Whatever way I might have chosen to play this, there were always going to be disadvantages and benefits. I learn, the storm passes, and a smile is always waiting to lift me up. Thank God.
For me, one of the hardest disciplines is waiting patiently: waiting to hear from other people, and having to accept more immobility than I would prefer. I have always wanted to run, skip, dance and move more than I could; and it has indeed been the work of years, to learn patience in the face of silence. Now, I prefer to reframe that unwelcome lesson with the reassurance that every silence is kind, and allows others – who are working hard on my behalf – to procure small miracles quietly. When I remember that “The Universe is constantly conspiring to work things out in our favour”, the most important thing is to decide, clearly, what I choose, and to let go.
Next week, I have to get myself to a recording studio over several days. It is out of town, on a route I am not familiar with. It also leads across one of the biggest and scariest roundabouts – with turnoffs and leads lanes of fast traffic – that I have ever encountered. I haven’t ever flown over it solo – My brave husband or the jolly taxi drivers do that – but I yesterday I did at least manage to get to the approach, before swinging off at a petrol station, just before showdown. I was rather petrified. But pleased with myself for driving so far.
Again, that fear mirrors much of the hesitancy I have about life, the indecision. It could be that, because I didn’t walk until I was five-and-a-half, I am simply unused to taking things in my stride. In the old days, my failure would have brought up feelings of loathing and despair, but now, I understand sadly, that forced immobility could excuse a lot, and there is no point being upset because I fail with what I set out to do. Maybe I will never be the best driver in the world, but I will always do my best. That thought will have to console me meantime. I will take cabs, which will cost far more than I can afford. Another hidden cost of disability? Not quite, but close.
I have been browsing the website of the Society of Authors, which offers reasonable and very practical advice. Thank you, SoA. Membership is a possibility, and I shall reflect on that in the next little while. However, reading through their eye-opening material I cannot help detect a certain amount of realism creeping in. Of course. Realism is what everyone needs, isn’t it?
An advocacy group or a trade union rather specialises in offering realistic advice. Artists often need practical help, perhaps more than other professionals might. Before you rush to condemn my blatantly prejudicial pronouncement, I mean merely to suggest, tentatively, that those accountants, lawyers and architects who enjoy their jobs are probably better equipped, on the whole, to tackle the world of business, money and hard fact. Artists are perceived as nurturing dreams, rather lost in the realms of colour, music or written whimsy. To be creative, artists allow themselves to be carried away on the wings of fancy; and history is littered with examples of artistic geniuses who could not manage the transition to hard-headed marketing guru; which is why I suspect that artists, on the whole, benefit greatly from practical advice.
However, we have to tread a careful line between heeding practical advice and believing it. We may listen and learn, but to take into ourselves the wisdom that, for example, “(Writers) are appreciative and supportive of any efforts a publisher makes to promote their book, and entirely understand that in the vast majority of cases, given the number of books being published every year and how busy PR departments are, all an author can expect is a couple of weeks of effort around first publication” is to feel a toe-curling anxiety that is hardly beneficial to our prospects.
To succeed, whatever our private weaknesses and reservations, we need to believe that what we have already achieved, and what we are about to achieve, amounts to success. ‘For what we are about to achieve, may the Lord make us truly thankful.’ Without that belief, which often flies in the face of all the practical advice that others offer, we will surely sow the seeds of our failure. Writers achieve miracles every day, in blogs, letters, in emails carefully crafted, and witty replies on FB or a perfect Tweet. We need to believe in miracles, and keep seeing them everywhere in what we do. Success is not what other people tell us. It is what we believe about ourselves.
Optimism, faith and relaxing with Life were yesterday’s theories. God bless Sundays.
Today, I am wondering about the wisdom of having shipped out copies of my first book, “Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy” to my long-time friends. I worry that they will read my story, and, filled with a new and worrisome incomprehension, they will flee from me, and possibly never speak to me again.
The older, wiser me steps in and attempts to arbitrate this fear, “Ah, but is fear of the reactions of others – even our friends – ever a reason to not do something which we feel impelled towards?” And I know, of course not, no. If we let our fears of disapproval dictate our actions all the time, we would have very small lives. Ruled by fear, what do we become? Mere shadows. Intellectually, logically and spiritually, I know this. I know too, that my friends like and love me for who I am. In most cases, a mere book will probably not come between us. But emotionally, I am less robust, frightened of my steps into the unknown, this uncharted territory. My resolution wavers wildly, and I am prone to unexpectedly fierce bouts of weeping. How will my kith and kin react to this latest bout of independent action? When my neighbours see me again, will their minds rove constantly to the sorrowful and shameful revelations of my story? Will their eyes flicker in disbelief or widen in disgust? I doubt it, yet part of me is sorrowful in fear.
The answer is in what I have written earlier, that the Universe is constantly conspiring to work things out in our favour. So then, everything I do is part of that process, in which there is nothing much to think about, far less actually worry about and a great deal to enjoy. Okay, that sounds gentle and reassuring, so it works meantime. Now, who else would like a copy of my book?
September 29, 2014
Claire Wingfield interviews Fran Macilvey
Fran Macilvey 'Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy' by Fran Macilvey, books, choices, Claire Wingfield, communication, editing, interview, learning, letting go, optimism, patience, publication, writing 'Trapped: My Life with Cerebral Palsy', Fran Macilvey, Interviews With Authors, Memoir, Path To Publication 1 Comment
Claire Wingfield Interviews Fran Macilvey
I am delighted that today, writer and editor, Claire Wingfield, interviews me about the process of writing and publishing my book, ‘Trapped: My Life With Cerebral Palsy’.
Claire is one of my mentors, instrumental both in motivating me to continue writing, and in helping to edit the manuscript so that firstly, it was more readable, and secondly, that so it didn’t end up telling lots of stories about other people. In this blog I have touched on the difficulty of writing memoir and, while endeavouring to be as truthful as possible, not treading on other people’s toes.
Her honest feedback also motivated me to keep going with the quest to find a publisher. It may have taken a few years, but it has been worth it! Claire has written ‘Fifty Two Dates For Writers’ to keep writers motivated.
Thank you, Claire, for being such an inspirational friend and a thoughtful critic.
You can find Claire’s interview, ‘Writing One’s Life’ on her blog today. Anyone who ‘likes’ this interview has the chance to win a copy of my book.
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