“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.
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.
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.
So, why did I write Trapped? I have been astonished to notice, in the pavement, a flowering dandelion with roots so tenacious that the concrete is cracking around it. Similarly, when I was about forty-two, I knew I sat at a cross-roads, or, as a friend put it, on a roundabout, facing a number of choices and not sure which way to go. But I have always known that if I could simply summon the courage to begin writing, and writing in particular about my life, I could maybe find answers, and a new will to live which would crack open all my misconceptions and mistakes, and give me new room to move and breathe and begin again.
It is all very well and good, knowing the theories of happiness, but at times it is necessary to take the risk of experimenting with one’s own life and circumstances to see how they turn out. It is a bit like jumping off a cliff without a parachute and hoping that someone or something will catch you and lift you up: an eagle, a winged horse, a swan, the branch of a tree snagging on the back of your jacket, or a grassy ledge that we land on, breaking our free fall descent. Who knows how it will turn out?
The only way to know, is to have the courage to take risks, with friendships, with ideas and with every single opportunity that presents itself. And that, ultimately, is why I wrote Trapped. To test myself, and see how far I could go.
Rose, ‘Golden Celebration’
The journey is not over. In fact, in some ways, it is just beginning. There is still much to do. I have at least three more books to write and publish, and I welcome opportunities to promote all my books, wherever these chances originate. I am learning how valuable friendships are, that can originate in the most unlikely places. As my header says, every day is a fresh opportunity, and I intend to make the most of them. If that means I have to journey to Pittsburgh and subsist on peanut butter sandwiches for a week, or get a cleaner to take up some of the household jobs, or a PA man to help with admin and publicity, then bring it on! Life is for living, and that is why I write.
Rose ‘New Day’
If anyone would like to contact me to discuss publicity, promotion or other ideas, please write here, or contact me at franmacilvey@fastmail.fm Thanks to everyone for reading, sharing, commenting, supporting and cheering me on. I love you all.
Recently I was interviewed about Trapped at my husband’s church, and the experience was over so soon, I felt I hardly had time to draw breath. I had prepared some answers to questions, which were helpful to hold on to. When we went off script, it felt quite natural, easy and relaxed.
The minister was gentle. She asked thoughtful questions, asked, why did I write Trapped; and was so perceptive and kind that, almost, despite the laughter, it would have been easy to weep, though not for the obvious reasons.
Being disabled, one runs the constant risk of being misunderstood. I felt I was, and that process turned me initially guarded, then defensive, then prickly, then isolated. In retrospect, and having had the courage to spell everything out (as much as for myself as for the reader), I see that retreat is not inevitable, of course. I can’t help feeling that much misunderstanding and sorrow might have been avoided, or shed more easily and naturally, if there had been more people around who were unafraid to grasp me in their arms, speak to me as I needed to be spoken to, firmly and kindly, in order to break through the self-imposed isolation that has been one consequence of being misread.
I grieve for the obvious reason that life was awful, and for the less obvious reason that I have wasted so many years being unhappy. There is the other, more insidious pain of knowing that my perceptions – like those of others! – were often greatly mistaken, and that if I had been less fearful and stood my ground, no-one would have minded terribly.
Sure, the world is full of insensitive oafs, and cruel people who are casually unjust, and it is our focus on such people that turns us inward. But the world is also brimming with delightfully kind, forgiving and thoughtful people.
This also makes me grieve now, because I missed so many opportunities for joy, and for love, and for fun and humour and sheer delight. Meeting wonderful people, knowing they can see past my social awkwardness, my stumblingly stupid statements, to the smile that hopes it will be accepted, is so liberating. That makes me grieve now. Life is full of inexplicable contradictions, isn’t it?
Without having gone out of my way to excavate my experiences by writing them, none of this would be clear. Muddy confusion would all be sitting still, at the bottom of a dark glass, festering.
I have been feeling jaded, of late, as if the energy around me was needing a good blow of wind to get it moving again. Unsure that I would ever find another thing to write about, or any way to reawaken my desire to continue, in the end, the simplicity of the solution has been clear, reassuring and simple. Hubby – bless his heart! – insisted on two days away to our favourite place, Canty Bay House just outside North Berwick.
As soon as I came over the front door, smelt the floor polish and remembered the big solid table where occasionally I have found a moment to sit and write, I rediscovered that the urge to commit words to the page – words about beauty, silence, the dark brooding colours, the buffeting wind and the seahorses – was and is entirely genuine.
The window in our room frames a clear view out to the Bass Rock just a short distance away. I could have watched the waves for hours. Constant wind buffets away all thoughts of timetables, obligations and city routine and, even glancing at the raindrops on the glass, I feel that familiar and most welcome desire to locate pen and paper. But, most unusually, I did not bring any with me, so, have to go and find some, finally tracking both, in the Post Office on North Berwick High Street.
The relief of sitting scribbling blog posts, seated at the heavy dining table, is intense, as is the satisfaction of knowing that yes, having taken time away to write, in fact, I do actually love to write. I am happy, reassured and at peace, pleased with the urgency which announced itself rather unexpectedly, and would not leave me in peace until I honoured it. Like everyone else, I just need refreshment, a change of scene.
I know why JKR wrote in a café every day. There is lots to see, but no distractions of the domestic sort, that always call away our attention. There is constant novelty, in the sights and sounds of other people, and cups of tea made and set down, like a gentle instruction to take care of oneself. Time away is not a waste of time.
Bass Rock – view from our roomTantallon Castle Doocot, with Bass Rock beyond
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.
Today I am pleased to feature Bernadette Leslie. Bernie Leslie is a Scottish writer who was born with Cerebral Palsy. She’s an ex-Parasports athlete who represented Scotland and Great Britain, winning a bronze medal with GB in the 2006 Boccia World Championships. She’s writing her first novel. In her spare time, she loves going to see her favourite football team play and loves animals.
Welcome, Bernie, and thanks for featuring today. I know that we will be sharing more posts, but, first, I would be really interested to learn about your experiences with Equus. How did you became so interested and involved with horses and their language?
It all started with my mum actually! A year ago, she read an article in the September 2013 issue of Oprah and when she finished reading it, she came through and she said: “There is an incredible article about horses this month and I think you would love to read it.” Somehow it struck a chord with me. Martha Beck, a life coach, was describing the Equus experience of a client who worked with Koelle Simpson, equine trainer/life coach, to resolve the issues that were plaguing her.
Strangely enough, the very next day, Mum and I were visiting some relatives’ graves. Now there had always been a horse in the next field, and I’d always wanted to say hello, but never could because it’d mean my electric wheelchair would be trudging through grass and leaving a right mess everywhere, not to mention getting stuck if it’d been raining.
I need to give kudos to the local council for this one because I noticed they had made a path up to the fence and I decided to see if the horse would come over. Thankfully she did and it was really through her that I began to see for myself just how horses perceive not only ourselves, but how we feel too. That started a journey of discovering everything I could find out about horses!
What teaches you about spiritual truths?
Equus is a non-verbal language of horses in which these amazing animals — so sensitive that they feel the tiniest of things landing on them — let us human beings know how they’re feeling via their body language, which is interesting, because thousands of years ago, our ancestors were known to communicate through body language, until other forms of languages developed and took its place — the ones we know today as written and spoken languages.
Spiritually, Equus has been invaluable to me. I was starting to figure out, through being with horses, that negative influences were having far too much influence over what I was doing. I felt under increasing pressure, and forgot about how important it was to take care of myself and return myself to a blissful, peaceful place. Equus teaches me what leadership really means and how to remain centred when others try to drag you down.
Horses have helped me do this and now I feel more confident that I am taking the right path — horses and writing are a winning combination, for me at least!
Thanks so much, Bernie. It is so interesting to discover that horses have a language and that we can learn to communicate with them through it. All the best with your writing and your riding!
Writing autobiographical material is a bit of a tricksy business. We are rather beholden to tell something of the truth, though heaven knows that can be rather difficult, both to discover and to articulate. Entertainment value also supposes that we have to write something interesting, kinda, avoiding narcissism and voyeurism on the way. And, I suppose, we run the risk of offending whomever we mention in passing, if our portrayals are unkind, thoughtless or incorrect.
Writing “Trapped” is, by far, the most difficult thing I have done: relentlessly exorcising demons, re-examining every facet of life as I have lived it and understood it, and taking responsibility for many parts where I could have done better, been more kind, generous and especially, more aware of what others had to tolerate. Writing has allowed me to offer an apology, of sorts, and to meet and make up with friends and family, before it was too late. I am so glad I took that chance. I am so glad.
With hindsight, I also suspect that one reason I started writing was to demonstrate that, clearly, the world is very much kinder to me than I have hitherto been to myself. In that sense, there has never been anything to worry about. If only because publication brings friends and readers who are constantly generous, loving, thoughtful and supportive, writing has already worked wonders. I have harboured many fears – and I am sure many writers do – some of which we commit to paper, read through and then launch on an unsuspecting public amidst a sea of doubt. We fear the clamour of disapproval. Waiting fearfully for the backlash….blessed approval or silence answers.
Constantly seeking reassurance, perhaps writers habitually focus on critiques which are muted or less than stellar. We receive fulsome and genuine praise from all quarters, yet the comment we focus on is the lone voice which ‘damns with faint praise’. Many of us do this, I am sure, and I have decided to stop. Focussing too much on the critical critic is perverse, ridiculous, and completely ignores the truth that all opinions are valuable, and some have benefits that I will never notice or understand. I let it be, and write when I can.
Will bookshelves one day be consigned to museums? Written out of our furnishing requirements as interesting curios from past times, and gazed at wonderingly by precocious five year olds, the way that children now peer at old telephones and record players? There is a section in the National Museum of Scotland devoted to lifestyle icons of recent history. I’m sure I have used some of these venerable machines. Perhaps, given my age, I should just climb in and join the exhibits….
Kindles are great. But will we all be using them, all the time, in ten years? Will there be any need for shelving for books, when my kindle offers several free dictionaries as part of the start-up incentive built in with every new purchase of an e-reader?
Will house-builders have an even better excuse for building homes in miniature? (“Ye don’t need shelf space no more, love, so we can just put the standard king-size up against the wall here, like that”)
My guess is that we will always need books, and there may come a time when we are immensely grateful for the old back numbers that we now overlook, with their modest orange and white covers, and their restrained delvings into human suffering. As has been suggested in many post-apocalyptic narratives, we may need to tear out the pages to use for personal grooming or for fire-lighting; or, when the power runs out, we may actually start reading them again.
Our current technical infrastructure relies on power, generated mostly from non-renewable resources. Plastic, metal, wood, paper and water….all finite. ‘Real’ books have the potential to last for hundreds of years, and can pass through countless pairs of hands. Electronic media, in contrast, are ephemeral, here one day and deleted the next.
March 16, 2015
Writing and Resting Work in Progress
Fran Macilvey allowing, change, patience, writing The Rights & Wrongs of Writing 2 Comments
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.
Thanks for reading.
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