Stuck in a Book

I'm not really here. 

I'm really here... 

...and much as I lament the distinct lack of blogging over the past few weeks, my stiff word with myself has been somewhat successful. The latest draft of the novel had an enormously out of shape middle and only two hours of strict writing a day - that isn't all I do, by the way, although, imagine, she says, drifting away for a few moments to the top of a fluffy cloud, the number nine fluffy cloud, with pen, paper, and tea on tap and not even a hint of a spreadsheet or PowerPoint and especially no slightly grimy bathroom as distraction - has managed to shrink and tighten it to a more acceptable shape for its first appearance in public. But there's still work to be done. We're not talking six-pack yet, more of a slight bulge where you could imagine there might be a six-pack lurking underneath. Meanwhile, my ever patient first beta readers await their copy of This Remarkable of Days and I feel the least I can do is get it to them before the first Christmas cards are dolefully staring upwards, expecting to be written.

And thus, I'm even more grateful to be appearing on the Greenacres Writers' 'A Conversation ...' this week. This fabulously successful and busy reader and writers' site was set up in 2009 by a group of writers based in Finchley and features book reviews and interviews with a whole host of fabulous writers, a whole heap more interesting than me. The questions were intriguing, thought-provoking and made me smile and I just hope I've done them justice. You can read the interview here.

Meanwhile, any ideas of what you'd take up to your Cloud Nine? I'd love to know! 

The One-in-a-Million Boy

Come join us!  

Because I should be writing (my September deadline for the first draft of my next novel is steaming towards us), editing (a wonderful 50,000 word project) and preparing for this talk on Friday... 

...not to mention more sock drawer tidying (although I have now progressed onto the vegetable-cum-non-wine-alcoholic-beverages cupboard, thanks to hubbie who has even crafted us a new shelf) my blog hasn't managed to clamber up my priority list this week. But that's OK, because I really want to shout out about this book. It's a life-affirming read, amusing in a dark humour kind of way and terribly sad in places. I read it last summer and still remember it clearly. Just wish I could have met the son and given him a hug. Although, he was 11, so he probably wouldn't have much wanted that... 

This is quite unlike any book I've read recently. It isn't so much that the story is unusual - it's been compared to The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry and I can see the similarities - but it's more the angle from which the story is told. The motivation for 104 year old Lithuanian born, Ona Vitkus, to pack up her bags in search of an entry from 'yours truly' to sit proudly in the Guinness Book of Records, is an 11 year old boy. A record promises a certificate, respect and immortality, after all, and who wouldn’t want that?

Alas, we never meet the boy during his lifetime because he has unexpectedly died whilst riding his bike.

His death is ever present, however, in the hearts and behaviours of the three particular characters he has left behind. The strain on his divorced parents: his mother, Belle, attempting to exist while mourning and father, Quinn, attempting to deal with his guilt, is palpable from the start and I was under no illusions that unconventional beginning aside, this was going to be an emotional ride.  

Before his death the boy, who isn't named (and my only gripe with the novel would be that I spent the first half thinking that I must have missed his name) had been visiting Ona on a Saturday morning to do odd jobs for her. Although dragged there initially by his scout leader, the boy carried out the tasks impeccably. Granted, we suspect that this level of perfection may have originally been more about his obsessive attention to detail, something which we glean has lost him a few friends over the years, than a love to help. As we progress through the chapters told from feisty Ona and droll, but guilt-stricken Quinn's perspective however, we learn that the boy was a very likeable soul and his affection for the slightly cantankerous old lady, was genuine. When not only Quinn but also the wife from whom he's been divorced (not once but twice) decide to accompany Ona on this quest for a World Record you know you're in for a bumpy ride.

Quinn is a fairly successful jobbing musician, never short of work, certainly. We learn through Ona's conversation with Quinn as he fulfils the odd-job slot left vacant by his deceased son, that his son felt him to be a very good musician. But Quinn's dedication to his trade is a thorn in his side after his son's death. As far as Quinn is concerned, he wasn't there for him. And of course, living with this once it cannot be rectified is heart-wrenching. Equally as difficult is realising that so distant were the pair, that Quinn doesn't always feel grief for his son. Finding himself learning about his own offspring through time spent with Ona is also difficult to palate. Quinn is confused and flawed and I warmed to him immediately. Just thinking about him and his journey of self-discovery brings a lump to my throat. But it's not all tugs and heart-strings, Quinn's resigned, off-the-wall mode of communication frequently made me laugh out loud.

Ex-wife, Belle is also hurting, prone to sharp retorts and cutting put-downs which upset Quinn more than she may realise, but she has her own issues. After all, she is in a position none of us could bear to be in. Although less likeable at the beginning, she is an equally well-drawn character.

And then there's the writing. This is a book where I was torn between reading on because it's one of those paradoxical stories which is slow moving in essence but also a page turner, and flitting back to re-read a passage of such skilful, evocative writing. It's a traditional style of narrative: pithy comment told through intricate observation of people and behaviours. But using Ona's amusing and often irritated recorded answers to the boy's questions - the easiest way, he'd decided, to chronicle Ona's life-story - not to mention the lists of Guinness Book of Records stats and facts speckling the plot as a constant reminder of the boy's presence, it's an original style of writing, too.

On the surface the story is Ona's. It's about her escape from the shackles of her age after the realisation has been thrust upon her that she has been waiting to die since she was ninety - and yet she's still here. But it's as much a story about the deceased boy and his troubled parents and what they can all learn from each other. And let's not forget the amusing spectacle of the motley crew as they engage in their quest to see Ona in the record books. It's a good romp and a very thoughtful one.

This story gave me goose bumps, brought sobs and smiles and was one of those reminders that whilst humans can be so complex, they are generally rather lovely underneath.

The One-in-a-Million Boy by Monica Wood, published by Headline Review. RRP £7.99 (paperback).

Retreat West hosts Tea and Chemo

unsatisfactory words bound for recycling

As my head is deep in editing at the moment, forgive me for flying in just to let you know that the wonderful Amanda Saint over at Retreat West has interviewed me about Tea and Chemo (with a dash of Glass Houses) for her blog. Her questions were excellent, really made me think, so I hope you'll found the responses interesting. You can view the post here.

Meanwhile, I'm back to *almost* the final edit of Glass Houses, deleting 'turn' and 'saw', 'then' and, 'just' (forgive me for allowing one of the 205 - oh the shame - occurrences of 'just' to sneak into this post) and searching for different words for 'smile'. Wish me luck! I have three days… 

A Plotting Pantser's Writing Process

I'm very happy to have been tagged in a blog hop, haven't done one of these for a while, and this one is called my Writing Process. 

Thankfully it isn't focusing on how I get the words on the page which amounts to little more than managing to sit down in front of the pc or one of my notebooks (you know how I love my notebooks) with the intention of writing or editing a story. Of course there are a few obstacles on route to my desk. I have a need to see the bottom of the ironing basket and to have hung out the washing because I-did-say-I-needed-my-netball-kit-tonight. And I can't really settle until I've cleaned the kitchen because it doesn't clean itself, I said, it doesn't… oh never mind. Once through my study door, I then have to negotiate the tricky writing buffer which is THE emails, in their belief that I need to hire a car every day since my holiday three years ago and have the time, inclination and finances to create three personalised photo albums and a bonus calendar on a daily basis. Then they kindly alert me to the revelation that I may have had an accident at work ten years ago which could pay me £6,000 - unlikely as I haven't worked in an office for over fifteen years and don't see a great deal of mileage in suing myself. I suppose I could have had a dreadfully debilitating accident whilst teaching but suspect that if such an event had come to pass, the mortification of humiliating myself in front of a class full of writers who would then weave the indignity into a prize-winning story would have stayed with me and thankfully, save for the odd tongue twister moment, I have no recollection of that.

The blog hop batten was passed to me by the lovely, gracious, witty and generally uber talented Lesley Richardson, copywriter extraordinaire, who is so close to getting her novel published I can almost hear the champagne fizzing from her hometown in Ireland. You can see some of Lesley's writing here. We swap 'near miss' publishing stories on a regular basis as well as tales of hair woes (the eternal frizz combat) and hair highs (life-changing frizz-taming products) which only fellow curly haired people will really understand. Yes, I know I can't really count myself in the curly haired camp at the moment, jumped, as I have, to the 'other side', but in my head, I'll always be a curly haired girl, I just haven't got the panache to be anything else.

So, now I need to answer four questions and then I get to pass the baton on myself.

What are you working on?

I was writing a third novel, The Deadline, which is a story of a girl born to a Nazi officer and growing up in Britain but instead, find myself involved with two previously written novels at the moment.  

The first is, Misguidance, a story I wrote fifteen years ago and was embarrassed to allow back into my consciousness, such was the utter drivel I remembered the 100,000 words to be. However, happening upon it whilst dusting off the rusting filing cabinet in the inner bowels of my pc to make room for my teenagers' photography habit, what I found surprised me. As expected the style was awful – contrived, first person narration for a story which quite clearly needed some third person distance. But I did, and here's the surprising bit, enjoy the story. More than enjoy it, I couldn't stop reading.

So, after submitting my second novel, Glass Houses, following one of its re-writes, I marched off into Misguidance, moving it from first to third person and bringing it up to date – my twenty year old had to stop using the land line - oh and I ditched three characters and created another three and made it a dual narrative and well, I may as well have started again.

I was 30,000 words in when I had some great feedback from an agent on Glass Houses. It was feedback on which I knew I had to act or I would never forgive myself. And so Misguidance went back into the drawer – a little happier than when it had first come out.

And so the cycle continues; at the moment I'm back on Glass Houses following suggestions from two agents who've both seen the full manuscript and given very similar feedback – both the good stuff and the could do better, Jackie Buxton…

How does your work differ from others of its genre?

Both novels are works of general fiction with strong female characters leading the plot. Where I hope they differ from books in their genre is in the choice of hero – I like to choose unlikely ones. In Glass Houses, Tori, the main character, has committed what people consider to be a heinous crime. Her 'mistake' allegedly caused an accident which killed three people and killed many more. It would be easy to despise Tori, indeed, she doesn't always help herself, but I'd like the reader to think that there for the grace of god go you or I.

Similarly in Misguidance, its main character, Evelyn, appears to have caused misery and destruction where ever she's lived, so much so that there is one solitary well-wisher at her funeral. But when her guilt-ridden neighbour looks further into Evelyn's past she sees a pattern and manages to persuade the motley crew which make up Evelyn's past to view Evelyn, and themselves, a little differently.

I suppose I want you to like the bad guy.

Why do you write what you do?

I wish I knew! I seem to feel compelled to write about personal disasters and yet I am quite a happy little soul really. I revel in hearing stories where people triumph out of adversity and personally plump for books where characters achieve happiness against the odds. Perhaps my writing is fuelled by that.

I'm also constantly amused and bemused by the eccentricity of the human species. We all say that people make mistakes, for example, that none of us is perfect and yet, friends, family members, colleagues, neighbours, you name it, can fall out for years, forever even, as the result of an impetuous comment, a single irrational action or some badly timed honesty. In other words: a mistake. It's so easy to shatter what we've worked towards and once broken, it can't be re-built to look the same as it did before. This fragility in what we hold dear is a concept which fascinates me and has certainly leaked into both my novel plots so far.

How does your Writing process work?

Scrivener - highly recommended

In the line which runs between the writing process of (flying by the seat of their) pantsers and the plotters of the writing world, I am squarely in the middle. There's nothing I enjoy more than sitting down at the pc or with my notebook and bashing out the next 10,000 words of the plot which I didn't know existed until my characters pulled them from my brain and poured them thorough my fingers onto the page. However I have to do some work before I can get to that stage. Usually when I'm not at my desk, and most often when I'm running, driving or even cleaning (much as I despise it), I'll bash out an idea in my head. But if I can't clearly see the reason for writing the story, at least one of the characters who will make my story happen and how the story's going to end, then I won't even put pen to paper. Like a plotter, I have to have this scaffolding before I can start. After that my writing process is the anteater's tongue; a sort of tether rolled out to its full extent on page one and then quickly rolled in pulling the story with it along a clear trajectory to the ending. How the characters choose to dance on the tongue, well that's up to them.

Other than that? I use lots of cups of tea, way too many print outs to be good for the environment, the wonderful Scrivener software so that I have all my ideas and chapters on the computer rather than covering the floors of a study, bedroom and landing. I also use different locations. In different places I spot howlers and see beyond blocks which had made my writing stall. I suppose some may see this as an excuse to visit an array of different coffee shops. I couldn’t possibly comment.

So, what have you allowed to fester in a drawer for years, writing or otherwise, and been pleasantly surprised when it's reappeared? Please share!

Now for my own two tags in the Writing Process Blog Hop.

First up is Annalisa Crawford  whose wonderful blog I'd describe as 'soulful humour' - although at the moment it's all just very exciting over there as she has a new book out, a collection of short stories called, Our Beautiful Child. And thank you, Annalisa, for always finding time to leave a comment on my blog, bless you :)

My second choice is Jane Alexander who writes thought-provoking, often quirky, tales of her observations and findings as she travels around England and further afield in the search for better health (physically and spiritually). Catch Jane's blog here.

I Pressed Send

I almost cried last night. I have a broken foot and an infected ear - of which I shall spare you the details - but it wasn't that. The washing is piling up, the bedding's unchanged and the bathrooms could do with a 'bit of attention'. But it wasn't even that.

It was because yesterday, at 8.40pm I finally pressed 'send' on Glass Houses.

Its re-write has been nine months in the making. Following one agent's disappointing rejection but generous and astute feedback on the full manuscript at the end of last year, I embarked on a re-write in January. Then came dissection during the wonderful Writers' Workshop Self-edit Course at Easter, which inevitably led to a second re-write. Incidentally, I call it a 're-write' if it loses and gains more than 10,000 words - a bit like a crash diet but infinitely more healthy. 

Some of the fab self-editing crowd (and Gayle!)

A heap of hasty amendments followed on the back of workshops and talks, not to mention the general writer-ly buzz, at the York Festival of Writing, as well as from my new term of teaching. Is there a better way to say that, we wonder, it's bordering on cliché, I suggest, and off I trot home to *practise what I preach*. A final burst of tweaks after meeting with my new reader (she's so clever) and there I was, Sunday night, just in time for tea before Homeland, and it had gone, my baby, flown the nest again.

And like every baby resistant to change, after months of cajoling, tweaking, listening - albeit distractedly - and the odd torrent of abuse and self-loathing, I have sent off a better book than the one I submitted last year.

That isn't to say I will emerge with a contract. All I can do now is hope. And wait.

Well actually, now I clean and file and hoover and 'sort out' the wardrobes. I think about Christmas and cleaning the skirting boards, sort out the leak through the downstairs window, call the electrician to fix the kitchen lights, book tickets for the local village play, rearrange the short break I booked somehow forgetting I was working, earn some money and do my physio for my foot. And I sleep. I'm going to sleep at both ends of the day and for a period of time in the middle. 

And then I shall get back to work on book two… 

So, lovely readers, how are you?

Return to Dragons' Den

I’ve reached a milestone today. My blog counter flipped over to a magical round figure: 35,000 which was my target for page views in 2013. So I’d like to say a huge thank you to my lovely readers, you got me to my goal five months early!

It seems apt that I should think about a very early blog post, one which ratcheted up a whopping, wait for it, 35 page views. As I believe I’ve spouted here before, if you’re new to blogging, hang on in there. It takes a while for people to find you in the blogosphere but seeing the number of readers wandering over to your little blog increase in volume, is one of life’s more than simple pleasures.

The post in question is this one: Dragons’ Den for Wannabe Authors and pretty much describes the week I’ve just had, but from three years earlier. The difference is that after three years of editing and re-writing Glass Houses (I have written 70,000 words of another book in-between, honest), I’m happy to say that this time, it didn’t take me to chapter twenty to find a 500 word section of text I liked enough to read out to a room full of writers - published and not-quite published - as well as the truly wonderful cluster of agents musing over whether they should sign me now or wait until the fuss had died down. (Did I mention they’ll be looking particularly beautiful that night?)

But the detail of the abject terror which would ensue should my passage be picked as one of this year’s seven to be read out on stage at the York Festival of Writing’s version of Dragons’ Den, is every bit as real as back then. The difference is that this year, I have absolutely no doubt that this is an opportunity to be grasped with fingers spread wide and pulled into your chest so tight it can’t possibly be snatched away. I remember thinking, ‘there’s your winner,’ when I heard the lovely Shelley Harris read her 500 words on stage during the first York Festival of Writing. Her book, Jubilee, was subsequently published and, gasp, selected (amongst other accolades) for the Richard and Judy Summer Book Club in 2012. Can you imagine! 

So please, wish me luck, I’m about to submit my 500 word section from my novel for potential inclusion in the York Festival of Writing 2013, Friday Night Live.

Be on hand to hose me down if it gets picked, won’t you?

My Word Sins

I noticed a 'word cloud', a graphic illustration of your most frequently used words, on my very talented writer friend’s blog, thanks Sandie, http://sandiezand.blogspot.com  and couldn’t resist having a play around myself. First, I looked at my blog and the result was interesting. I loved the layout and was pleased that writing related words achieved greatest prominence - or should I say, I was relieved that writing achieved any prominence at all; I do aim to talk about writing related subjects here, even if I have been known to get a little distracted. 

But I winced when I saw an entry which would have had my English teacher racing for her red pen. ‘Get,’ had crept in at the sidelines. I quickly deleted it but then decided that this wasn’t really in the spirit of things so put my scissors away before I got to ‘however’.

This took me to my ‘completed’ novel, Glass Houses. Did I dare to do the word cloud for that? I have already edited it so many times and checked for recurrences of the words on Jackie’s Danger List, pinned to my pc. These are words I know would offend the eye in their quantity if left unchecked, such as, ‘just’, ‘finally’, ‘now’ and ‘look’, plus my very worst offender,  ‘really’. But I wondered if the word cloud would suggest some others, such as ‘but’ (already causing me a little uneasiness in this post.) From a twenty page snapshot, the result was that, ‘get’ was a little too large for comfort, ‘really’ was still hanging around and I couldn’t understand why ‘back’ was as frequently used as some character names. ‘Like’ also still taunted me, even though I’ve spent hours analysing each and every occurrence of ‘like’ in the book and feel I’ve deleted or changed them wherever humanly possible.

I wasn’t surprised that the main characters were large but it took me to a question I ask myself constantly: do I use the character names too often when they could be substituted for a pronoun? Getting the balance right on this is tricky, particularly with two characters of the same sex in one scene – too many ‘she’ and you’re left with a character with four hands able to perform fascinating contortion, together with instant variations in hair length with two interchanging colours. You see my difficulty?

I looked at my current work-in-process, Misguidance. Would the characters’ names be as large and would there be a higher incidence of ‘bad’ words as I haven’t even thought about editing this yet?

Again, the main characters are unsurprisingly large but ‘Sarah’ is huge so I need to keep a check on my over-naming tendencies. ‘like’ has slipped itself in again and we have ‘back’ rearing its ugly head. ‘Back’ troubles me the most, it wasn’t a word I was aware I used plentifully at all.

So, thanks to Sandie, and a five minute diversion, I’m trawling through Glass Houses again and writing a check-list for Misguidance. Thankfully, I enjoy editing and love finding something new to look at because that nugget might just be the element which changes a potential publisher’s ‘no’ to a ‘yes’.

What are your most oft used words and phrases? If you write, have a go yourself at: http://www.wordle.net Just copy and paste your text and then share the results with us, simple. Thanks for reading!