Vast expanses of blank paper

Okay, here's the thing...I've been through a very, very dry spell writing wise - huge arid desert thing if you like - Sahara sized even. I like to put it down to pigs - I had Swine 'flu during October/November and until recently I could use that as an extremely effective excuse against writing or even thinking. "Sorry I couldn't go to the gym - still 'fluey", "Party you say? Hmm, shall have to see how I feel - recovering from the 'flu", "Gosh, was that conversation really last week? I'm still recovering from 'flu you know" I could have committed crimes during that period and blamed Swine 'flu...except I was too tired/weak/lazy to do that because of the 'flu.

Anyway, enough of the excuses.

Yesterday I tried to shove my lazy non-'flu infected, ever-expanding rear into the writing world again. I've been slowly working up to this by reconnecting with Twitter - this is most effective as the guilt kicks in as I read about other people succeeding with their blog posts, short stories, poetry and novels. Gits. I did consider calling them bastards but I thought that would be a tad too harsh.

So, Catholic Guilt duly engaged a week or so ago. A fortnight prior to that I'd taken up with a book again - my dirty little secret - I read anything and everything and seem to spend half my daydreaming hours inside the pages of worlds created by less lazy people than myself. All this has tipped me back onto the slippery slope of fiction.

Yes, I have (temporarily) turned my back on poetry on the grounds that it's just too damned hard for me at the moment and I want some personal entertainment that I can partake of in public. So it's back to fiction for me.

Yesterday I wrote a paragraph of nothing - just thoughts as they passed through my mind rather like short-tempered commuters waiting for the next Network SouthEastern train. There maybe something in there which can be fashioned into the poetry equivalent of a rain hat made from yesterday's copy of The Times - lots of lovely words but ultimately it'll keep you dry for only five minutes before it becomes papier mache.

Today I wrote more nothing but this nothing wandered off on its own and found a half-hidden memory of a priest I once met when I was thirteen. My parents took me and my sister to Lourdes - yes, Scots/Irish Catholic family. I didn't want to go but actually when I got there I loved it - it's the Margate of the Roman Catholic world - couldn't get enough of glow in the dark Virgins - now there's a term I never thought I'd use....
Anyway, there was a young Yugoslavian priest in the hotel that we got to know, Father Stan, a lovely gentle man who played an intelligent but almost Father Dougal character to an elderly Irish priest's slightly more sober Father Jack - Father Ted didn't make an appearance.

All of these memories made me wonder what happened to Father Stan - we'd met him back in the mid 1980s and now nearly thirty years later I wonder what became of him. Did he stay in Yugoslavia during the war? Did he leave for Rome or the UK? If he stayed then what did he see, what did he do?

And very quickly the ideas began to arrive in my head....

Now I have an outline for what could end up being a novel, or at the very least a longish short story.

Unpicking knots and hour-glass figure poems

Last week I went on an Arvon course at The Hurst in Shropshire with the wonderful Daljit Nagra and Julie Copus – the week was quite wonderful and I’m sure I’ll mention it again in later posts. One immediate effect that last week has had is to encourage me to interrogate my own poetry far more than I have before. I’m finding myself going back to poems that I knew weren’t quite right but had something going for them and I’m tugging them apart line by line, word by word, stitching new bits in here and there in the hope that I’ll eventually come up with a new set of Emperor’s clothes….

Looking at your own work is (for me at least) the hardest thing to do because even after weeks of ‘resting’ a piece I still know the story and what I wanted to say and I can’t see past that to see what the poem needs to say. I had a conversation with Julia about this and she said that I was rather like someone listening to a great piece of music through headphones and singing along – I could hear the entire orchestra but all the audience got was my a capella version – she did kindly add that she was sure I had a lovely voice. I’ve always suspected I’m a little tone deaf.

So what’s the best way to deal with this problem? How do we make our work convey exactly what we want them to say? I truly wish I had a quick answer to this one, I wish I could say, “Well, it’s easy, just do X, Y, Z and then Bob’s your uncle and a deal for your first collection will be yours for the taking!” But I can’t. So far my remedy for redrafting is as follows – and this holds true for any type of creative writing whether it’s a novel, short story or poetry and even for writing non-fiction too.

Don’t censor yourself in the first draft

Try to train yourself to write freely or practice ‘automatic’ writing. Stephen King recommends this in his brilliant book, ‘On Writing’. Set yourself a time limit each day when you will not be disturbed by anything. Then write whatever comes out of your fingers. Last week I put myself under pressure at one point – I’d poured cold coffee over myself, wasted my break by waiting next to an empty loo I thought was occupied and had to write something, anything within ten minutes – here’s the start of it

“I’m harassed, panicking, I don’t like being pushed this is not how I work. I like plans, preparation, being ready, not hurried. I come prepared, I don’t just throw things together. I plan, prepare. I admit I’m anal and like order and I’ve not even begun to say what I wanted to say because I’m panicking, unprepared. I don’t like this. I feel boxed in, cornered – a rabbit in headlights except rabbits don’t do that deer do but rabbits just ignore the headlights and go squish under the wheels of a 4x4…..”

And from then on a poem suddenly appeared. It was a piece all about people who come to the countryside with very different expectations of their life to those who have always lived there. I admit it, it was a bit of a rant but one I hadn’t intended to write until I was put under that bit of pressure and also because I tend to write a great deal without thinking - ‘automatic’ writing.

So that’s fine, you’ve now got something down on paper. Great. Now what?

 

Put it away for a few weeks

Honestly, it helps. If you can put it away for more than a few weeks that’s great – with any luck you’ll have forgotten writing it and you’ll be able to see what the piece is really about. Distance – that’s the thing. Finding distance with your work is so important – you need to see the writing as something away from you, not part of you. Objectivity is what I’m getting at here and when you’ve just written something it’s hard to be objective and see things like weak line endings, bad meter, poor images and so on. After a few weeks those things should (hopefully) become a little clearer.

Now you’re at the stage that I was a few weeks ago – loads of stuff written, redrafted after a few weeks and then I’d even submitted pieces here and there. Some of the poems have been successful and some haven’t – that’s not always because they’ve been poor poems (I tell myself) but sometimes the editors have been looking for different types of work or perhaps just recently found something similar that they preferred. Well, at least that is what I was telling myself, but now – after last week’s many conversations – I’m beginning to see that some of what I’ve written isn’t yet fully formed. My background has been very much story based – I’ve always been a voracious reader of fiction, I wrote a novella for my Masters, I wrote opinion pieces for a magazine – all stories of a type. Yet my poetry has tended towards lots of abstract and rather nebulous ideas…apart from those that have made it into print…guess what? They’ve been rather like tiny stories.

So, my next piece of advice…

Apply the same rules of writing to fiction AND poetry

When you want to create a really rounded and fully formed character in a story you consider how you describe them with all the senses, how they speak, how they move, what others think about them, what others say about them, what motivates them and so on. So apply that to a character in your poem – think about what they’d say, what motivates them and so on. Even apply it to your poem – what is motivating it? What’s it really about? Pull it apart, work out if each and every line, each and every word works with your poem and with what you want it to say. Try writing out your poem in longhand if you normally use a PC or laptop. Try writing out your poem into prose, change the line endings, add words, take them away, keep slowly chipping away at it until it looks exactly as you want it to.

This last bit is the hardest part of all and I’m still grappling with them – so expect some further posts in the future attempting to make this part of the process somewhat clearer!

At the moment I’ve pulled one old piece apart and I know it’s saying something – originally it was an observational piece about two elderly women on the bus – I watched them and they interested me. Now I know from what I’ve written and rewritten that it’s a piece about being in the mother-daughter relationship and being overshadowed. The poem still doesn’t work yet, in fact it’s got rather an hour-glass figure – a great beginning, a strong end but nothing in the middle. I know that just like prose fiction I need to give it an event, something to hang it all around, something to give it tension but right now I can’t see what that might be. So this poem will stay in my Drafts folder for a while longer and that’s irritating because I like things finished….which is why I probably rush stuff and submit it before it’s really ready.

On rejections and dealing with them

I spent a large part of July worrying about having a job in September - budget cuts and so on - and part of that worrying pushed me to write lots of poetry and send out everything I have to magazines and journals. On one hand this is a Good Thing as it gave me something to focus upon and it's what I should be doing anyway. On the other hand the downside is that I've received three rejections so far and heard nothing from the others.

There are two voices in my head holding a conversation about this state of affairs; one is the sensible calm voice who knows that rejections are a necessary part of writing, that more poetry is written than read today, that maybe some of the poems were not really ready, that they didn't fit what the editor is currently looking for and that I haven't had them all rejected yet. The other voice is... well, more of a shout, a tantrum with a stamped foot if you like.

Writing is a solitary pursuit; we write firstly for ourselves, to ourselves in order to understand the world, to make sense of our feelings. For some people their writing ends there - they write diaries which explore their inner world but never see the light of the outer world. The rest of us write because we want to share something with all of you out there we want to connect, 'only connect' as E.M.Forster said. So we spend our days watching, listening and collecting bits of life which we then transcribe and transform onto the page, making sense of it, giving it a new life, making it fresh. The transcribing and transforming is the alchemy - the bit we do almost in secret, tucked away literally for some in their writing sheds, offices, attics and garrets and metaphorically for others writing in cafes and libraries who hide in plain sight. When we finally return our work to the world we, I am often so blinkered that it is like my first born child - perfect in every way.

This is getting terribly poetic here - I'll just take a moment out to translate...

I love my writing therefore I expect everyone else to do so too. I'm shocked and hurt (with dramatic flounces) when others do not feel the same way.

So that's where all the foot stamping came from and it should last approximately 12 hours if you're lucky but don't allow yourself to continue the tantrum for over 24 hours if at all possible. Why? The short answer is (and this hurts) no one cares. The long answer is what the sensible voice in my head has been saying throughout all of this.....

Rejections are a necessary part of writing -
Your writing may simply not be good enough just yet and even with rejections there is a hierarchy (at least in my head...) - no reply whatsoever means the poem either got lost or really stank, a standard form rejection means it was poor but the editor is polite, a note asking you to submit again in the future means it was still poor but you show some promise, a note explaining why they didn't accept your poem means that you're close and the poem isn't bad.
All writers even the megastars like Stephen King have been rejected - I regularly recommend his book 'On Writing' to new writers. If you didn't ever receive rejections you (I) would begin to doubt the worth of doing this...to me if something is worth doing not only should it be done well but also it shouldn't be easy. Rejections are good for the soul and good for building humility - a very necessary trait in writing so you can continue to learn and develop.

More poetry is written than read today -
Sad but true. If each of us who claims to love poetry actually bought collections from new poets or subscribed to the very same magazines we wish to be published by then there would be a bigger market for poetry. It's the chicken and the egg all over again - the chicken is the reader that gives birth to the egg, the writer...or maybe the chicken is the writer....Either way, if you want to write poetry then read it. On that note I'll briefly get on my soapbox - make sure you're reading contemporary poetry as much or more than the classics. You live now, so find out what people are writing now. You need to know what has gone before but not to the exclusion of what is happening now. For example, rock stars, pop bands, musicians generally have an awareness of Elvis Presley, The Beatles, Blues, Jazz and so on, some even use pieces of classical music reworked...which reminds me - listen to Pachelbel's 'Canon' first, then listen to The Farm's 'All Together Now'.



Back to the poetry...

Maybe some of the poems were not really ready -
Did I actually put this poem away for a few weeks before I sent it out? Sometimes I can get so impressed with myself (I know I need to learn a little more humility but it's a fine balance between that and having self-confidence!) that I send out new work before it's ready. When the rejection arrives you need to look again at the poem - does it still work for you? Perhaps it needs some further revisions - now is the time to do it before you send it out again.

It didn't fit what the editor is currently looking for -
Poetry does go in trends and fashions and different journals and magazines look for different types of work. I know this is obvious but when you receive the rejection you need to remind yourself of this. Poetry tastes are different, it's all subjective and the editor you sent your precious piece to may simply not like poems about kittens (actually no one apart from small children likes poems about kittens - as much as we love the furry beasts we don't want to read soppy poems about them). Just like when you broke up with that guy who smelled odd - it's them, not you.

I haven't had them all rejected yet -

Yet.

So the short sensible answer to rejection is to 'man up' and revise, redraft and resubmit elsewhere. Keep reading, keep writing and hopefully keep improving.

I'm now going to take some of my own excellent advice and look at the latest batch of rejections.


Oh, and by the way, the job did re-materialise so I won't be entirely penniless by Christmas.

The Job of Writing Poetry

I'm mother to twin boys, I do a bit of teaching at a local university in the English department and this coming academic year the Art department too. I'm hoping to start studying for a PhD soon on the links between art and poetry. I also do a bit of freelance writing for magazines and I write poetry, some of which gets published.

In short, I'm a busy person, especially if you factor in my Twitter/Facebook/b3ta habit, reading approximately one novel a week, cooking and gardening too.

I find that I do most of my writing - the poetry and the occasional short story/half written novel - during the university vacations when I have no other demands upon my time except family ones. My children know that during the school holidays they can stay up a little later and they can laze around in bed until 10am if they fancy because I'll be writing until about lunchtime and then the afternoon and evenings are theirs.

So all of this means that writing poetry in particular tends to be done in these splurges and because of all the rest of the stuff I need to get done I have to be organised about redrafting and submitting work otherwise it would all simply sit in the virtual dusty drawer of my Documents folder on my laptop. How I organise this may be of some help to you...if you're not organised properly for writing you're not treating it like the job that it is!
Here's how I do it....

First Drafts and 'The Muse'

I don't believe in this notion of 'The Muse' and waiting for it to strike, some people (even some published writers) that I know do go along with the idea that they'll only write poetry when they get the feeling that it's about to strike. They're the lucky ones - that doesn't happen for me and if it did I have a feeling my Muse would strike at 3.00am and I hate having a broken night's sleep.
I try to write to a routine. I aim at sitting down every day Monday to Friday from about 9.00am until at least lunchtime and writing/editing/submitting - doing all the stuff that's involved in my job - the job of being a writer/academic/mother/dogsbody! Some days and some weeks I write every day, other times I might spend a week or two sorting out lecture plans, magazine submissions, job applications or even - and this is a guilty secret - watching YouTube and reading junk online - I feel bad about those days even though those are the times when my subconscious is probably working really hard at a new poem....okay, I don't really believe that either, but hey, I'm human.

I also go out and write because then I don't get distracted by the internet, newspapers, the internet, gardening, the internet, cats and the internet. Cafes work best for me because I can watch the world go by wrapped up in my cocoon of caffeine and there's something very special about writing longhand in a nice notebook.

So, what do I do once I've got all these First Drafts?

The Redrafting Filing System

Everything I write gets typed up either straight into Word, or more recently I've been using Evernote - it's free and you can save your work both on a laptop/pc and online and synchronise the two together to keep it all up to date. It also takes screen clippings from sites so you can keep all your research together too.
I then put this first draft into a folder marked redraft for two months time e.g. REDRAFT OCTOBER 2009 - everything I write this month, August, will go into that folder and I won't look at it again until October. I always like to leave at least six weeks to two months before revisiting a piece because I will have almost forgotten it and that gives me some distance and I'm more able to be subjective about it - I won't feel bad about cutting out all of my 'darlings'.

I've redrafted the poem, what next?

Where to submit poetry

The best thing any writer can do before beginning to write, let alone submit work, is to READ. If you want to write poetry then read poetry - I read somewhere that there are huge numbers of people writing poetry in the UK and the rest of the world but there aren't huge numbers of people reading poetry...strange...That's a bit like a rock band saying they never listened to music.
Once you're reading lots of poetry you'll have some idea of where you'd like your work to end up that's because you'll want to know more about your favourite poet and you'll Google them or find them on Poem Hunter (I'm on there!) and soon discover which magazines published their work. In addition to that you can look at the excellent lists at the Poetry Library's site or sign up to a writers' newsletter like Writer's Relief which will send you a list of calls for submission every month along with hints and tips for writers.

These are just a few ways you can find out where to place your work. Don't forget that it is easy to get work published online with plenty of obscure websites - anyone can set up a site and put whatever they like on there, that's the beauty of the internet - but if you want to build a good reputation for yourself and to be taken seriously as a professional then you have to keep to the professional sites. That's not to say that a new online poetry magazine isn't worth submitting to, but just make sure that it's the sort of place you'll be proud to be a part of in the future.
Don't ever pay to have your work read - if it's good enough for a reputable magazine to accept then they will not charge you a reading fee. Most magazines sadly won't be able to pay you for your submission - if you want to make money from writing you'd be far better off going into journalism. Magazines will often send you a free copy of the edition in which you've appeared. The only time you're likely to spend more than just the postage fee is if you're entering a competition - that's how most poetry competitions are run - the winner(s) get a cash prize or published copies of their work.

You've selected some likely magazines, what now?

First of all read the submission guidelines - you won't even make it to the long list if you've formatted your work incorrectly, emailed it as an attachment when they've asked for work to be in the body, sent it to the wrong person, sent free verse to a sonnet magazine and so on.
Secondly read the submission guidelines again and make sure you've complied with all their demands - this is very important.
Then write your covering letter - make it simple and to the point, remember to be polite because good manners cost nothing and you never know when you might meet this person in the flesh at a literary festival, book launch, writers' workshop or even in the pub.
If you're sending something via snailmail then make sure you include a stamped self-addressed envelope so they can either return your work, send you a rejection letter or even an acceptance letter! Remember though that you'll probably send out at least ten to twenty submissions for every single acceptance, if you're lucky.

How to keep track of all your submissions

This is the bit that I really wanted to write about - the whole reason for this post! Most poetry magazines accept and encourage simultaneous submissions - this is where you have a poem that you send to four or five magazines at the same time. If one magazine accepts it you then contact the others and ask for it to be withdrawn from you submission explaining why. Magazines do not encourage multiple submissions - this is where you send one or more poems every week without fail - that's the work of a stalker not a poet. Bundle up your submissions and send one containing up to five or six poems (depending on the magazine guidelines) and if they are all rejected or accepted you still wait a reasonable amount of time before submitting again - this is also usually mentioned in the magazine guidelines.

Once I've received a rejection or acceptance from a magazine I do two things: first I re-read the rejected poems and see if I think it needs rewriting, tightening up or 'rested' (in the dustbin), secondly, if I think it's still a piece that works, I get it straight out to another magazine.
I use an Excel spreadsheet for listing all my poetry ready for submission and all the magazines where they've been submitted.
Each poem submitted gets a date - month and year when it was sent off and where, once I get a reply the date is either changed to red - rejection, or moved onto another spreadsheet. I keep a separate spreadsheet for all the successful pieces as once they've been published they can't be sent off to another magazine generally. The screenshot above is for my current poems awaiting acceptance - I've taken out the titles of both poems and journals. I also put in a hyperlink from Excel straight to the journal website and also to the document folder where the poem is saved.

This works for me and gives me something practical to do once I receive a rejection. Of course I spend a bit of time moaning about it and feeling down but if you want to be in print you have to be like a cowboy - grow a thick skin - it comes in handy for all those times you have to get back up on the horse!

Developing confidence as a writer

I've been writing professionally for about three and a half years now and it's only very, very recently that I've developed confidence in my writing to believe what we're all told - that editors turn your writing down sometimes not because it's necessarily bad but because sometimes it's just not what they're looking for.

Writing for Magazines


I've done a bit of this - I had a regular column in a national magazine for three years and because I found it fairly easy to write I didn't always see any value in it. I truly believed that if something is worth doing it should be hard to do it well.
That's simply not true.
Some things are easier for me because I'm good at them - as writers we should print this out and pin it up somewhere!

That said, just because you're good at something it doesn't mean you shouldn't practise it and try to get even better!

Today I'm taking the athlete Usain Bolt as a case in point - he was the fastest man in the world last month yet last week yet he went out and beat his own record. I'm sure if that had been me I would have simply dined out on the first record...well, for at least a few months.

As everyone knows - you're only as good at the last one. Bolt knows that he's only as good as that last record, and what a record! Writers, poets, musicians, artists, we're all only as good as our last piece so we owe it to ourselves to keep writing, keep practising and keep getting better.

How do you get better?

Keep reading, keep writing and keep learning with an open mind, it's as simple as that. The more good quality writing your read the more you'll absorb and then begin to produce good writing yourself. A good writer is always a reader first.


Okay so preaching over for a while.

The reason I think I've become more confident is because I believe in what I've written. I believe it's clear, concise and sounds like me, it's not me trying to fit with some style I think I should be following. I've read a few blogs recently that advise just this - write in the style that suits you - if you're a crime writer or a romance writer, write that! That's not to say you shouldn't try your hand at expanding your repertoire and improving your writing but don't turn your back on what you find easy just because you think it should be difficult.

In writing this blog post I've also realised something for myself....I don't like the standard bookmarks feature in Firefox (which I use)and I need to find something easy to use to collect up all those excellent blogs that I've read so I can share them with a wider audience. There is a wealth of knowledge out there and I'm losing a good deal of it by not cataloguing it properly.

Hmm...something for me to work on next.

Posting and waiting for feedback

I've just posted a sonnet I wrote a little while ago on a poetry workshop website. I'm waiting for feedback and almost biting my nails down to the knuckle...well, I would if I bit my nails, but you get the idea.
It's ridiculous because I've had poetry published, I've had articles published - I had a regular column in a magazine for goodness sake! Yet still I'm worried about how this piece will fare in amongst potentially hostile waters....and it's quite a challenging piece as it includes text speak and references to Facebook, the Poetry World, if there is such a place, may not like that.

That's tough.

I like the poem and I think it's got potential. When it gets published somewhere I'll post it here. Most recently I had a poem called India, March 1992 published on Angelic Dynamo. The only problem is that there are a couple of rogue commas in there and every time I see it they make me cringe!

I guess that's always a problem for writers - tinkering.

On having a crisis of faith

I’m currently having a creative crisis of faith – not any religious faith you understand, although I suppose that would be rather useful for me right now – faith in my writing and its (my?) abilities. It’s the nature of writing to be rejected at every turn until at last it finds some receptacle – be that a journal, magazine, publisher, or wastepaper bin. I know that writers have to be thick skinned, believe in their work, keep refining their writing, keep reading, keep networking and all those other worthy pursuits. I realise that the readership for new poetry is tiny and by my reading more and publicising more other new writers I’ll increase my own slice of the literary pie – or at the very least there’ll be a few more crumbs to go around.

It’s hard work keeping the faith and getting out there, it just is. I feel like a petulant child – I want to be taken notice of but equally if someone did make a big deal about my work I’d be suspicious mainly because I’m not sure I’ve paid my dues or have enough knowledge yet. I think that’s the biggest obstacle for any new writer – looking at what’s gone before and realising that you probably can’t match up to most of it and you probably never will. It’s the Socratic idea of knowing that you know nothing – how bloody depressing.

And being accepted

Yesterday I wrote about having work rejected and how hard I often find it to actually do the work to start with.

Last night I received some bad news - the magazine that I normally write for has decided to have a shake up in its normal columnists and as I've been with them with the same format for three years it's time for me to go. Bad news for me but not really unexpected news - many magazines would have had me out after six months or a year at the most. So I've been very lucky and had a great opportunity to get my words out there to a fairly wide audience in the UK - you can even buy the magazine in WHSmiths and Tesco - it is a reasonably well known one. However as we all know, nothing lasts forever, not even the good things.

So that left me feeling even more rejected!

This morning I felt like crap but I knew I had to get back up on that literary horse and write the pages.

I'd also received an email late yesterday (the same time I got the email telling me my column was cancelled) rejecting some poetry of mine but telling me that perhaps another journal would be more suitable and giving me the name of the editor....

Climbing up into the saddle I emailed off the same four poems to the suggested publication.

An hour or so later I received a reply.

I can't say I wanted to open the reply - I didn't need to see yet another kind 'thanks but no thanks' message.

But I guess you already know what was there....

They want to use one of my poems in their next issue.

Now while it may not provide me with any money unlike the magazine job, it has got a certain cachet - the other contributors all appear to have been in print in very worthy publications and many have collections in print too.

And how do I fit into all this?

Well like just about any other writer I'm beginning to wonder when they'll discover that I'm a fraud and not really very good at this lark.

It has managed to kick start me into writing more poetry though and I can assure any concerned readers of this blog that I don't write terrible doggerel about animals.

But what do I write?

Once this poem is online with the magazine I'll post the link.

Meanwhile it's back to writing for me, now with the renewed expectation of possible acceptance!

Writing and being rejected

Again it's been ages since I posted here - I've gone from being a regular blogger to a sometimes one and the only excuse I have is that I've been writing so much more elsewhere.

I've been trying to be very disciplined with myself and to follow the Stephen King advice of writing at least 1,000 to 2,000 words each day.

That worked for at least two weeks. I was very proud of myself.

My problem seems to be that life just gets in the way - kids to take to and from school and other places, parents who need dropping off at airports and hospital appointments, friends who have to be kept up with, animals needing vets, cupboards needing filling, wardrobes lacking shoes....

Try and keep writing through all of that!

But of course I do because that is what I do. It tends to be a bit haphazard and some days I get a few hundred words down and other days I don't. I do need to write more but haven't we all got things that we really need to get done?

I read on a website the other day about the idea of setting yourself a specific target within a particular time frame - nothing exactly earth-shattering in this, but it did resonate with me.

And it's no good whining on about not having as much in print as you'd like if you don't actually submit stuff to editors - no one knows you're there unless you tell them.

And what's the worst they can say?

Email is a fabulous invention - I can send off half a dozen poems and I never have to see or speak to anyone about it. When I receive my rejection emails I can weep silently into my coffee without anyone knowing the reason why.

At least they're sending out rejection emails now, I used to just be ignored so I guess I must be doing something right somewhere along the line.


And even including this particular image of writing says so much about my idea of Good Writing and the value I put upon it. It gives away my intentions and expectations for my own writing but most of all it shows how terribly romantic I am about writing.

The other day I was talking about Salman Rushdie's latest novel, The Enchantress of Florence and I was saying how much this was my type of book because it reminds me of my earliest reading memories. I remember being taken to the library in my village and chosing a large cloth bound book of fairy tales. There were three that I can recall, one orange, one red and one yellow. Each contained stories from Grimms, Andersen or the Arabian Nights I think. I know now that these were the famous colour collections from Andrew Lang and in fact I managed to find an image of one of them - I found this on an auction house's site, the book is valued at around £50-£75 and dates from the 1920s - it's the same sort that I read as a child in the late 70s. It seemed old and smelled old even back then but that added to the precious nature of it. Thick yellowing pages and the smell of old wood and mushrooms.



And that's what keeps me reading and writing - I love returning to the world that was contained within those colourful books.

On Writing

How is it that I can see in other's writing where they have gone wrong? Yet in my own I am entirely blind? This isn't particularly the case for writing prose - that's a little simpler for me to see, but poetry…poetry is almost impossible. I can happily teach my students to magnify one moment, one important fact, keep it tight, tell the audience in detail about that one precious thing. Don't distill your ideas by having too many of them in one poem. All these little nuggets of advice, yet can I apply them for myself? No. I suspect I'm still too close to the poems I have written - I need to let them wallow for a little longer - to ripen off. But I want to start to submit poetry to various places, I need to get stuff out there…but I feel as if I have nothing right now, nothing at all.

The simple answer to that is to write more. Write anything. Just write. And perhaps it would be a good idea to go back through the things I have sitting in my virtual drawers - folders and documents within my laptop where old stories sit mouldering away. Revise, redraft, rewrite. Resubmit.

Work.

I could quite happily spend many, many hours reading advice on how to write, how to redraft, where to submit things. But how will this get me to write any more? Truly I am the queen of procrastination.

I think maybe I have to set myself a target of writing at least 1000 words a day. Every day. 1000 words of anything. Anything at all. Just write.

I'll see how that goes…expect regular updates as I shall count writing in my blog as part of that 1000 words.

Reading and Writing

At the moment I'm reading a Bukowski short story collection (The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and other stories). The writing reminds me very much of Henry Miller in Tropic of Cancer - it's vigorous, bawdy, honest and funny. But as both books are memoirs (of sorts) and therefore about writing as much as what happens in their day to day lives, it's making me think about how much (or how little) I write. And read.
There are simply not enough hours in the day for me to plough through my waiting list of books to read. So much information and tales that I want to gorge myself on yet time slips through my hands like sand.

I need to work out some sort of system for myself whereby I read a book that I class as Literature and then something purely for pleasure. Sometimes these might overlap, but generally the Literature requires me to engage my brain whereas the stuff I look at purely for pleasure doesn't. I suppose it's a bit like food - Literature is a good meal at a top restaurant, pleasure books are the literary equivalent of MacDonalds and Burger King. That said, there are the rare occasions when I pick up what I consider to be a MacBook and it turns out to be a real feast.

Stephen King said somewhere that anyone wishing to pursue writing as a career should read for at least four hours every day. Some days I can probably do that - although most of that will be made up of reading on a pc screen - not what I think he meant at all. I certainly used to read for a good four hours each day and in all honesty it's not a huge amount out of 24 hours. But in our busy 21st century lives it's a massive hole. Audio books I suppose could help - at least for those of us for whom driving is unavoidable.

Hmm…I should be reading now and not writing aimless musings to myself.

Writing

Just a quick one as I really ought to be sleeping now as I'm teaching tomorrow, but I have that nagging itch to write.

No idea what to write about this evening....I've written a short piece of erotica-lite for b3ta today in reply to another poster's request. It was fun to put myself into another character's mindset for a short while and reminded me just why I enjoy writing fiction so much. I do find though that I tend to write in two ways or rather, two styles - one which is rather distant and quick, almost journalistic and therefore Tells the story rather than Showing it. The other style I take is my favourite but far harder to do - that of Showing the story - avoiding adverbs, using lots of active verbs and rich description, really allowing the reader to inhabit the scene for themselves. It's more demanding to write, requires a real crafting of a story and a high level of skill which is hard (for me) to maintain. Often Showing a story can result in a filmic piece of writing - my aim most of the time as I want to put the pictures right into the readers' heads. However, when writing something short or with a short deadline then I fall back onto the journalistic style - quick and snappy and hopefully throw in a more crafted line here and there.

I need to get back to writing. Proper writing.

Must start thinking about plots and ideas for writing.

Perhaps I'll even post some of them here....

The Book Thief

I know, I know, it's been ages again since I wrote anything here. I have no excuse except that I've started this new job (I mentioned it in the previous post - it's temporary and only a few hours each week, but as it's an academic job it's demanding and I'm enjoying it).

I'm reading a great book at the moment - The Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It's a story set during World War Two in Germany. It tells the tale of an ordinary German family living in Munich who hide a young Jewish man. It's very much a cross between the Diary of Anne Frank and the film, The Pianist. It's also unusually told by Death. This morning I was sitting in a cafe reading a chapter over a coffee and it had me in tears with the following moving passage....


"On June 23 1942, there was a group of French Jews in a German prison, on Polish soil....



Please believe me when I tell you that I picked up each soul that day as if it were newly born. I even kissed a few weary poisoned cheeks. I listened to their last, gasping cries. Their French words. I watched their love-visions and freed them from their fear.

I took them all away, and if ever there was a time I needed distraction, this was it. In complete desolation, I looked at the world above. I watched the sky as it turned from silver to grey to the colour of rain. Even the clouds tried to look the other way.
Sometimes, I imagined how everything appeared above those clouds, knowing without question that the sun was blond, and the endless atmosphere was a giant blue eye.



They were French, they were Jews, and they were you."

Yes, I know it's very sentimental but personally I adore sentiment and strong feelings in writing - I want to feel the heartbreak of the characters or their passion, their fear, their joy - I'm not happy to simply read a clinical or cynical take on events. In fact in my opinion this writing isn't sentimental at all, but instead the huge events taking place are handled very gently without overblown baroque outpourings.

If only I could write that way myself...unfortunately I tend towards the baroque at all times in my writing.

A Thoughtful One

I'm into the thick of writing these days - the final throes of the novella. So all that tight plotting and sentence construction does rather tend to make me fall back on myself. I can be a very introspective person at the best of times - I've mentioned here before that I like nothing more than to examine conversations I've had with a microscope - or Fine Tooth Comb as my mother would say. Considering how a character might act or react leads me to consider my actions and the actions of those around me too.

I do wonder about the whole notion of Nature versus Nurture - you know the idea that we are who we are because of our inherited genes, or because of what we may have experienced. I'm inclined to think that our genes provide a starting block and nurture - our experiences give us the shades and tones of our characters. As a child I believed quite firmly that before being born we each were given a film show of potential lives and then told to chose one - none being necessarily better than another, but each with hardship and happiness and more importantly the opportunities for learning. I believed that everyone was here for a purpose - to achieve something, to learn something or teach something, and once that purpose was met then our lives would be over - we would return to the celestial waiting room and go through the entire process again. I think a lot of my ideas came from reading things like Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha when I was at school. So I suppose that proves my theory too - I am a product of my own reading and education, but only because I already had certain leanings because of my inherited nature from my parents - a great deal of books that I read as a child came from my dad's huge collection. I was always encouraged to read anything I could lay my hands on and subsequently by the time I left school I had worked my way through popular fiction in the shape of Stephen King, Jackie Collins and Danielle Steel (shared those ones with my mum) and I'd also dipped into some great literature like Hesse, Nin, H.G.Wells, John Wyndham,Orwell,Hardy and loads more. Reading and writing have always been fundamental facets of my personality.

Strangely enough this post was going to be about the effect different people have upon ones life...hmm...I've ended up writing about books. That says a great deal about me.

I've always been of the opinion that I'm a very straightforward person - I was once described as an Open Book - easy to read and with no secrets. But I was told the other day that I am a difficult and demanding character - not in a bad way, but nonetheless, not straightforward at all. I suppose we all become more difficult and demanding as life's experiences shape us and leave us a little more wary and afraid of being hurt again. I'm often saying that I wish people would be honest with me. Why can't men be honest with women? Or women honest with men? Just a few exchanges with my friends opens a whole new can of worms about lack of communication and honesty in their personal relationships.

Honesty is a wonderful thing but sometimes we don't want to hear the truth.

This post is terribly obtuse I'm afraid...unformed ideas appearing on the screen springing from lots of deep thoughts and the usual chaos of my life...and as usual I'm unwilling to come clean about quite what is bugging me...partly to protect the innocent (who would that be then?) and partly to preserve some weak façade of privacy which is hypocritical to say the least - I keep a blog for god's sake! Suffice to say things aren't straightforward, quite the reverse.

Not the usual playful post. Deeply thoughtful. Perhaps when it all comes out in the wash I'll be able to unravel it.

Moving to the front of the roller coaster

It’s been a few days since I posted anything on here, sorry about that, but my life has been rather busy with work – both the temping and writing. The temping is going very well – I work for half the week in a fairly quiet office, the people are very nice and my boss is a climber so we can swap stories. The writing has moved on a bit, I have managed finally to write the masturbation scene – it was far more difficult than I had anticipated…If I had been writing for myself for fun or for someone as a ‘gift’ (ahem!) then it would have been fairly easy to get into it and enjoy it, but as this piece had to fit into the rest of a novel, to have a definite purpose, to move the narrative along, to make sense with the character and also be available to a wider audience then it ends up being more demanding for me. My supervisor was pleased with it and glad that I had bitten the bullet (so to speak!) and finally got something sexual into the novel instead of constantly hinting at it as I had been doing.

Sometimes I think we live our lives like that – constantly hinting at what we want from others and ourselves, but rarely coming out and saying it in plain language. I suppose if I had to make a New Year’s Resolution that is exactly what it would be – to tell people what I want from them, from myself, from life. To my knowledge and belief we only get one life so we should make it count.

I know from climbing that making a committed move takes courage – what do I mean? Well, sometimes when you’re on your way up a route there is a move you need to make that requires you to just trust and throw yourself into it, you might make it, you might not, but unless you try you won’t find out and you certainly won’t get to the top. I find it hard to make those committed moves – I mentally screw up my courage, tell myself I can do it and then attempt it. I can be heard on the rock face talking away to myself – “You can make that move. Think. It’s easy. If you were only a couple of feet of the ground you could do it. You can do it. Remember Yoga. You can do it. Just move. Do it.” Sadly I don’t always listen to myself.

I try in the rest of my life to do that though, and when it doesn’t involve physical danger it’s a little easier….I’m the sort of person who takes quite some time to come to a decision over major matters, but when I reach that point, then there is no changing my mind. And sometimes I can be impulsive about things and consciously don’t stop to think about the consequences – sometimes it’s good to just do things and not talk yourself out of them.

I guess I’m back talking about fear again…I seem to think about it quite a lot, but I don’t feel it so much these days. If my life was a roller coaster ride I would say I’ve moved from sitting in the safe part in the middle to a seat right at the front but I haven’t the courage to let go yet and put my hands in the air…..

Sometimes sitting down and writing can be really easy, I just sit there and the words all fall out. Other times it can be as if I had to physically pull thoughts and words from my head. Often it’s not helped at all by distractions – I’m not referring to the internet but to those distractions in the real world like the carpenter coming to hang new doors or my mother deciding she’d like an in depth conversation with me about the proposed colour of her wallpaper….None of it major stuff, but sometimes I’m a bit like a hamster – I need a warm little nest in which to cocoon myself (bit of a mixed metaphor but I’m sure you get the picture).

I think writers are by nature insular or at the very least introspective – I’m always examining not just what I’ve said, but what others have said to me. Almost every conversation I have is turned over in my mind, examined from every angle – Did she mean that when she said it? What does he want? Why have they said that to me? And perhaps most importantly – I wonder what will happen next?

After yesterday’s rather down post things took something of an upturn in my life and I spent the remainder of the day with a smile on my face….Why? Ah…now that would be telling….But it’s good when things you thought had gone forever make a welcome reappearance in your life, and it’s only then perhaps that you realise just how much you missed them…..

Anyway, I went off last night and attended the launch of Patricia Debney’s novel, Losing You . Patricia read from the book and ended on a cliff-hanger, so of course we all bought copies in order to find out what happens next. Jo and Eve met for the first time and of course they got on really well so a girls’ night out is definitely in order in the near future!

This post is a bit of a mishmash of ideas, nothing fully explored or really explained. A bit like my current mental state….unexplored and unconsidered – despite my remarks above that I consider everything…Which I do, I just haven’t had time yet to think all the recent events through….

I was supposed to be going to another Speed Dating event next Tuesday, for the 30-40 age group, I’ve cancelled it. As amusing as they’ve been, as a chaperone, as a participant I felt uncomfortable and sadly I didn’t really enjoy the enforced conversation with people I wouldn’t have spoken to otherwise….hmmm, that sounds terrible, but I think what I’m saying is that I’d rather meet people who have something in common with me. Whether it’s a fellow writer, or a climber, or perhaps something a little more obscure, but someone with whom I have some common ground. The only thing I had in common with the men at the Speed Dating Event was that we were all in the same bar at the same time. I can do that any weekend and not have to pay for the benefit. Sadly it also had an air of desperation about it and I’m not in any way desperate…but I think many of the men were.

I guess getting out into the world again and regaining ones social life is no simple task when your life has altered so radically. And that thing of considering every conversation you have – maybe it holds you back, I don’t know, but I do constantly wonder about other people and why they act in certain ways….That’s not very clear, I know. I suppose what I’m getting at is that rightly or wrongly, and actually now thinking this through and writing it down I can see that I’m perhaps getting this wrong….Is that I constantly think – Why did they do that? Is it because they really like me or are they just using me? And I realise that some of my reaction is caused by an occasional dip in self-esteem (hard to believe of me, I know!) and what I should really do is to just accept things at face value – the easiest answer is often the correct one.


Sorry for the general crapness of this post – maybe I’m not entirely out of the low that I hit yesterday….

The Yellow Wallpaper

I’ve got one bit of work out of the way – an article written and submitted so that’s one thing crossed off the list. Now I’ve still got some redrafting to do and an academic essay to write too, but none of that needs to be in until Friday….

So I’m writing more for the blog…

Are you beginning to see a common thread here? It’s true what they say about writers – that we *have* to write – but that said it doesn’t mean that I get things done.

I’ve always been that type of writer – as a child I kept a diary, in fact sitting in an attic somewhere are volumes of my teenage diaries – tens of thousands of words, all teenage angst, all written in longhand, every day for years. I guess keeping a blog is no different – maybe a little less of the teenage angst and more of the thirty-something angst...

I know that if I went and looked at those old diaries now just opening them would slip me back into my 14 year old self – I would still remember writing those words, feeling those things and very possibly experience the same shock and embarrassment that we all suffer as self-obsessed teens. Or maybe I’d look at it all and not remember any of it and it would feel as if a stranger had written it – that often happens to me with fictional short stories I have written – I no longer recognised sections and wonder if I really wrote that – particularly when it strikes me as being good.

I think that keeping a diary is like holding a conversation with oneself and I suppose depending upon the state of ones’ mental health it will be calm and considered or mad as a box of frogs.

I had a long conversation with Roo the other day – we met for lunch (anything to thwart my deadlines) we were discussing mental health and as she is a nurse and my novel is about a mad woman we’ve both got bits of knowledge about some of the issues surrounding being barking. Aside from which as we both went to the same all girls’ boarding school we spent many years sharing confidences with plenty of crazy females.
One of the best fictional accounts of a woman’s descent into madness is the story The Yellow Wallpaper – it’s about a woman during the late 19th century who is suffering from post-natal depression, she’s alone in an attic room and pretty soon she begins to see figures in the yellow wallpaper and ultimately she swaps places with the wallpaper woman and loses her mind. The story is told in lucid detail and every step of the way the reader can see both sides to the story – yes she’s going mad, but also haven’t most of us seen faces in inanimate objects and then if you’re suffering with an elevated temperature the faces may move….It’s all within the normal bounds of experience and all too easy to understand this woman’s slide into insanity. I think that’s what frightens so many people about mental health problems – we wonder if it’s catching because we understand it so easily….

Or is that just me?

That formed part of my conversation with Roo too – if you’re aware that you’re unhinged does that mean that actually you’re sane? It’s a paradox…And Roo admitted that when she did her psychiatric rotation as part of her training she went to an open psych ward and didn’t know staff from patients….

Writing my thoughts down

Unusual post this one – I’ve just written it and it’s really what would appear in my writing notebook – a discussion with myself – I have them regularly. This time I decided to put it down here…most of the time I can’t actually think properly, or articulate properly any thoughts I have unless I write them down…or at the very least talk about them, but talking isn’t as satisfying as writing….as much as I love talking to people, I can’t really think things through properly unless I write them down… So here’s what I’m thinking about this morning….


Sometimes sitting here alone while I write I feel like I’m going around in circles – never talking about anything new, the same old problems, desires, wants and needs just echoing around the empty space inside my head. Particularly when I’m working on the novel – which coincidently has to be finished (or pretty damn near it) by September – I do tend to go into an almost “method acting” mind set… The novel is a stalker story, a thriller if you like, but also a love story…The stalker is a woman – she falls in love with a man she sees each day on the tube on the way to work and the story is told entirely from her point of view. That feeling of desperate infatuation, an extreme crush, on someone you will never really know, someone you can never have, but you watch them each day, you hope each day for some small scrap of information, something that lets you into their life a little more….Most of us experience this at some time in our lives and generally it’s when you’re young – a crush on a popstar or actor, or even a teacher, maybe a fellow pupil….It’s something that I believe we tend to leave behind when we grow up and start experiencing “real” relationships…Or do we leave it behind? I’m beginning to think that we simply shove those obsessive feelings into a metaphorical box in the back of our mental wardrobes…And perhaps we get them out again when something major happens in our lives: perhaps what used to be called A Mid-Life Crisis….Certainly from my own experience I’ve seen and heard about men and women – but mostly men, actually – who become obsessed with a woman they can’t have or don’t even know…I wonder sometimes if it’s a safe way of experiencing the excitement of a new relationship without screwing up the existing relationship they already have with their wives…

And I guess that’s the thing – we all want a little excitement, something new and adventurous in our lives at some time or another…And if we begin to think that there is someone out there who will understand us better, find us more attractive, be better in bed, make us feel special, more loved, more desirable….well, sometimes that may seem worth turning your life upside down for….

In my novel this isn’t the case – her life is empty and he brings some colour into it, so she doesn’t have to give everything, or anything up for him. She's a far more dangerous proposition than someone wanting a fling which is why essentially I’m writing a thriller, albeit a slow-burning one dressed up as a love story…and yes, I do know how it’s going to end – that came first – there would be no novel if I hadn’t had the idea of the ending.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking, how do you let someone know that you’re infatuated with them? The reason I’m asking this is because in my novel she is unhinged and has a very skewed view of the world so it’s good to think how people achieve their ends with normal means – I can then consider how she would go about such matters….
And on this one I’m stumped – it’s such a long time since I had a crush on someone and to be honest I did nothing about it – well Robbie Williams was never going to ask me out, was he? And if I had a crush on someone today then I’d maybe do something practical about it – like talk to them, flirt with them and become friends until they could no longer resist my charms! But she’s not in this position – she’s still stuck emotionally as a teenager despite holding down a responsible job and generally appearing to be an adult.
If she ignores him and tries to play hard to get he might just forget her, move on and she’ll be lost, utterly crushed. So how should she get him to notice her? Or should she just wait until fate takes a hand and events take an unexpected turn…