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Making it up as I go along

Making it up as I go along

Monthly Archives: February 2018

Up the down staircase (with a parachute?)

25 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Book 3, First Lines, Ghost Story, Sisters, Word Birds, Writing

Island Life, Word Birds & Process

It’s highly likely I’ve used the above title before. (Sans the parachute reference.) No matter – if the cap fits & so forth.

Two weeks ago I was feeling a bit aimless. After waffling on about Saggy Middle Syndrome (Except it’s Further On & a Bit Of  a Worry) & my options, I knuckled down. That was the plan at any rate. Monday morning found me knowing what I wanted to write (what I needed to write) only quite lost because the way in alluded me. It’s a thing with me – every now & then I find myself armed with a good scene or chapter & stumped, because I have no opening line.

It took me two days to write a single chapter.  I was all over the place – the words were there but without that essential first line, it had no heart. Good first lines aren’t confined to the opening chapter of a book. Every chapter needs to entice. (Closing ones are pretty important too.) My enticing skills had deserted me until – in the end (so to speak) – it was a simple as this:

She hadn’t closed the curtains.

Who knew? And don’t ask me where those five words came from – I have no idea, only that some dear bird took pity on me & left them in the edges of my hair. I was off & it’s been a lovely week. Writing early each morning – still in my PJs – putting in the hours before my bit of the internet woke up.

I still have no idea if this story is a flyer – I think it is but there are no guarantees. It’s well quirky & in places quite off the wall. Bits of it please me hugely – lots of it will need serious attention.

Above all – I’m mad about my new characters. I love them, even though a good deal of the time they lead me a merry dance & it is like going the wrong way up (or down) an escalator. If I hang on to the invisible parachute though, I’m fine.

esc 3

As for my ghost, dear reader, I adore her. Would you like a little more?

   It isn’t my job to make things easy for you, Ida – I am not yet at peace. Until I am, I’m tricksy. I’m the tick of that old clock and the wordless whispers in your cobwebbed sleep. I’m the scent of apples and soot and feathers. I slip through open windows, in and out on your whim now, not mine. I drift through woman-shaped keyholes as easily as breathing. Slip and smile and you taste me on your bitten lip.
© Carol Lovekin

And that, as they say, is your lot!

Dust – & writing about nothing

11 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Book 3, First Draft, Word Birds

As it’s Sunday, my first thought was – after tea & my morning read – what could I conjure by way of a blog post? With the best will in the world, I have virtually nothing. I’ve reached the stage with my Work in Chaos that some writers refer to as Sagging Middle Syndrome. As I’m well over half-way I’m not sure whether to panic or relax. Relaxing feels like a bit of a risk & I’ve never been keen on panic. Takes up too much precious energy.

I could ignore the whole thing & do the dusting. (You could create bas-relief on my furniture right now – no really, you could.) My bet is I’m not alone when I say, housework is the first casualty of the First Draft. I’m disinclined though – it is Sunday after all…

As you were then – as I was. There’s only one thing for it. Summon the word birds & perhaps, prove to myself that if I can’t tap-dance on a tightrope – which is why I took up writing in the first place – I can cycle on a telegraph line!

bike

Writing about nothing is a piece of cake.

Are we sitting comfortably?

04 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Audience, Genre, Ghostbird, Llandeilo Lit Fest, Snow Sisters, Welsh Gothic

Island Life, Word Birds & Process

In a couple of months I’m giving a short talk at the Llandeilo Literary Festival. It’s lovely to be invited & I’m looking forward to it. Although I still experience a frisson of nerves when called upon to face an audience, these days I do so with more confidence. In particular, I like engaging with people; with readers who have questions. These are my stories & I know them – there’s very little to be nervous about frankly. My previous experience of audience participation has been 99% good. (Asking about the 1% will get you nowhere! There’s always one?)

questions (2).jpg

When Christoph – our hardworking leader – asked me for some advance info for publicity (not least the title of my talk), I had to think on my feet. The festival doesn’t happen until April but needs must & I like an organised chap.

Niche is a hackneyed description & frankly, meaningless. It tends to mean you don’t know where you fit. And that’s a concern for those of us who write outside of the box. I was ‘niche’ for quite a long time. It’s taken two books for me to understand where my writing fits. Although I still have issues with genre per se, I’ve done the rounds & find I fit – if I fit anywhere – on the edges of the Gothic.

My characters are as ordinary as they are extraordinary – not least my sisters. Like me they find themselves unexpectedly thrown into this half-lit world & we all follow the breadcrumbs.

In both my books, each one of my girls find her courage. Cadi in Ghostbird; Verity & Meredith in Snow Sisters have all taken me away from the ‘normal’ into the world of magical possibility where, although the dark can get a bit scary, love makes sure that ultimately it’s made of hope. And together we retain a measure of control over the genre we’ve found ourselves in.

I make no apology for liking a bit of creepy – it makes life exciting & it’s fun to write. Knowing Christoph was waiting, I winged it & came up with a title for my talk: Genre, Ghosts & the Gothic. It’s up on the website now & on the promotional literature, so no turning back. I’ll take my ‘girls’ with me. Perhaps offer a sideways introduction to my new story & one of my new girls…

welsh-landscape_cc

Turning on the half landing, Ida glanced out of a small window and below her saw how the land stretched, unfolding into the distance as if towards the edge of the world. The sombre hills were a book falling open at different pages, each one telling a new story in a secret language.
She had no language anymore. And the new story she had deliberately chosen for herself scared her.

I know how she feels…

My novels

Wild Spinning Girls
Wild Spinning Girls
Snow Sisters
Snow Sisters
Ghostbird
Ghostbird
Only May
Only May
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