Monthly Archives: June 2018

‘And changes into the most beautiful iridescent blue’ *

24 Sunday Jun 2018

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Island life, Word birds & Process

In case new followers aren’t aware (my ramblings notwithstanding) this blog is my version of a writer’s diary. Its main function is to help me keep track of my writing process. In other words, it often consists of me thinking aloud – it’s highly likely I’ll make little sense to you, dear reader & if you’ve got this far, I’m impressed…

In my last entry I talked to myself about my next story: resurrect a previous one or start from scratch. It ended with me saying, I would wait & see which word birds ‘whispered the loudest.’

It seems the new one wins. Not because ‘going back’ is a bad thing. It can be & a story that isn’t working is a story that probably needs ditching. I know when I’m writing the wrong one. Riverbook isn’t wrong – it just isn’t the right time.

At writing group on Monday, I ran the outline of my new idea past my co-conspirator, Janey, & a week later, on the back of much slashing & brainstorming, I have it. Beginning. Middle. End. With the wrong whistles & bells relegated to the delete pile, the new ones glimmer. And I have a title! This early in the process it’s a bonus. (Book 3 has had almost as many titles as chapters. In the end I found it, hiding in plain sight within the narrative, but it took ages.)

This new story is as Gothic as I’ve gone thus far. I’m enjoying the trajectory of my books – from baby ghost to ‘presence’ via a tragic Victorian haunting. This one has sisters, another house (although not necessarily as we know it) & birds. (I am programmed to write birds into my stories.) And the colour blue… Also again, but it’s a lush colour & it works – in an entirely different context – so why not? A stroke of serendipity just now: as I thought blue, Kate Bush sang the title line above, which is, frankly, witchcraft & convinces me I’m on the right track.

I’m taking my time, making my notes & feeling my way. I have a new, magical writing frock (to go with the writing earrings.) All I need now is some discipline.

Chiharu Shiota
© Chiharu Shiota
* Kate Bush Sunset

‘I hear stories…’

17 Sunday Jun 2018

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

‘…It could be myself telling them to myself or it could be these murmurs that come out of the earth. The earth so old and haunted, so hungry and replete. It talks. Things past and things yet to be.’ *

The space in between finishing a book & beginning another is filled with confusion. The non-writer perhaps imagines euphoria laced with a self-satisfied grin of smug. I’ll concede a fleeting sense of relief. It’s done. You’ve done it (again, if you have) & jolly well done. Have all the chocolate & a vat of wine; abandon the pyjamas & see to the pile of ironing in your bedroom resembling an art installation.

The truth is closer to panic. Even after several (sev.er.al.) rounds of editing, a reasonably competent draft is only the beginning. The editing we do for ourselves is just that. Ours. It’s subjective & highly likely to be Not Good Enough. The manuscript must now line up in readiness to be perused by The Real Editor.

This space is called Waiting. Cue gibbering, a sense of doom & the utter conviction that you are pants. (The small, hopeful voice lurking in the corner, whispering ‘It’s really not that bad, you know’ is a fool & a trickster.)

There is only one remedy. Crack on & write another.

And hereby hangs my dilemma. My plan was to return to the now mythical manuscript known as The Next Book. It’s been the next book twice now. Working title RiverBook, I began it before Ghostbird was accepted & carried on writing it between Ghostbird & Snow Sisters. Abandoned it in fact to write Snow Sisters. And then again to write the one I’ve just finished. Now there’s a new story wearing down my pencils, insisting I write it. (I’m making notes in my head as I type this, for goodness sake.)

RiverBook feels like the past & yet I still love it. It has an older woman main protagonist & we need more of them. It references my (very sideways) take on the selkie myth. It’s a completed first draft. I have to make a decision, see which word birds whisper the loudest.

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Onward & sideways…

*Edna O’Brien
~ House of splendid Isolation

Unexpected book review in blogging area

15 Friday Jun 2018

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You are being treated, dear reader, because I don’t want to wait until September, when this book is published.
It’s my pleasure to offer my review of The Lion Tamer Who Lost by Louise Beech.

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As a storyteller, with every new book she writes, Louise Beech demonstrates a remarkable ability to reinvent herself. Although she returns to familiar motifs (which I love because I enjoy recognising them), each of her books presents the reader with a new scenario. The Lion Tamer Who Lost took me on a genuinely unexpected and fascinating trajectory. To Zimbabwe (with lions) and into a gay love story with a sadness at its heart that cracked mine.

Ben goes to Africa to realise a childhood dream to work with lions, and finds himself in a situation he could never have imagined. Andrew hides a wish in a box, which when it comes true, rips his world apart. Ben’s and Andrew’s paths keep crossing, and it may or may not having something to do with fate.

Gay men and their love affairs are rarely my go-to story of choice. But it is impossible not to be affected by Ben and Andrew’s relationship. By the authenticity and utter poignancy of it. By their responses to a tragedy that unfolds and over which they have little control. The characters are so well drawn, the relationship so sensitively observed, I was reminded of Patrick Gale’s A Place Called Winter. (I adore Gale because his male, gay characters are always relatable.) And that’s the trick, Beech has pulled off. A love story which resonates regardless of our (my) assumed preferences.

Which only goes to show.

‘Be careful who you love’ reads one of the straplines on the cover of the book. Be careful what you read: I turned the cover and fell headlong into a wonderful surprise. Because nothing about this story disappoints. The African setting, the excellent writing, and above all, the immaculate storytelling. It’s a cleverly constructed book too. I loved the chapter headings which give us a glimpse of the story within the story.

Another triumph. A beautifully crafted book which will do a great deal to further an understanding of gay relationships. From a writer coming into her power.

With huge thanks to Karen Sullivan at #OrendaPress for sending me a proof copy.

You can pre-order the book here.

Letting go of the lovely…

10 Sunday Jun 2018

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

It’s highly likely I’ve used the above heading before. (And I’ve definitely written about editing.) No matter – my blog my repetition. Apposite in any case. Editing involves digging out the repetition. And much more besides. I’m on the 84,670,943rd pass & the excess keeps on keeping on… Were it not for chocolate & wine I might well have gone quite mad.

My writing co-conspirator has her head down too. (For those of you who don’t know, Janey & I are are the sole members of the smallest writing group in Wales.) Since her hip op we’ve had to meet less often but we never stop comparing notes. (I think she’s on draft 62,897,504…)

I’m doing my best to stay serene. On the surface at least – drifting like a lily on a lake, looking as if I know exactly what I’m doing. Under the water, trust me, I’m kicking the mud.

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My bête noire is a tendency to ramble. To embellish my stories with far too much exposition & description. My mentor & first editor calls it ‘the lovely’ & has, from the beginning of our collaboration, bid me be rid. She may no longer be my editor, believe me dear reader, as I edit Book 3 it’s like she’s in the room… Which is a good thing.

An old Facebook post from a very famous writer – who I’m not going to name in the interests of playing nicely – recently emerged. In it, she declared she was no longer going to allow her manuscripts to be edited. Quote: “I felt that I could not bring to perfection what I saw unless I did it alone.”

Lovely…

The thing went viral & of course, everyone has an opinion. Mine echoes what seems to be the popular view: Stop talking, famous writer! Shush now & be grateful! Being well & professionally edited is a privilege which we scorn at our peril. (And a best-selling author would surely have access to top-notch editorial advice.) There is a legion of writers out there who never get the opportunity.

And so forth. I’m off to unmuddy the waters. Please send chocolate.

Odd earrings

03 Sunday Jun 2018

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

One of my writing rituals involves earrings. I have a designated pair. They’re not in fact a pair at all. They’re odd. One is a beautiful moonstone, the other, two chunks of amber. Both are set in silver & both lost their mates at some point in the past, the way earrings are inclined. Not least the ones we like best.  I loved both pairs very much so decided I may as well wear the not lost ones together. They’ve become talismans & when I’m particularly challenged (editing) they give me confidence.

Who knows if they have any power? Writers love ritual & I’ve spent a goodly part of my life indulging it, one way or another.

Numbers have power! The number of the moon is nine!! Merry meet for a lunar lark!!!

moonm

And so forth.

You get the gist: I’m not keen on even numbers. There’s something about their uniformity that grates. Too precise. I prefer the risky, more magical nature of a nine or a seven. And I like what the ghost in my new story has to say about them:

‘She preferred odd ones, she said they were feminine.’

This morning I finished the third pass. After some serious slashing, it comes in at 89,977 words & sixty-three chapters. The title is three words long.

So far, so far. (So far…)