Author Archives: Carol Lovekin

Writing & reading the magic

26 Sunday Mar 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Received wisdom has it we ought to write about what we know. Perhaps. Then again, I know a lot about shoes & cake but other than the odd aside, have no desire to write stories about either of these things.

I think it’s less about writing what we know & more about writing the kind of stories we want to read. The books I’m drawn to are the ones in which enchantment glances off the shoulder of reality; where authentic moments of wonder can make me believe in the possibility of magic. I’m not talking about the kind that comes wearing a pointy hat or casting a spell. Real magic isn’t only in the Mystery, it’s in the everyday, in the small things we often miss because we’re too busy to notice. It’s in relationships & families, in joy, sadness & silence. Magic keeps secrets, it’s old & wise & if we want it we have to listen for it. If we need it, it will hear us.

Towards the end of Ghostbird, my central character, Cadi Hopkins, listens hard. She has little choice. Unless she trusts, the past can’t be forgiven or healed. She’s young & inexperienced but she’s brave & the granddaughter of a witchwoman.

When a girl of fourteen has longed for something for most of her life, when the sense of it clings like dust to the edge of every waking thought, it’s possible old magic will hear her.

Who knows what’s real? I only ever ask my reader to believe in the possibility that a suspension of her disbelief might be worth the gamble. And when I pick up a book in which the author suggests magic might be afoot, I approach it in the same way.

Toni Morrison said it most elegantly.

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Happy reading, wherever the magic takes you.

Coming out…

19 Sunday Mar 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Don’t get too excited, dear reader – my private life is no one’s business but mine…

The closet – if closet there be – is the one where my ‘author’ self has been hiding. Author as opposed to writer: I get called ‘author’ all the time & yet I struggle with the ‘A’ word, unsure at which point one is entitled to own it. Like most published writers I have an ‘author’ page on Facebook; the web address for this blog identifies me as one. This is usefully semantic – I’m talking about a definition far less tangible & considerably more emotional.

An author to me is a writer with several books under her belt. She has gravitas & a following; she gets invited to literary events & conferences. An author participates on panels & gets asked to endorse other writers’ books. She has a sense of herself as a step further along the writing road, with fans perhaps (& no overdraft…)

When Honno took me on, I was asked what kind of publicity events I would be prepared to take part in. I said anything other than physical public appearances. (Radio was fine – no one could see me on the radio.) What with one thing & another, since the launch of Ghostbird when I read in front of a gentle audience of family & friends, without me noticing, I’ve been creating a small physical presence. At my first book fair I read to another audience, potentially terrifying as a Q & A was part of the deal. Lovely people asked great questions & I found myself answering with a confidence I didn’t realise I possessed.

I’ve discovered I enjoy reading out loud from my book. Book fairs are fun & readers are fabulous people. I’m still a writer though – reading from the book I wrote…

At an International Women’s Day event hosted by Honno & WEN I took part in my first panel. Juliet Greenwood, my sister Honno author (three books, dear reader so yes – author!) in a generous attempt at calming my nerves said a certain mystique attaches itself to writers. She didn’t mean it in an ‘Oh my, aren’t we all amazing!’ kind of way – she was talking about the fact that non-writers (& would be) are quietly impressed by those of us who have published a book. As someone who spent most of her life in awe of authors, Juliet’s words had a ring of truth. Still not convinced, & frankly shaking in my boots, in front of my first relatively big audience I looked up & saw a sea of engaged smiles & genuine interest. I relaxed & it was easy. Afterwards, another first was being approached as an author. At that moment, I knew exactly what Juliet meant.

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With Juliet Greenwood.

Yesterday I confirmed an invitation to speak at a conference in Wales, to a much larger audience. In my capacity as ‘Welsh Author’ I shall be speaking for 45 minutes & taking questions. I’m terrified (I’ll always be ‘terrified’ in theory) but I’m also okay because I’m coming out as an author & it’s not as scary as I once imagined it would be.

Writers who get published aren’t special – we’re just people who’ve written & published books. If what we write pleases, perhaps we ought to leave it to our readers to decide what to call us & be gracious when they tell us we’re authors.

(And that other thing? The one about authors being asked to endorse other authors’ books? I’ve done that too – see Su Bristow’s glorious book, Sealskin.)

Out & proud!

Notes in the margins…

12 Sunday Mar 2017

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Island Life, word Birds & Process

As I write this blog primarily for myself, it doesn’t matter if I miss a week or even if what I write is relevant to anyone else. Last week, buoyed by early morning words concerning ducks in rows, myriad notes & plot particulars, I was quickly brought back to earth by Monitorgate.

Is there anything more disheartening to a writer than a dead screen?

There’s only so much I can write by hand: notes are not necessarily narrative (not the random way I write at any rate.) After a couple of hours, everything I could do by hand was done. I needed access & access was denied: the World of Word[s] was closed to me…

The blessed Janey turned up the following day with a spare monitor but after a day spent in limbo I realised how different the world of writing has become. I’m a relative latecomer to computers having bought my first PC in 2006. Against all expectations it changed the way I wrote forever. (I was brought up on typewriters; I tried an electronic one (awful) & soon graduated to a word processor which I loved.) The PC was a revelation & I soon cottoned on to its magic. I loved the convenience & the tricks: cut & paste without the glue & scissors! (Spellchecking without a cauldron or a wand in sight.)

I didn’t entirely leave behind the world of paper. I require the physical feel of it, the smell of pencil shavings. I still write copious notes; scenes & the outline of chapters by hand, mostly in bed in the early morning. Grey & occasionally smudged to ghostliness, they are notes in my margins so to speak, essential to my story & my process.

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But there comes a point when nothing moves on unless I’m slotting said notes into my on-screen narrative. A paragraph placed between the lines –  click  – another shifted to an alternative page – click – another deleted – click… Effortless & quick – you get the picture. And the bonus is a visibly increasing wordcount making me feel unutterably smug & virtuous.

In other news, the International Women’s Day event I attended as part of a Honno panel was exactly what I needed to rid myself of Public Panel Paranoia. It was the audience that did it – a sea of smiling, engaged faces, soaking up the nerves & making it OKAY.

I love women…

Sense & Synchronicity

26 Sunday Feb 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

My word birds have been playing games. It seems that way at any rate & I find myself pondering their tendency for conspiracy. (Most of them are corvids – cheeky tricksters up to no good & in love with a lark.) Lately I feel certain they have been challenging my patience, & my attitude to chance or the haphazard nature of fictional fate.

Most people experience instances of unexpected synchronicity. Those moments which some refer to as coincidence & others prefer to attach relevance to. I’m firmly in the latter camp – I’m suspicious of coincidence & like to believe that however small, when these moments crop up, however small, they’re significant. It delights me when, at exactly the second someone on the radio says the word ineffable, I’m in the middle of typing it.

Since becoming a proper writer (as in published) I’ve noticed these points of reference taking on an aspect that makes me think there might be a special kind of synchronicity reserved for writers.

The brilliant Louise Beech’s first book, How To Be Brave, about a woman’s experience of having a young child diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes instantly reflected my little granddaughter’s diagnosis. When Louise published The Mountain In My Shoe, which deals with cared for children, something similar happened. Fostering children has featured hugely in my immediate family. This was reading books however; what about writing them? Before I read it I’d already decided to use the framing device Louise employs in TMIMS in my second book, The Snow Sisters. Okay – lots of writers use it but still, it struck me at the very least as relative.

When I began writing my third novel, the central character was called Grace. At some point (for no reason I ever completely fathomed) I decided to change it to Della. When Rebecca Mascull began promoting her latest book, The Wild Air, I spotted her heroine’s name was Della. When I mentioned it (I’m a polite writer), Rebecca was generosity itself & said go ahead – no worries – use it. (In the end, I changed it back to Grace because, frankly, Della was never my character’s name.) For the purpose of making my contemporaneous point, I’m adding here that Rebecca kindly wrote one of the endorsements for my first book, Ghostbird.

Move on to the deliciousness that is Sealskin by Su Bristow. A proof copy of this book was offered to me by Karen Sullivan (of Orenda Books) who coincidentally (not!) publishes Louise. Karen thought I might like it & would I give her a quote for the jacket. Sealskin is a gorgeous retelling of the myth of the selkie. My third book (& the Adventures of Grace Who Is No Longer Della) features a selkie. Not a creature from the sea; mine is from a river & other than being a creature from legend, bears little resemblance to Su’s evocative creation. It’s still a selkie story though & at the time I was offered the book I was deep in my own selkie research.

What are the chances any of these instances will occur? The answer is of course, I have no idea. I am honoured that the ones I reference connect to a group of writers for whom my admiration knows no bounds! And who have each, in her own way, offered me huge support as a writer. (Karen agreed with me about this strangeness by the way – how writers can sometimes be unconsciously on the same trajectory, sharing moments of unexpected synchronicity.)

There’s another one, dear reader.

One of my most recent reads has been the magical, The Echo of Twilight by Judith Kinghorn. Judith, who has  shown me unutterable kindness, also wrote a wonderful endorsement for Ghostbird. The first thing I spotted in TEOT was her heroine’s name: Pearl. Would you believe me if I told you it’s the name I planned on giving a character in my fourth book? Add Lola (a dog) also the name of Grace’s cat (& my daughter’s dog) a grandmother called Kitty (the name of Grace’s first love) & frankly the only question is: what are the chances of any of this happening?

It’ll all come out in the wash of course. I’ve already ditched my Pearl sans qualm & Kitty can go too. I shall however have to have a chat with Judith about the dog/cat issue…

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Each of these books is hugely worth your time. They are amazing.

Miscellaneous meandering…

19 Sunday Feb 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

The mist took a while to lift giving an authentic island feel to the morning. A scattering of birds on the still stark branches decorated the birch tree. This leaves the process – & where I vaguely falter…

At last Thursday’s writing group with Janey I talked about being run aground in the third draft of Book 3 (nicknamed RiverBook) at around 15k. Due to Vital Plot Changes the rest is now an unholy muddle. I confessed to a wobble: knowing where you need to be is one thing, how to get there is another.

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Talking through our various wobbles (& the glimmers of what’s needed to smooth them) is the foundation of our writing group. I never leave a session without feeling encouraged. There were places I needed to be over the weekend but in the gaps I thought hard about why my story was stuck in the shallows. Even though, technically, it still is, as I began reading yesterday, I realised how daft it is to be afraid of my own writing. One of the glimmers has become ‘An Interesting Aspect’ & I’m running with it.

I’m wearing Wellies which may mean more miring. And yes, alliteration is a favourite writing thing.

If it was good enough for Shakespeare…

Sealskin – an exceptional exception to the rule

12 Sunday Feb 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

This blog isn’t a platform for book reviews. It’s largely a record of my writing process & in any case, I’m not a book blogger – I leave that to the experts. I do review books I really enjoy: the ones with that extra slice of magic & post them to Amazon. Every once in a while a book comes along that takes my breath away. Sealskin by Su Bristow is such a book & an exception to my ‘house’ rule in more ways than one.

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I was fortunate to be offered this book as an ARC (advance reading copy) some months ago. The publisher, Karen Sullivan (Orenda Books) asked me to give her a quote for the jacket. I wrote my review, shared it with Karen & I’ve been holding onto the full version ever since, assuming she would pick out the bit she particularly liked.

The nature of a proof copy means the ‘fancy’ bits are often missing: acknowledgements, reader/media reviews & quotes etc. Imagine my delight when I looked inside the ‘real thing’ on Amazon the other day in search of a one-liner & discovered my review in full!

With the book due for its paperback release in three days, this seems as good a time as any to post it here.

“On the face of it, Sealskin is a gentle tale, a lovely reworking of the selkie fable many of us have known and loved since childhood. Do not be fooled, dear reader, beneath this simple re-imagining lies a story as deep as the ocean the selkie comes from. I was captivated from the first page to the poignant last one, by the sympathetically drawn characters and a mesmerising sense of place. In between are moments of tragedy, moments of grace and redemption; the whole wrapped in Su Bristow’s charismatic writing. This is a story that catches on the edge of your heart leaving tiny scars; reminders of a journey into a beloved legend, the human lives caught up in it and the consequences of the choices they make. It is, quite simply, exceptional.”

I wish Su & her lovely book the best of luck – I hope it sells forever.

Buy here & from Orenda.

The writing life & the art of patience

05 Sunday Feb 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

There is an ‘in between place’ writers’ inhabit. It takes various forms: the one separating the initial idea & the execution of a first draft. The one between drafts, the forays into research that tip over into sneaky trips round social media. And those we give names to: writer’s block, procrastination, ‘real life’ (as if writing wasn’t.) We hover in the spaces between chapters, between words. We dither in edit mode, take half a day to decide if a paragraph stays or gets consigned to the Dead Darlings file.

Eclipsing each of these is a place we find ourselves once the story is done. Our best endeavour – edited to a fault & printed out on top quality Bright White – is submitted, offered up, let go, relinquished.

It can be an oddly dark space this one – furnished with anguish & the shreds of our nails, the walls lined with helpless hope. It’s the waiting room of doom where we wait while someone we almost certainly don’t know makes the crucial decision about our story & our potential future as a writer. They have temporary custody of our baby: the pristine version of our tear-stained (yes I know, pushing it now – my blog, my drama) months & more often, years of work.

In spite of it being second time round for me, the waiting remains a factor. Contract notwithstanding, there is still work to do; decisions have to be made that don’t necessarily involve me: administrative, creative, production etc. In the traditional publishing world – not least with a small press – however supportive your team, patience is the order of the day.

(Please, dear reader – with huge respect, if you are self-published don’t be tempted to insist how much easier ‘having total control’ makes the process. Consider your choice honoured!)

I love being traditionally published, I’m proud & honoured to be with a prestigious press, however small. I wouldn’t change a thing. It takes as long as it takes & while I wait for what comes next in the process, I sit in the space in between, read delicious books; scribble at book three & make notes for book four.

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It’s the writing life that matters, every aspect of it, even the waiting…

Feminist fiction, feisty women & being perfect

22 Sunday Jan 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

In the aftermath of yesterday’s #WomensMarch events, I’m overwhelmed by how feminism is everywhere: living, working, moving; a river of loud, feisty, determined, courageous energy refusing to be silenced, clearly stating we can dare to dream of resurgence. These woman made feminism normal. They put two fingers up at misogyny, smiled their perfect smiles & roared as they did so.

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And I realise today I want this power in the books I read. I want it in the books I write.

In a recent conversation with a friend, we were discussing the central character in my third (WIP) book. She’s an older woman, living alone. Like that of the secondary character, no men feature romantically in her world & never have. There is a sense that men are contrary to both their natures. (You’re getting no more than this, dear reader – enjoy your speculation!) My friend pondered the ‘natural expression’ for the female, how men try to manipulate & exploit it. She used the term ‘feminist fiction’ purely in terms of a vehicle for writing the topic & not as a label per se for mine.

It gave me food for thought though. If it’s the responsibility of women writers to promote feminism, how do we accomplish it without coming across as shouty provocateurs? (So tired of that shit in any case.) Do we make it an actual campaign or, in the same way I write my lesbian characters, give it subtle shape & normalise it? I want feminism to be commonplace; entrenched at the centre of my experience, my reading & yes, my writing.

In the same way I don’t want my own books – which have few male characters – labelled ‘women’s’ fiction, I don’t want any of it overtly described as feminist. I’m proud if people describe me as a feminist writer, because I am. I’m also a feminist cat owner, swimmer, frock lover, shopper & cake eater. I don’t want to smash the patriarchy I want to bloody annihilate it.

The stories I write are just that – stories. Mostly about women, told with honesty from my feminist heart, but ‘the genre is book.’

This is Kat – she was in Washington.

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She’s a Purrfect Pussy Kat & she has Feline Friends!

The tyranny of thin & why maths, food & writing don’t mix

15 Sunday Jan 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Not writing related? Well, if a week spent obsessing about food curtails my writing time then, yes, this post is about writing, or the lack thereof.

Like many women of a certain age, I’m overweight. Not excessively so – about a stone & a half lodged round my middle. I don’t like it, it makes me feel sluggish & I’d like to shift it. This week, on a whim, I went to a Slimming World session with a friend. I’ve heard good things about SW & the evidence is irrefutable. Some of my close friends have lost impressive amounts of weight & they all say they feel better.

The ethos is simple – no food is forbidden, a great deal of healthy food is ‘free’ meaning you can eat as much as you like. The foods one is encouraged to eat less of (essentially sugar & fat) come with a SYN value. Syn is a derivative of synergy & assumes an interaction of food groups aimed at weight loss. So far, so far, but syn is also a play on the word ‘sin’ which I find troubling. Food is not sinful. It may, for some people, be made of dubious choices, involve restrictions due to allergies or physical conditions, but telling the average person already struggling with self-worth issues that a small bar of chocolate is ‘sinful’ (whichever way you spell it) immediately points the finger.

Beautiful Woman Eating Cheesecake Dessert. Image shot 1910. Exact date unknown.

This is where it becomes deeply problematic for me. The so-called ‘naughty’ foods: cheese, olive oil & butter; chocolate, cake, biscuits & puddings are heavily restricted. Even porridge, or muesli with dried fruit, becomes an issue of syn ‘choice.’ Other than sugar which I admit is pretty evil, in moderation, none of these foods are ‘bad’ for us but the Slimming World syn constraints on even some perfectly healthy food mean the amounts one is allowed make it barely worth bothering. The alternatives are largely (for me at any rate) disgusting. Imitation butter is vile & not even food; in my world it’s the ultimate gastronomic sin. And a Slimming World homemade chocolate cookie recipe using Nutella chocolate spread is, frankly, a political issue. Nutella contains loads of sugar & palm oil. Hello? Palm oil? (Look it up!)

There’s a cheerful note in the welcome booklet: “Take a quiet therapeutic half-hour to meal-plan your next seven days…”

Are they kidding? Therapeutic? Half an hour? I’ve spent most of this week stressing about my meals. Me, who doesn’t do stress because it’s too damn stressful. And I’m the woman who has to take off her shoes to count to eleven. I can write a book, I can’t add up a short shopping list because I’m number blind. Counting syns & converting grams to ounces & vice versa is maths. Cross referencing a Healthy Eating Option against the relevant Syn Option is maths. And spending extra money on food I don’t really like is also maths…

So yes, I resent time away from my work, being too anxious to follow my pen. I’m tempted to kiss the joining fee goodbye, put it down to experience & forget it. I’m not sure losing a stone & a half is worth the misery of meals made of maths.

Ps: Some work did get done…

“The beautiful vagabonds, endowed with every grace…” *

08 Sunday Jan 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Earlier, writing my daily Letter to America, I mentioned the mist (it’s an Island Life this morning, dear reader & no mistake) & that only a small, solitary bird graced the highest branch of the birch tree. It never lasts, this daring do. Sooner or later, Crow arrives, evicts the interloper and claims her place. Today she came with friends, three dark shapes against a rain-drenched sky, elegant itinerants.

They’re gone now. Crow has business elsewhere. If the mood suits her, mine tarries long enough to leave a few words, a line or two I may find a use for. Lately, I’ve sensed her shaking her black hoody head – Kraa – you are procrastinating, writer.

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She isn’t wrong. It is however procrastination thinly disguised as editing. When I set aside my current new story (was Book 2, now Book 3) to write The Snow Sisters (the usurper) it was a vague second draft. I knew it was chaotic, that parts of it were going to need serious attention. In the back of my mind, a confused muse wrestled with chunks of ubiquitous backstory (my nemesis) pronouncing it superfluous to anyone’s requirements.

Knowing I was about to embark on another draft, my first reader (the recipient of my Letter to America), put up her hand. Her eye is astute & she asks the right questions. Checking ahead, I spotted where the chaos began & faster than a rat up a drainpipe, scuttled back to Chapter One. I’ve spent the last week meticulously & very, very slowly, editing the first ten chapters: back & forth like an over-keen copy editor on Kalms. These chapters are so edited they are faint with exhaustion, begging to be left in peace.

And still, Chapter Eleven waits. Or as I like to call it, the place where it all goes pear-shaped, backstory crash-lands onto the page & I have no idea how to deal with it. I’ll work it out – it’s only words, yes? Kill a few (several hundred) off; tidy up the telling, dump the debris…?

If I ask nicely, maybe the words birds – my beautiful vagabonds – will take some of them back…

* John Burroughs