Tag Archives: Island Life

Tempus fidgets…

25 Sunday Mar 2018

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

There are mornings when it’s as if I ordered the mist. Oh, the smother of it – draped like adornment left over from a Fäe wedding! Concealing & tricksy too: time, at the beck & call of Daylight Saving, catching me unawares. (I’m a winter person – I like the dark.) Last night I was ready for it – only not ready enough it seems – this morning finds me trailing.

My Irish mother was a great one for playing with language. It was she who defied Latin & came up with the notion of time ‘fidgeting’ which to this day I approve of. Time, for a writer, is often a luxury & even for me – retired from the day job – storytelling gets done between other commitments. Waking up & finding I’d lost an hour reminded me how time is never static & not always compliant.

One of the things I do in the morning – because I can – is write in bed. I read a bit, over the first cup of tea, but more often than not set the book aside in favour of the notebook & the pencil. My brain is alive in the morning & I love writing by hand. And I have a cat on Cat Time which means early mornings absolutely are a thing. (I’m no owl, so early nights are by & large a given too.)

I’ve reset the clocks & mentally reset the body one. It’s Sunday – Withering Heights sits in the mist, adrift & rather lovely, paying no regard to time. And I have notes.

Onward & sideways. (Also my mother.)

Island Life & catching up

18 Sunday Mar 2018

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Not only are the hills shrouded in mist this morning, they’re littered with whirling, sideways snowflakes. Trés pretty, but yes… I think all that needs saying about unseasonal weather has been said. And having written about it at length in Snow Sisters,* I feel my work here really is done.

I didn’t write a blog post last week – largely due to the nature of the current Work in Chaos which required my attention. ie: My obsession with wordcount needed taking in hand. Mercifully, it’s a thing of the past & I’m returned to writing terra firma. And a satisfying session with my mentor gifted me a new bag of breadcrumbs. The wood now feels more manageable; the last leg of the narrative less haphazard.

My inner excited writer is delighted. Sometimes, all we need is to be asked a few pertinent & thoughtful questions: ‘Would she want to do this?’ And ‘ Why doesn’t she do that?’ (Sisters you see – tricksy creatures…) And so forth. All grist to my proverbial & something for the word birds to think on too, while they cwtch down to wait out this unexpected snow. (It’s not giving up…)

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I shall dance in it – metaphorically you understand – & wait for them.

* “Sometimes it snows in April”
~ Prince

 

One step at a time

03 Sunday Dec 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Returning to the theme…

Mistress crow is in her tree, gazing out across a mist-laden wintry sky. A run of glorious red-sky mornings has given way to grey & the mystery is upon me again which suits me down to the ground.

Unintentional segue but yes, a bashed up foot has meant rest – & me very grounded. As a result, I’ve put in extra hours at the typeface. My word birds have been making merry & process has been achieved. I’m heading for the halfway point.

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I love this story but from the beginning, one thing has been niggling me. Names. I think a lot about names. They have to work on every level, not least in the eye of the reader. I’d given my two main protagonists gorgeous, Welsh names. One uncomplicated, the other less so & not necessarily easy for a non-Welsh speaking reader to pronounce.

Last weekend, a conversation with Darling Dau made me question both names. She pointed out that not every Welsh person has a typically Welsh name. Not everyone in a Welsh story has to have one. She threw a random, English ‘such as’ into the mix for character #1 & I pounced! I knew within seconds that quite unconsciously (or was it?!) she’d given me the right name & within minutes I had the other one too.

As can often happen, when a writer makes a fundamental change halfway through a draft, the entire feeling of the story can alter. Changing names in particular. These new ones are perfect & my relationship with these two central characters has now shifted onto a new level. It’s as if they, having been given their right names, have decided to let me in a bit more, show aspects of themselves I hadn’t yet spotted.

I’m chuffed to buttons. Thanks, lovely Daughter Person! And what with one bruise & another I’m making the most of my enforced rest, propping my foot on two cushions & cracking on.

 

Blogger love & not being ‘impeded…’ *

15 Sunday Oct 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

The other day, Anne Williams said to me that during the course of the blog tour for Snow Sisters, ‘…you’ve made many new friends…’  It certainly feels that way. The tour covered twenty dates, which is twice as many as I booked for my first novel, Ghostbird. From Anne herself, who kicked off the tour, to those who brought it to a close (& kept the momentum going – not the easiest of gigs), I have been utterly blessed. First & foremost by their professionalism & generosity. Book bloggers do this for nothing! And Book Connectors bloggers are the absolute best.

Oh my heart! You women took such care of my ‘sisters’ & I’m indebted to each & every one of you. I’ll never forget any of you, for your kindness, friendship & dazzling reviews.

Writing Snow Sisters was my second foray into the world of ghosts – a world tilting at the quirky with a dash of Welsh Gothic, attempting to place it in the mainstream. It’s unlikely I will – until English bookshops start stocking books published in Wales, with Welsh themes – mythological & modern – those of us who take our inspiration from this magical, gutsy, singular country will sit on the sidelines.

We’ll have our notebooks at the ready mind – pencils sharpened, alert to what comes next: writing, always writing. As for me, I’m already listening for my word birds, already in love with my new ghost.

* “I will not be “famous,” “great.” I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one’s self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.”
~ Virginia Woolf

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Five days & counting…

17 Sunday Sep 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

For once, it’s an authentic Island Life morning. Nothing exists beyond the trees…

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Thank you for joining me on this small exploration of SNOW SISTERS snippets. If your appetite has been whetted and you read my book, I hope you enjoy it.

With less than a week to go, here’s the final one:

“My name is Angharad…”

ANGHARAD 2

SNOW SISTERS ~ 21 September 2017
From Honno, the Welsh Women’s Press

The spaces in between

25 Sunday Jun 2017

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process

In that order, oh yes, it’s an Island Life morning & no mistake. The earlier mist has lifted a bit although it remains Avalonian & suitably mysterious. I can hear a bird too, see the swifts feeding on the wing. And there is always the process…

I suspect I may have used my title before: the spaces in between are familiar to writers. With one book finished (as in – being scrutinised by copy editors, proofreaders et al ) & the scent of launch day not as far away as I imagine, there is a temptation to tread water. Think about guest posts & the answers to questions I haven’t yet been asked. Faff a bit in pictorial procrastination. (Good eh?) I’m a collector of images & always on the look out for unusual ones. I don’t need much of an excuse to play…

“I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.”

Thus spake the glorious Anaïs Nin.

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For stars, read words & you have it. (I’m guessing that’s what she meant.) I am being pulled by my words. But which story do I choose? For I do have choices: a completed (four drafts in) of one & the exciting draft zero of another. Perhaps I ought to toss a coin. Either way, the space must be filled. I’m restless & not writing isn’t an option.

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…

“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

The place in between

02 Sunday Oct 2016

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process #22

Waking early to a perfect Island Life scenario. Mist made of a million feathers, a sense of the Avalon barge, perhaps offering me a lift to the Isle of Apples. While my bath runs, I reread a handwritten letter from a friend & I’m reminded of what matters. Family, love, kindness.

Moments such as these stop me in my tracks. Gazing across the misty hill, I add writing to the list.

With another book fair behind me I confess myself – yet again – a reluctant self-promoter. I know it must be done & fair play, I do it quite well. It’s part of the process. I am indebted to Honno, my publisher; a bit of social media is the least I can do.

It was grand to be with other writers at the book fair, with readers who kindly bought my book.

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And yet, today I’m experiencing relief because the next one isn’t until December.

The place in between stretches, uncluttered, silent save for the sound of the birds. I have need of them. To my astonishment, I’ve made it through the first half of the first round of structural edits on Book 2. It’s the second half that will test me however. It involves big changes. Good changes (I hope.) I must dig deep & put into practice the wisdom of my editor.

September is my favourite month. A new moon is emerging. My pencils are sharp. I’ve organised Premium bird seed & meal worms…

Onward & sideways.

Homework

28 Sunday Aug 2016

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Island Life, Word Birds & Process #18

Summer mist imitates autumn making me realise how close the end of the season is. Earlier, from my bedroom window, it was a proper Island Life scenario: the hills draped with mist, a sense of dream-like isolation. I drank tea with Virginia Woolf, reluctant to get out of bed.

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Now the sun is abroad, mocking my attempt at authenticity. Frankly, I wasn’t up early enough and the moment has passed. Unlike the weather, the Word Birds don’t vary their activity. They flutter and chatter, a constant murmuration of ideas. Draft three is upon me, dear reader – Process by another name. After a meeting with my mentor and editor, I am filled with joy at the prospect of a fairly intense rewrite of my second book. Weird maybe, but believe me, I mean it.

Janet never tells me what to write, she shows me my real story. It’s a magical process, a conversation driven by enquiries about my intention with regard to this or that character, and their intentions. I am never preached at – I’m asked why and it makes me think and dig deep. And now I have it – the story beneath so to speak – the  one I’m meant to be writing.

After the editorial lunch (I know – indulge me!) the process continued into the following morning, and my bath. (I have a lot of light bulb moments in the bath.) What pleases me most is that although Janet enabled me to see my story more clearly, in the aftermath I’ve worked out another lush strand which could become a recurring motif. One thing follows another and the story unfolds some more.

And at the risk of banging on – this is why writers need editors. Their job is to see what we miss. Not because we’re thick but because we’re often held too preciously in the original story vision. Editors are like school teachers. They dish out homework and if we do it we stand a better chance of passing the exam.

September is my favourite month. It’s the start of autumn and for me the best time to settle into a new writing project. Next Thursday is the first day of the month and it’s a new moon too. I’m taking a day or two to fix the domestic chaos, and write a new outline. Then I’m off into Draft Three with more excitement than I can adequately describe.