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Making it up as I go along

Making it up as I go along

Tag Archives: Not Writing

Staying afloat

06 Sunday Sep 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

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Book 4, New story, Not Writing, Only May, Swimming, Writing

Yet again, I write this largely for myself. Keeping this somewhat random record of my writing process does help keep me focused. And afloat.

A few weeks ago I went wild swimming in a beautiful lake with an island at its centre where swans breed & raise their young. It was both idyllic & therapeutic. I’ve missed swimming & it was a treat to be in the water. Good for my body & my psyche.

Swimming is like riding a bike – you really don’t forget how to stay afloat. And staying afloat as a writer is a similar experience. As I’ve mentioned before, owing to unexpected health issues, my hwyl for my craft has taken a few knocks recently but as not writing is only ever a short, temporary option for me, it does come back.

The plan I mentioned in my previous post worked well. New Moon. Show up. Crack on. I’ve even taken to word counting again, mostly to encourage myself. I’m now past the halfway stage – ‘over the hump’ as a sister writer calls it. Out of the shallows, I say, swimming not floundering.

And I’m ready to tell you what I’ve finally decided to call this new story: Only May, a tale of lies & liars, secrets & bees… There may be ghosts…

I love it very much & wish only to do my characters justice. And finish it! In particular, I want to do my best for May herself. A girl who charmed me from the moment I ‘met’ her, last May, driving home from the dentist when the hawthorn was in bloom. For the most part, May is telling the story. Her voice above everyone else’s leads it. So yes – show up, crack on, etc.

If I’ve done it three times, surely, I can do it again? This then is my world. These are my words; these are my books.

 

Writing in the margins – somewhere in between

06 Sunday May 2018

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

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Editing, Ghostbird, Not Writing, Poetry, Snow Sisters, Word Birds, Workshops

Island Life, Word Birds & Process

In spite of a lush sun trying to burn it off, the mist sticks. The swallows are back, Mistress Crow is in her tree & all’s right with the world. My bit of it at any rate. And for that I’m grateful.

With Book 3 still resting in the Dark Drawer, I’ve been busy Harassing the Hovel & restoring ten months of disorder. Apart from general cleaning, I’ve been decluttering, frightening the filth into submission & chalk-painting furniture. Larks galore! And not much writing done, frankly. I’m between [drafts], so to speak.

I don’t believe writers ever stop writing mind, even when they aren’t physically wielding a pencil, they’re at it in some form or other – ‘not writing’ their little socks off. ‘Not writing’ takes many forms, from actually not doing it to scribbling in your head. This is what I’m currently doing. With a Big Fat Edit looming, I’m already harking back (& forth) to scenes I know I’m going to play with (aka: mutilate.) The word birds are in whisper mode – they know how this works far better than I do. As I paint & clean & tidy, they slip notes into the mental chaos in the margins of my mind.

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I slipped in a few of my own too, last Sunday. As part of the Llandeilo Lit Fest I attended a poetry workshop run by the poet Kathy Miles. My admiration for Kathy’s work is huge. And the title of the workshop – The Changeling Poet: Writing Out the Narrative Voice – intrigued me enough to sign up. As did the description: A workshop which explores the persona poem, and how we can write ‘out of ourselves’. We will look at different ways in which the poet can write as animal, object, ghost or mythical figure, some of the techniques used to transform the narrative voice, and use these techniques to produce a piece of writing.

The persona poem form wasn’t unknown to me – it was absolutely not a motif I’d ever explored. (My forays into poetry pursued the patriarchy & shouted, ‘Watch out, the feminist is cross! Again!’) I wasn’t mistaken in my certainty that Kathy’s workshop would be useful. It exceeded my expectations & not only did I leave with ideas galore, I even wrote a poem that wasn’t livid & snarky.

A goodly number of the whispered words in my head involve my ghost. She’s different from Angharad in Snow Sisters & nothing at all like wee Dora in Ghostbird. Her voice has a quirky edge & I like the idea that I can play with it, perhaps create something unusual. The workshop definitely gave me food for thought – mine & my ghost’s.

I’m still working on it – Kathy has kindly offered some tips & I may one day be tempted to share my poem. Then again, I may not… In the meantime, I’ll keep writing in the mind margins, translate the whispers. Once the painting & housework are done, I’ll delve into the Dark Drawer & dig out Book Three.

Copy of Copy of il_570xN.313976642

The art of not writing

19 Sunday Nov 2017

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Ghosts, Not Writing, Storyteller, Unwell, Word Birds, Writing

Island Life, Word Birds & Process

Two weeks ago I was felled (I love it when word usage genuinely fits) by an upper case Damned Bloody Virus upon which I now wish every level of Hell. It’s a fortnight of my life lost to misery, moping & mucus. For several days I couldn’t read never mind write – drifting in a pastiche of every tragic ‘heroine scenario’ you can imagine & in which the chaise longue took centre stage.

I know…

In my head however real story scenes floated, not all of them useless. It’s writing but not writing as we know it… And it’s a trick most writers manage in spite of the obvious obstacles. Like forgetting stuff because the DBV has Taken Over Your Brain.

The problem with not being able to write anything down means my notoriously unreliable memory has put to the test. After the first week I was able to begin scribbling notes again & miraculously much of what I conjured in extremis appears to have survived. Mostly ghostly, slightly surreal, but given my state of mind, hardly surprising.

And the DBV may have done me a sideways favour. I knew before it hit I’d been consciously searching for a different internal pattern to the voice of this new story. It’s a tale concerning identity, on a deeply fundamental level. The echoes of motifs I recognise from my reading of books steeped in Gothic Romance are refusing to be silenced. I’m digging deeper & my characters will surely follow suit, into the shadows & cobwebbed corners of my imagination.

My word birds have been kind & patient but they’re getting restless & I love them for it. Taking it easy is still A Good Thing but cobwebs notwithstanding – & a new moon on the rise – I’m determined to return to my story very soon. Because, damn – I can sense it & it’s whispering – like my ghost, like the birds…

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The writing life & the art of patience

05 Sunday Feb 2017

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Editing, Not Writing, Traditional Publishing, Writing

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…

The spaces in between

18 Thursday Feb 2016

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Ghostbird, Honno, Not Writing, Promotion, Word Birds, Writing

I talk quite a bit about ‘not writing.’ I don’t mean writers block – I’m either writing or I’m not – there is no blockage. I mean the times when for one reason or another, the head is distracted and there is little or nothing to be done about it. In recent weeks, with my focus almost entirely on promotion for Ghostbird, I find my writing time severely curtailed and my poor Sisters (working title – book two) languishing in a kind of creative limbo.

It goes, I am learning, with the territory. Published author friends warned me that once the book deal was signed my word count would suffer. They explained how necessary it was to enjoy myself because this ‘first time’ moment would never come again. What they didn’t fully explain was how much more than mere ‘happy dancing’ would be involved. How I would have so little time to work on my next book.

I am fortunate in that I’m being guided through the promotional minefield by an experienced and astute woman – my publisher’s marketing maven. Were it not for her, I would be floundering. Instead, I’m making progress and learning a lot along the way. In addition to the minutiae and nitty-gritty (and the excitement!) of the whole pitch to publication thing, there are guest posts to write for the blog tour and Q&As to answer. Although I love the creative challenge of this kind of writing, it’s not the same as getting on with my next story.

While I muddle through during the day and attend to business, I’m even more thankful for my crack of dawn mornings. By nature (and in spite of writing a book featuring an owl) I’m a lark. Early mornings suit me; I like the way they have no expectations, only the ones I impose. And I impose nothing. I feed the cat, make a pot of tea and return to my bed and my notebook.

These then are the spaces in between, when my mind is seduced by the sweet word birds singing snippets into the tangles of my bed hair. Pencil sharpened, I cover page after page, comforted by the knowledge that my scribbled words are there, waiting for me.

In which the itch to write returns & I guiltily mourn the decline of the servant class

29 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Books, Editing, Ghostbird, Muse, Not Writing, Quotations, Virginia Woolf, Writers, Writing

It is a fact universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a completed novel has either a wife or a maid. I have neither. I am a woman who lives alone (by choice – I’m not sad or anything.) And in any case, even if I could afford one, my socialist inclinations make me feel slightly guilty at the idea of employing another woman to do my housework.

I am also a woman who has a love-hate relationship with procrastination.

Recent events have kept me from my writing. The timing was interesting. I’m waiting for my Editorial Notes (please forgive caps – still excited and can hardly believe I’m even due any.) With draft zero Book 2 tucked away for the duration I was at a bit of a loose end anyway. I had my notes for Book 3 to play with and an unexpected trip to Cornwall to visit my family fitted very nicely thank you.

I’ve been back for two weeks now and once again, the Muse nags. The other day I dipped into The Hours by Michael Cunningham and a scene near the beginning where Mrs Woolf (for it is she) takes herself downstairs in the early, seductive writing hour, helps herself to coffee and proceeds in the direction of her study via the printing room. Leonard (already at his proofs) waylays her.

“Have you had breakfast?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
“I’m having coffee with cream for breakfast. It’s enough.”
“It’s far from enough. I’m going to have Nelly bring you a bun and some fruit.”
“If you send Nelly in to interrupt me I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

And this, dear reader, is where Mrs Woolf and I part company. I long for a ‘Nelly’ to interrupt me with a bun and some fruit: blessed Nelly, who would then disappear and attend to the chores leaving me free to create deathless prose. Or, at the very least, get to grips with the latest notes for Book 3. My scribbles are accumulating and I need to get them organised while I wait for my EN’s.

I can feel a return to work coming on. In the absence of a Nelly, I must make an effort.

Smoke & possibly some mirrors

20 Monday Jul 2015

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Drafts, Not Writing, Writing

In my previous post I mentioned a lack of writing. (Due to circumstances & so forth.) In the interim, time played nicely & I’ve upped my wordcount considerably. The proverbial light lurks at the end of the customary tunnel.

Smoke conjuring spells apart, I may have invoked the odd mirror too & there is no guarantee mess has been entirely averted.

I’m closer than ever to the end of draft zero. It’s still tangled & in order to turn it into a bona fide First Draft, considerable editing will need to be undertaken.

Draft zero is written in order for me translate what is in my head into what I think I want to say. Find out I have anything to say. Get the vision down, however random & unformed; try not to stray too far from the plan. Above all, keep writing. Words on the page while the muse is with me.

At all costs, resist my inner ‘edit as I go’ persona. She is wilful & bossy & likes her own way. Once I’m done I’ll do a paper edit & try to fathom how I really want to say it.

Onward & sideways.

My novels

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