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Making it up as I go along

Making it up as I go along

Tag Archives: Writing

It’s the taking part

11 Sunday Jul 2021

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Honno, Shortlist, WBOTY21, Wild Spinning Girls, Writing

Last year, when Jill Doyle invited me to contribute to her Five on Friday, in answer to the question, ‘Tell us 5 things you’d like to do or achieve’, I said, ‘Win a book prize. An unlikely dream, but dreaming is part and parcel of being a writer.’ My tongue was very much in my cheek. The dreaming was what mattered; I carried on, dreaming & being a writer.

And then this happened. My third book, Wild Spinning Girls, has been shortlisted for the Literature Wales Book of the Year/ Rhys Davies Fiction Award.

I didn’t cry or squeal or do much of anything to be honest. I simply stared at the email, read it again, in case I’d missed the bit about it not meaning me & it was just information. It did mean me though – me & my book & my publisher, Honno. Me & eleven other authors in four categories. (We were all sworn to secrecy for what felt like thirty-nine years, until the announcement on the radio.) And then it sank in: the fact that Literature Wales had chosen my book as one of the twelve.

Once I knew I was shortlisted alongside another Honno author, Judith Barrow, it became a double reason for celebration. We are both women of a certain age who are friends. We have been nurtured by our amazing publisher & we are as happy for them as we are for one another.

Honno deserve this. They are the UK’s longest standing independent feminist press. They do amazing things, for their writers penning contemporary literature in a variety of genres; for the lost women’s voices from the past. And for their readers who look for quality books published to the highest standard.


When I was first published, that was the dream come true. I was so much older than most people who secure their first publishing deal & I thought it was enough. Box ticked, job done. Two more books later, to be shortlisted for this prestigious award is another layer of validation. It says, I’m good enough. It means I can, hopefully, finally shoo Imposter Syndrome out of the door & write more stories that count.

Or, perhaps not. Writing is a random business – writers are hostages to all kinds of fortune & there is something to be said for the maxim, we are only as good as our last book. In the moment, we take the brickbats (Oh look, dear reader, a 1* review!) & the bouquets (5*****s!) We write & write some more & hope to be published again.

And sometimes, we get shortlisted for an award.  

This is my first time; it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in my five years as a published writer. But ultimately, it’s the recognition that counts – for me, for my sister author & above all, for our wonderful publisher.

As a girl, I quite enjoyed sport. I played hockey, I ran quite well & liked that. But I was never brilliant & I never won anything. My daddy said, don’t worry – it isn’t about winning or being the best; it’s about enjoying yourself & being part of something. My daddy was right – it really is the taking part that counts.

My lockdown novel

10 Thursday Jun 2021

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Book 4, Editing, Lockdown Novel, Only May, Wild Spinning Girls, Word Birds, Writing

Exactly two months since I scribbled anything here. Largely because I haven’t had much to say. I’ve been busy though – scattering words onto the page for a fifth book & for the past month or so, editing my fourth, Only May, which is penciled in for publication next year.

Only May began life about two years ago, several months before the pandemic hit. I’ve mentioned before, the genesis of this story: how I was driving home from the dentist, dazzled by the glory that is the May blossom. It seemed to have a tinge of pink & felt magical to me. I imagined a girl, born on the first day of May & named for the blossom; wondered, for no reason I can now recall, what if she could tell when people lied to her? If, when they looked her directly in the eye & lied, she knew. And that was the small beginning.


As I was still editing my third novel, Wild Spinning Girls, progress was sporadic. I’m an inveterate note compiler however & write my stories erratically anyway, so I was getting something down. It wasn’t until after the launch of WSG just weeks before the first lockdown, that I settled in to write the book proper. It’s been a fabulous process. With no distractions, I listened for the word birds, cracked on & wrote it.

Image: Gareth Lucas

That said, it still took me almost eighteen months before I felt the manuscript was good enough to submit. I know writers who can create a book in a few months. This both impresses & amazes me. I am not one of them! I’m a plodder. And I don’t put in impressively long hours either; not on a regular basis. (When I’m editing mind, I nail myself to the PC & only emerge from my study to eat & sleep, but that’s another story.) I do show up pretty much every day though & for me, that is the secret. Show up & write. Even through a pandemic. Particularly through a pandemic? My work has kept me sane, kept me connected to what brings me joy. And I love this new story more than I can say.

Only May is a slight departure from my previous books – it’s more intimate, on a smaller scale & written mostly in first person present.

Image: Toma Joksaite

It’s my lockdown novel. And it has bees. Watch this space!

   “I’m the girl who sees beyond the glint in your eye, around your over-confidence and through to the truth and I can hear the earth hum, the way the bees do. Ever since I was a tiny baby and they started talking to me, it’s seemed rude not to take notice.
   Bees don’t lie.”

Mrs Woolf, the word birds & moments of fear

01 Sunday Nov 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

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Book 4, Editing, Only May, Quotations, Virginia Woolf, Word Birds, Writing

In the interests of honesty, the following quotation isn’t one I ‘randomly’ came upon during my morning dip into Mrs Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary. I deliberately searched for it. I know the book well enough to roughly recall where to look for what I need when it’s specific.

Two chapters away from finishing my fourth novel, Only May, I’m acutely aware of how I need to take it slowly and get it right. This is the shortest book I’ve written, the most compact in terms of scale. It takes place over the course of the month of May. Four weeks to tell a story doesn’t afford a lot of leeway to create a viable plot. It’s easy to obsess over the minutiae, at the expense of moving the story on. And because it’s a little lighter, wordwise, the temptation to rush is ever present.

“I shall solve it somehow, I suppose. Then I must go on to the question of quality. I think I may run too fast and free and so be rather thin.“

What with one lockdown and another, I’ve found it easy to stick to a writing schedule. In fact, I’ve been up with birds these past few weeks, eager to see what my feathered friends have left for me. They haven’t disappointed.

The best thing about writing a novel is the way, in spite of the fear, there comes a point when you allow yourself to believe it might be working. For a while, when I hit the halfway mark I’d convinced myself I was kidding myself. And it was a character who saved me – one who I had initially introduced simply as a convenient hook to hang my central character’s dawning realisation on: her conviction that things were not as they seemed. She has developed into a crucial reality and a woman of solid substance.

The fear by the way is real. I’ve scribbled about it before. How sneaky it is, how insidious. And yet how necessary. Once we begin believing, because we’ve had three books (pick a number) published, we might be a legend in our own lunchtime, we’ve lost our way.

Which bring me neatly to ‘the question of quality‘ Mrs W refers to. She means editing. She means structure and shape and how the thing sits on the page. Wordcount notwithstanding, once I have these final chapters down, I shall have to mess it up. (Technical publishing term – honestly.)

May is my new favourite (sorry Other Characters) largely because she has challenged me. For a while I wasn’t sure where we were going. She did. I’m so pleased I trusted her.

Staying afloat

06 Sunday Sep 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

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.

 

Instances of the abandoned blog & ghosts of words already written…

16 Sunday Aug 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Book 4, Editing, Lockdown, New story, Writing

‘Hello Book 4 my old friend…’ are words I have uttered over the past month, on too many occasions to record. Each rekindling of the relationship with my newest story has been brief. The ups & downs of my personal hibernating life mean there have been too many days when my current story has languished. The result: too few reasons to write a blog post. I guess it’s a symptom of the current zeitgeist; like everyone else, writers are under pressure of one kind & another. Add unexpected drama into my particular mix & is it any wonder I’ve been tardy?

In précis: I’ve been hors de combat.


Unexpectedly & not without a little drama. The one is boring, the other – well, dear reader, who knew one small fall could result in so many bruises! Recovering well now, I finally find I need to chat, to myself if to no one else, about my newest foray into storytelling.

Had I been told, in 2016 when Ghostbird was published, that four & a half years later I’d be writing my fourth novel, I’d have imagined someone was kidding. And yet here I am, almost 40k into an odd little tale I’m growing extremely fond of. Considering I’ve been writing it since last year though, 40k is a meagre wordcount. Before lockdown, because I was sure of the story’s simplicity, I believed I would have a first draft done in a few months. Ha!

Another thing I’m learning about this writing lark is, when a story exists on a very small canvas, the intricacies become more crucial. Intimacy requires as much attention to detail as any sweeping saga. In addition, I’m being ‘told’ by my characters what they want to do (it was ever thus.) Plot tangents have flung themselves into the mix with gay abandon; new characters charm me & a far better version of the end lifts my heart. But even though I have all this – literally: a beginning, a middle & an end – I somehow find myself stuck on pause. I’m back & forth through what I have already written, faffing & rewriting, endlessly (unless I’m not – cos ‘drama’) playing with ‘perfection’ rather than moving the story on. I am continually haunted by the ghosts of words already written: ones sitting nicely on the page, thank you very much.

For goodness sake, woman, be brave! Write another, fresh, 40k!

Essentially, I’m elevating my ‘edit as I go’ inclination to new & ridiculous heights. Fear of failure is a factor for sure (sorry/not sorry: excessive alliteration.) Goes with the territory. Largely, I suspect it’s a case of ‘drama’ in a time of lockdown causing creatus interruptus. I may have to conjure a plan.

Just checked diary. It’s a new moon on Wednesday.

That’ll do it. Fingers crossed!

Odd numbers & beautiful spaces

28 Sunday Jun 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Book 4, New story, Virginia Woolf, WG2, Writing

Checking my desk diary, I see the number “99” – circled. (I was never going to make a thing of an even number now was I?) Day ninety-nine then, in my personal cycle of hibernation & I also checked how long it’s been since I wrote anything here. Two guest posts notwithstanding, the last time I scribbled a word about my writing was 26 April!

Nine weeks then & I’m still avoiding words like ‘isolation’ & ‘lockdown’ simply because I feel neither isolated nor locked down. After however many weeks ninety-nine days add up to, some days I do feel alone. And much as I insist (truthfully) that being this way is second nature to me – I’m a writer, it’s what we do – ninety-nine days in, I’m missing certain people.

Mrs Woolf had a few perfect words for it. On the matter of ‘certain friends’ she wrote: I love them when they aren’t there – they leave beautiful spaces behind them.’

Family notwithstanding (when I finally get to hug my daughter, she will need to check her ribs) it’s my friends I miss. Not least the ones who write, those whose idea of heaven is hanging out, over tea & cake, nattering about writing.

With the plot of my newest endeavour flinging itself off on the inevitable tangents, I miss my writing group so much, Thursdays now feel like lost days. Not entirely – Janey (Eliza Jane Tulley) & I converse regularly. But it is never going to be the same as sitting opposite one another in our favourite cafe, notebooks on the side, ready to disseminate our latest offerings. That ‘beautiful space’ at our special table, is hers & mine.

And so I press on – by myself – occasionally startled by the moments my imagination conjures for this new story. It’s so off the wall quirky anyway, the digressions barely faze me. Being able to explain them (or ask Janey for her input) is still a true frustration.

Okay – this new one. I was going to say I thought long & hard about writing a story largely in First Person Present. It isn’t true. I thought about not doing it for as long as it took to rewrite the first chapter in Third Person & realise my instinct was right. FPP it is. And I love it. It’s challenging & even though the going is far, far slower than I first envisioned, I am making progress with my quirky story.


Image © Adam Oehlers

It too takes up a beautiful space, the writing space I have to fill because not writing isn’t an option. A space I know, were she around to see me loving this story, Janey would get.

Hibernation & the muse…

22 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Hibernation, Muse, New story, Quotations, Virginia Woolf, Word Birds, Writer friends, Writing, Writing community

A few of you who follow me may recall my somewhat occasional & fanciful notion that Virginia Woolf is my muse. My admiration for her writing has sometimes led me to place imaginary trays of tea & buns outside her metaphorical door, with the aim of persuading her to lend her genius to my lesser & more lowly pursuits.

Right…

In other, more realistic, muse-related ramblings, I call on my word birds. And let’s be honest, they’re far more likely to aid me than the ghost of Mrs Woolf.

In these odd times, I confess to having struggled over the past week. Largely due to political shenanigans. (Let’s not dwell – this is a blog about my work, not my ‘men in grey suits where are all the women and the joined-up thinking?‘ observations.) Trying to get my old head around the new regime & telling myself, there is always the new story to write!

The interwebs have been awash with writer-focused memes, not least the one about how Will Shakespeare penned both King Lear & Macbeth during the plague. Aimed, I’m sure, at reassuring us that all we need to do is ignore the firestorm, hibernate, knuckle down & crack on with the latest book. All well & good but the reality is, anxiety is a poor bedfellow for the muse.

I’m hearing many stories, online & from my writer friends, about how they’re struggling to concentrate. How the plan to use this enforced time of solitary existence to write is already falling by the wayside.

A few weeks ago I began writing my fourth book. I love it to bits & if it isn’t quite writing itself (that would be a trick worthy of a witchy woman!) it is coming along nicely. Having lost some of my hwyl for the act of writing per se, rather than the story, I know this is a crucial moment. It’s an opportunity to write a story that wants to be written. No excuse not to. There are weeks, possibly months of this hibernating lark ahead of me so a grip must be got!

A myriad muses (musii?) for all my writer friends! And whether the shade of Mrs W likes it or not, I’m calling up one of my favourites quotes.

Onward & sideways as my mum used to say. Apposite on Mother’s Day too! I kissed her picture this morning & like to imagine, she kissed me back.

Naming things makes them real

01 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Mentor, New story, Social Media, Wild Spinning Girls, Writing

It’s an old witchy saying although it could just as easily apply to writers. Days were when we guarded our stories like a dragon guards its gold. Now, in a world where we blog our little hearts out, we give a lot more away.

I know I do. A few years ago I would no more share a story I was currently planning than I would my toothbrush. And yet, since I began blogging here – about five years give or take – I’ve shared more & more of not only the process of my writing but the content. It’s something to do with new notions of networking I think. Social media sharing has become massive.

These past two weeks I’ve felt very exposed, albeit in a joyful, just been published again way. The blog tour for Wild Spinning Girls has been a triumph, the reviews gratifying & in some cases mindblowing. And I was featured in the local paper too!

It’s all been about me & my book, which is wonderful & hopefully, the exposure will translate into sales & more reviews.

It’s another ‘famous for fifteen minutes’ thing though, isn’t it? A writer is only as good as her next book? And I’ve been banging on about my fourth, back & forth & undecided, until I’ve made my own head spin. A few weeks ago I was categorical. My next book would be the one about the river. The one I’ve been writing since 2012, on & off. I went back to it while I was in the countdown to WSG coming out, pottering & revising, revising, revising… And then I felt it, like a blow: the loss of what the Welsh call hwyl – a sense of motivational energy that stirs the soul. My soul, was drained because something else was stirring.

Back in January, talking about the River book, I wrote, ‘…why would I abandon over 80k anyway? You only do that if the story has no legs.’ 

I fear not only have the legs fallen off, so have the wheels. During two conversations with two different people, each of them beautifully & coherently said things that perfectly ‘named’ where I find myself. The first was said by a writer friend who has known this oscillating story from its inception. She said, ‘[this book] is the ghost of the writer you were … she flits in and out between books, tempting and taunting you to take a step back into that time when it was all still ahead of you.’

These words fed seamlessly into the ones uttered by my mentor when we caught up recently & I tried to explain my ‘dilemma’ to her. What do I write next? Stick with ‘River’ or write the one that’s now nagging rather than whispering. In what was almost an echo of my friend, she said, ‘River is the story your other books bounce off.’ And went on to reassure me that nothing is wasted, that putting away the old in order to make room for the new – not least when the hwyl for it is very definitely there – is as much about author instinct as anything else.

There we are then. In July last year, I wrote this: ‘… there’s another one. A new story that excites me so much I can’t stop thinking about it.’ It does so yes, I’m going to write that one. #Book4.

And say very little about it until it feels real… Go underground for a while & trust the muse.

Standing in the light

02 Sunday Feb 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

Imbolc, Wild Spinning Girls, Writing

It’s been twenty years today since my mother died. At Imbolc – the time of renewal.

Then it felt like heartless timing, but the years soften the sadness & two decades on, with two books published & the third about to be born, I wonder what she would have thought. I suspect she would have been proud of me. My lovely mum was proud of everything I did.

At the time of her death, I was middle-aged, still working full time & with only the vaguest notion of writing to be published. It was to be a few more years before I took that notion to the next level & began taking my writing seriously. And several more before my publishing dream came true. Even so, I look back at that woman, with her insecurities well-honed, sensing it was a good thing it took so long.

I didn’t know it then, but the mentoring & wisdom that was to come my way would prove vital. It shaped me as a writer & turned me into an author.

On my birthday, a few days ago, a small parcel arrived from my lovely editor/publisher at Honno & in it, two copies of Wild Spinning Girls. I confess to a lump in my throat. It never stops being the best thing – holding your finished book in your hand for the first time. And yes, I both stroked & sniffed it…

Wild Spinning Girls is a novel about mothers & daughters. About two young, very different women with one thing in common: their brilliant, lost mothers adored them.

Today then – remembering my lovely mum – I stand in the light, celebrate the turning of the Wheel & share a moment with her.

Wild Spinning Girls is available for pre-order: http://tinyurl.com/vlg9ec7

Less a resolution … more a plan…

05 Sunday Jan 2020

Posted by Carol Lovekin in Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Book 4, New story, Old story, Underwater the Stars Shine Brighter, WG2, Writing

I’m an Aquarian – I love a plan. And it is this: after some thought & a number of steely glares from that there Janey Stevens, I’m committing to the book that’s been abandoned so many times it’s now in therapy.

At midwinter, at our last writing group of the year, Janey asked me what was stopping me writing the book that has, for several years, affectionately been known as RiverBook. She was having none of my, ‘Well, there’s this other story & it won’t leave me be…’ nonsense. Conscientious writing partner that she is, she challenged me to look at why I was prevaricating.

In the end, it was simple – it was the beginning.

I’ve changed the trajectory of this story many times, abandoned great swathes of it: plot lines, format & so forth. Introduced a new & relevant character. And simplified it. What I hadn’t done was pay attention to the beginning. I thought I knew where this story began but I’d missed an important trick.

Magic notwithstanding (if you hang with witch women who write, expect spells, dear reader) I’ve learned many valuable lessons since I began this writing lark. Not least from my mentor & my editor. One is to know the provenance of my stories – the root of them if you like. Most of mine offer some sort of nod to legend or fairytale. RiverBook is no exception. In it, I’ve played with the old selkie tale & given it a different slant. I like my version & that aspect – the essence of the story – has never been in dispute.

Once I knew (what I’d always known because we do – we just need a nudge from a friend) it was easy. Begin at the actual beginning. And why would I abandon over 80k anyway? You only do that if the story has no legs. This one can swim… And that’s where I must begin: in the water…

Now I have it, that’s my plan. Finish RiverBook & call it by the name I conjured some time ago: Underwater the Stars Shine Brighter. It’s a bit of a mouthful so I may opt for an acronym… A hashtag even. #UTSSB – go me.

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