“I’m Just…” 2013 365 Challenge #130

I’m Just Finishing my Lunch Mummy

One of the things I’ve discovered since spending many hours a week writing for a living (and since having children) is that I have lots of phrases and words that I say too often, without realising it.

I noticed it from the children first, when phrases like “that’s so random” started coming out of my daughter’s mouth.

I haven’t tallied it, that would be too depressing, but I imagine I say it a dozen times a day. That at least is quite cute coming from a four-year-old. There are other phrases, some repeatable, some not, that I’d rather my kids hadn’t learned.

Phrases crop up in my writing too. I’m considerably more aware of them since starting the daily blog, because I’m also editing every day. In the past editing happened in chunks, I would use ‘find/replace’ to remove evil, repetitive words, and they would disappear from my mind. Words like “Wow” and “Absolutely” spring to mind. I say them, I write them. Far too often.

I’m Just looking at these gnomes and flowers Mummy

If only speech was as easy to edit as a manuscript. If I could ‘find/replace’ in my head and remove all the annoying words from my speech. Because, then, I could stop my kids saying them.

The naughty words or bad phrases they pick up from me in my weaker moments are easily controlled because they come back rarely and then only to test me.

The harmless words, though, the ones that are simply annoying: they’re much harder to remove, from their mouths or mine.

At the moment the evil word is “Just”.

I suspect I say it a hundred times a day. Something like this:

Kids: “Mummy, sit with us!”

Mummy: “I’m just going to stack the dishwasher/make a cuppa/ put the dog out”

I’m sure “Just a minute” is a standard parenting phrase, however horrible. Only, now the tables are turned. It’s:

Mummy: “Time to go kids, put your shoes on.”

Kids: “I’m just finding my toy/ making my bed/ putting this irrelevant thing into this box.”

Knowing you started it makes it no less frustrating. More so in fact. Now every time I hear myself saying “Just”, I cringe and attempt to think of another word. I’m as self-conscious in my speech as I am becoming in my writing, through editing Claire every day. I just need to think of different words, then I just need to say them often enough that the kids just forget they ever heard the word just. Hmmm.

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire stood chewing a fingernail, watching the two men talking through the small pane of glass in the door. A knot behind her ribs throbbed in time with the ache in the back of her skull. I should probably drink something other than caffeine before my head caves in.

She could hear Ruth breathing softly behind her. The sound was no longer comforting. Her sister hadn’t woken once in the twelve hours and more since Claire had arrived at the hospital. She studied the faces of the doctor and her brother, trying to guess the gist of their conversation from their expressions.

Both looked serious but Claire knew that was Robert’s habitual expression, and tried not to let it twist the knot ever tighter in her tummy. The room closed in around her, hot and muggy. Claire had already tried the window but it didn’t open.

What do they think Ruth will do, try and shimmy down the drainpipe and run for freedom. Or maybe someone will climb up four stories and break in to steal the personal effects of a sick person. There must be easier methods of security.

A dry cough behind her caused Claire to spin round. Grasping the wall to steady herself as lack of sleep and too much caffeine made her head spin, Claire peered at the lump of sheets on the bed to see if Ruth was awake. There seemed no life and for a moment Claire felt her own heart stop. Don’t let her be dead, I couldn’t stand it. Not on my watch. Not ever.

With a push against the wall, Claire propelled herself towards the bed, slumping onto the pull down mattress before her knees betrayed her.

“Ruth? Can you hear me, sis?” And still the motionless silence dragged at the air, making it hard to breathe. Claire leaned closer, trying to see her sister’s face. It was turned into the pillow as if hiding from the brightness.

“Do you want me to turn out the light, Ruthie?” There was no response. Then Claire thought she could detect a flicker of movement, a flutter of eyelash. One eye flicked open, searched around, then closed again.

“Light’s fine.”

Claire exhaled loudly in relief.

“But, Claire…”

She waited, straining to hear the whisper of sound.

“If you’re going to lean so close after coffee, can you at least suck on a mint?””

Claire sat back in shock, heat flooding her face. Then she heard the dry coughing sound again and realised her sister was laughing. Feeling as high as helium, she began laughing too. She saw the doctor and Robert turn towards the sound, their matching frowns deepening. The sight only made Claire laugh harder.

***

Relentless Revision: 2013 365 Challenge #74

This is me when faced with revision…

I’ve been revising Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes all day today.

Well, no, let’s be honest. I’ve been farting about on Twitter and WordPress and getting my head around Hotmail switching to Outlook, while thinking to myself I should be doing revision.

I’ve watched Homes Under the Hammer, dozed on the sofa and walked the dog. I’ve stacked the dishwasher, although I haven’t hoovered or cleaned the floor like I should have (just delegated the hoovering to hubbie but now I feel guilty because domestic chores are my job).

Have I mentioned before I hate doing revision on my novels? Probably once or twice. I’m fine for a page or two but then the sheer scale of the job overwhelms me, or I come across a scene that really stinks, and that’s it. Poof. All motivation evaporates. I really really want to stop working on Baby Blues (it will never be ‘finished’!) but if I release it into the world before it’s ready it will die and maybe take my (currently non-existent) reputation as an author with it.

On a happier note my wandering through the world of WordPress has introduced me to some great new blogs. I thought I should have a look wider than the parenting/writing blogs I tend to follow, and I’ve found some lovely photography sites and other more general ones. When I have time (i.e. when I’m meant to be revising again) I’ll pick out one or two to share.

Anyway, I think it’s time to have something different happen to Claire. I have an idea or two floating around so going to open my Word doc and see what falls on the page.

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Claire pulled her coat tighter and tucked her chin into the collar. After the heat of the pub the night air was bitter. She had stayed longer than intended, enjoying the open fire and the good wine, and now the sky had settled into a dusky shade of blue.

What a stupid idea to walk. I must stop listening to advice. Who cares if it’s only fifteen minutes, I got enough exercise this morning with those horrible brats and the oh-so-charming Pete.

The sun had set behind her and she knew the sky was laced with red and orange. Ahead it was dark, with only a faint glow highlighting the hills beyond the village.

I hope there are streetlamps up the lane. I didn’t think to bring a torch. Claire dug in her bag for her iPhone and used it to light the road ahead. I don’t want to step in anything nasty.

She walked on, concentrating on the pavement directly in front of her in case some careless dog owner had left something behind. These are the only shoes I’ve got that aren’t already crusted with mud. I’d like to keep them that way.

Ideas for her blog post drifted through her mind, floating on a glass of wine and settling into the rhythm of her stride. How am I going to write about this morning in a funny way without getting Pete into trouble? I guess I don’t have to name him. She thought about the weaseling trip and laughed, the sound echoing in the still night air. Too many pies. Cheeky bastard. Patting her tummy Claire thought that maybe her jeans were a little tighter than they had been a few weeks ago. It’s all these pub dinners. Why do they have to make the Fish and Chips look so yummy on the menu? Mind you, it was yummy. But it’s not exactly sushi or noodles. If there was any justice I’d be burning the calories doing stupid things like walking back to the hostel in the dark.

As if the words formed an image in her mind Claire became aware of just how dark it was. The pool of orange light cast by each streetlamp only seemed to highlight the darkness in between. Killing the light on the iPhone she tried to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Her heart thudded loudly and she twitched at the sound of something scurrying in the hedgerow behind her.

What’s with all these looming walls and rustling trees? It’s spookier than a cemetery at Halloween. Come on girl, you’re not one to be afraid of a bit of black. Sheesh don’t add fear of the dark to your newly found phobias. Josh will piss himself laughing.

Claire opened her shoulders and raised her neck as if she was back in Madame Émile’s ballet class imagining a line pulling her head to the ceiling. It was as she was about to release the inhaled breath that she heard the footsteps. They were steady, unhurried, coming up behind her. She resisted the urge to walk faster. City life had taught her to ignore the approach of others, to remember that not every stranger on the street was out to kill you.

She strode the length of a long wall and saw the turning to the hostel driveway up ahead, past some houses set back from the road. The footsteps behind her seemed to be drawing nearer although their pace matched her own. It made her think it must be someone with a long stride. Or someone intent on catching me up.

Her heartbeat came faster now and the battered fish sat heavy in her stomach. She lengthened her own stride and glanced up and down the road ready to cross and turn up the drive. She deliberated whether to abandon the walk home and return to the safety of village. It was unlikely that the driveway had any lighting and she didn’t remember there being houses between the main road and the hostel.

Silly girl. Why didn’t I drive down for dinner? Or leave earlier. Somewhere between the thump thump of her footsteps and their unwanted echo and the timpani-pounding of her heart Claire knew why she hadn’t bothered. This is Hope Valley. People don’t get attacked out here. People get attacked in cities like Manchester. She thought about all the news stories she had seen with some poor soul sobbing, explaining that that sort of thing just didn’t happen round here. Claire felt the blood drain from her face at the thought that it has to happen somewhere.

The attack came from her right, not from behind. She had been so concerned with the footsteps she had failed to see the shadowy figure lurking on a park bench beneath the trees. Claire felt someone grab at her bag, trying to pull it from her shoulder. She swung out an elbow and let the bag slip free, knowing her phone was in her hand and her wallet in her back pocket. She’d at least learned that much. As soon as the bag was free she ran, hoping the man had what he wanted. She had forgotten about the footsteps, the fact that anyone following her would have seen her phone in her hand.

The first pursuer caught up with her as she crossed the road. Self-defence classes came to her aid and she jabbed the heel of her hand into his solar plexus before he could get a good grip. He crumpled, winded, and Claire span back to the driveway, wondering if her trembling legs would carry her the full distance before the second person arrived.

Her mind screamed at her to do something and without stopping to consider she yelled “Call Michael”. She heard her phone ringing in the pitch black of the lane. The screen lit up as the call connected.

Oh stupid girl.

The light shone bright in the darkness and the running footsteps came straight for her. Something sped through the air and she felt the impact against her temple, as a piercing pain stabbed through her head and blurred her vision.

A familiar voice rang in the darkness. “Hello? Michael speaking.”

Claire felt someone wrench the phone from her hand and then nothing.

***

291 More Posts To Go!!! (bookmavenpicks.wordpress.com)

Happy Birthday WriterMummy! 2013 365 Challenge #64

It’s my Birthday (well, WriterMummy’s anyway)

WordPress has informed me that my blog is officially a year old today! And what a year it has been. I have journeyed from trying to promote writing tips, through realising I am not qualified to offer writing advice, to writing a daily novel and chatting about my family life.

Twelve months ago this point seemed impossibly distant and yet, little by little, here I am. I have 81 blog followers, I’ve posted 121 times and have had 3267 views. I’ve had as many views so far this year (4th March) as I had for the whole of March 2012. In my former life as a Data Analyst I would call that a good result with clear evidence of growth.

Of course I’m a long way from achieving the holy grail of 1000 True Fans but then I’m also a long way from producing a book worthy of them! I dug out Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes today, to see how far from finished it truly is. The first section is okay – I always start at the beginning when I do revision. I don’t always make it to the end. By the third and final section I was wincing in pain at the clumsiness and sheer awfulness of the prose. I’m embarrassed I asked friends to read it or thought it was ready for querying.

What I need is a plan.

The Crowden YHA – Photo by John Fielding

When faced with a 116k manuscript the thought of detailed revision cripples me. Also I worry about story arc, character arc and all that stuff. However, if I assume the story is mostly okay (the friends that read it didn’t highlight anything terrible, they just didn’t enthuse, if you know what I mean?) and concentrate on tightening the prose then maybe that will be more manageable. I’m going to treat each scene (there are about 200) as a ‘Claire’ instalment and edit them as such, making sure they have a clear opening and a neat close. It feels a mammoth task but if I am methodical I might actually get to the end this time. So what if it takes another year, at least it won’t be awful. Guess I’ll be putting my self-publish cover away for a little while yet.

On the blog front my little boy has chicken pox, despite being vaccinated, so the posts might be a little bit sparse or rough this week. Today’s post is about grounding Claire back in the YHA hostels and introducing her to Derbyshire. She has about ten days before the Easter holidays (and Sky) so I might have her wander round the Dales for a while. We’ll see.

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“Just yerself is it?”

Claire nodded without raising her head.

“Dorm or private room luv? We’ve got a single room as it happens. Some lass rang in a cancellation this morning.”

Claire paused, pen hovering over the form, then resumed writing. “Dorm is fine, assuming you have single-sex?” I think I’ve had my fill of men this month.

The man behind the counter tapped at his computer and assured her they did. “Staying long in Glossop?”

“Oh no, just tonight thanks.”

The man nodded knowledgeably. “Pennine Way?”

His words drew a reluctant smile. “No, I managed one leg, up at the finish. That was enough for me. I’m heading south to collect my niece.”

She didn’t add that she intended to pick off as many Derbyshire hostels as possible en-route or that her primary concern was to get away from Manchester. After leaving the Airport she hadn’t returned to the city, despite having several hours to kill before she could check into the Crowden Hostel. Instead she’d taken a detour to a hotel outside Hyde that her iPhone informed her boasted a Starbucks. It turned out the hotel also had full leisure facilities and empty rooms. It was only by imagining the look of smug satisfaction on Carl’s face if he ever found out that she stopped herself checking in for the night.

“We’re the first leg, you could always do that and say you’d started and finished. No need to talk of the middle.” The receptionist gave Claire a wink and a grin. She frowned while she tried to remember what they were talking about, then grinned back. A cheater’s version of the Pennine Way. That’s my kind of thinking.

“I might just do that, if I can get it done tomorrow and still move on Edale.”

“Yer heading to Edale? Well that’s the start right enough. Walk from here to there and you’ll be done.”

“Walk with my pack? And what about the car? No thanks. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m in Edale and stroll up the first few miles. That should be plenty.”

“You’ll be spoilt for choice at Edale: Kinder Scout, Mam Tor. You won’t want to leave.”

“Believe me, one night and I’ll be off. I need to be in Cambridgeshire by next week.”

If the receptionist thought Claire’s plans strange he didn’t let on. She was about to leave for her room when he stopped her.

“Make sure you pop by Holmfirth while you’re with us. It’s where they filmed Last of the Summer Wine. Though I suppose you’re too young to remember it?”

Blimey, that takes me back. Uncle Jim must have watched every episode and rerun. Perhaps I will take a look, put something on the blog. It might make Uncle Jim smile wherever he is.

“I will. Thank you.” Claire dug out her brightest smile for the helpful man and pulled her rucksack up onto her back. She felt a decade older than she had twenty-four hours earlier. As she bent over to counter-balance the heavy bag, Claire thought she must look at least ninety.

Nora Batty eat your heart out. All I’m missing is the wrinkly stockings. She shuddered at the thought. At least it hasn’t come to that.

Dragging her lead-filled shoes towards the stairs, Claire tried not to pine for the Leisure Hotel with the Starbucks on-site.

It’s just the hangover wiping me out. I need to feed it carbs and water, that’s all. And then sleep.

***

Dragon Wraiths Dreaming: 2013 365 Challenge #53

New cover design for Dragon Wraiths – almost ebook ready

I had an unscheduled filling in my tooth this morning so have spent my nursery day curled up on the sofa feeling pathetic. My dentist is 38 weeks pregnant and will be off for six months so she offered to fill the hole she discovered at my routine check up right then. Unfortunately I had breakfast early today (woke at 5.30am when the baby alarm went off because son’s bedroom was so cold) and the numbing injection gave me the shakes. Bless them they were rushing round trying to find me a glucose tablet. Note to self: eat fewer sweeties! (I eat all the ones the kids get in party bags and don’t like. You know, the sticky ones that you don’t want them eating anyway because they’re so bad for their teeth!)

Actually I’ve put my need to huddle under a blanket to good use by working on formatting Dragon Wraiths for self-publishing. I have had long debates about whether to self-publish it or not and in the end I ran out of reasons not to. I still want an agent and a publisher’s deal but in the meantime I may as well see if anyone actually wants to read it! Besides, I had a lot of fun working on the front cover. It isn’t perfect but better than my previous two designs.

The need to do the marketing has put me off in the past but if I’m not worried about it being an overnight success there is no pressure. If it sells a few copies great. If people borrow it from the libraries (I’ve set it as free to libraries) and are moved to leave feedback, well that will be marvellous. If nothing else it is all great formatting practice. Who knows, I might end up making my money earning $40 a time editing books for Smashwords (although I can think of easier ways to make $40!)

Anyway, as a result of my early start, aching jaw and editing frenzy, today’s post is likely to be another short one rather than my normal meaty nursery-day fare. I want to write some witty banter between Beth, Chloe and Josh for Claire to witness but I can’t recall any Canadian and Irish idioms so I may not manage it. I find it really hard writing dialogue in any other ‘tone’ than my own middle-class-white-English.

[Apropos nothing it turns out there’s a new Rolls Royce called a Wraith. Better than the Microsoft Office 365 that keeps appearing in my suggested related articles list!]

Update: Dragon Wraiths is now live, hurrah! Anyone interested in reading it can download it free for the next week, using the following promotion code:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/287131

Promotional price: $0.00
Coupon Code: NM53X
Expires: February 28, 2013

You have to sign up to Smashwords to download it I think but you can read the 20% sample without logging in.

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“Come on Claire, keep up.”

Claire glared at the V-shape of people in front of her as Beth, Chloe and Josh powered across the lake. Training hadn’t been so bad and Claire had been thrilled with how quickly she had mastered the art of propelling the craft strapped to her hips. Her bubble of happiness quickly deflated when they reached the open water and her so-called companions left her rocking gently in their wake.

Refusing to capsize through trying to catch up, Claire concentrated on getting her technique right and on ignoring the blisters forming across the pads of her palms.

“That’s it Claire, great, you’re getting the hang of it. For a first-timer you’re doing brilliantly.”

Claire turned to smile at the instructor and her paddle stuck in some weed. It wrenched sideways, nearly tipping her out of her kayak.

Eyes forward, Claire. Josh will pee his pants laughing if you take a dip in this freezing pond.

“This is grand!” Beth’s voice floated back across the water as she and Chloe prodded at each other with their paddles, each trying to put the other in the lake.

“Your friends seem a right craic, how long have you been travelling together?”

Claire looked back carefully, trying to locate the source of the new voice without tipping herself over.

“I’m not travelling with them. As far as I can tell they all met yesterday on the bus over from Keswick. I met Josh last week a bit further north.”

“Really? They seem like buddies from way back. That’s travelling for you, I guess.” The man deftly paddled forward until he was alongside Claire’s red kayak. He waved a salute and said, “name’s Charlie.”

“Claire.” She nodded in return and tried not to clash her paddle against his.

The void of conversation yawned between them, demanding to be filled. She didn’t feel like chatting but it was obvious that the man wanted to talk and, besides, Josh and the girls were too far ahead for anything but a bellowed exchange of words. She groped for something to say.

“Are you travelling with friends?”

“Nah I’m going solo. Just a month or three before I head back to Ireland to find a job. It aint easy right now, specially not in Dublin. Thought I’d have a bit o’ fun before I have to get me hands dirty.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a chef. Or leastways that’s what I’m trained fer. What I’ll be doing back in Dublin is anyone’s guess.”

“Is there not much work in catering?” Claire listened to her words and wanted to Eskimo-roll into the lake. No wonder the others have buggered off. Could you be any more boring?

If her new friend found her question obvious or dull he was either too polite or too shocked to let on.

“There’s not much work of any sort. Times is hard. Not a great time to be looking for paid employment.”

Claire shivered beneath her waterproofs. I hope that doesn’t apply to me. Her head was already full of images of starting a new job since her arrival at the activity centre with Josh and his mini-harem. Claire wasn’t sure how much more adrenalin-seeking, or rubbing shoulders with strangers, she could willingly do, no matter how much she wanted not to fail.

“What is it you do?” The man threw out the question between puffs as he paddled to keep up with Claire who had veering off to the left.

“I work in… marketing.” She hoped he hadn’t notice the tiny hesitation. Lord only knows what it is I do these days?

As often happened when Claire told someone in a vocational career what she did for a living, the man’s face went blank. His lips opened and shut slightly as he sought something interesting to say in response.

“That’s nice.”

Claire chuckled under her breath and held her paddle aloft as a wake from a passing boat rocked the kayak. I guess no one knows what people in marketing actually do, least of all people in marketing. Play with pretty pictures and read papers, I think that’s the general consensus. What about kayaking across a freezing lake in the north of England, or dangling from a tree suspended by a rope and harness? Abseiling down a waterfall? Sharing a room with five other women, some of whom have only a passing relationship with shower gel. Are they things I can puff-off on my CV?

The sound of splashing shook Claire from her reverie and she looked up just in time to get a face-full of water from Josh’s paddle as he swung round beside her.

“Thanks. As if I wasn’t cold enough.”

“Lighten up cranky, what’s eating you? You’ve been chillier than a penguin’s arse since we pitched up yesterday. If you really wanted to ditch me you should have headed to Liverpool like you said.”

“Would that be better? Am I cramping your style?”

“Ha, it’d take more than a jealous Sheila to cramp my style.”

“Jealous? I’m not jealous. If you choose to hook up with every woman under the age of fifty that passes your way that’s no concern of mine.”

Claire dipped her paddle in the water and pushed her craft forwards, concentrating on her technique so Josh had nothing else to sneer at. The sun shone overhead but didn’t penetrate the waterproof and life-jacket she was bundled in. Claire lowered her head and pictured the mug of hot chocolate waiting for her when they returned to the activity centre.

Josh paddled alongside her in silence for a few minutes before clucking his tongue and digging his paddle in deep. He was soon several lengths ahead and the sound of his laughter mingled with Chloe and Beth’s as the three of them splashed each other like naughty schoolchildren.

***

Self-Publishing vs.Traditional Publishing: I’m Choosing Both (creativemysteries.wordpress.com)

Gosh February – 2013 365 Challenge #32

First pass at a cover for the YHA Novel (image is a bit small as I only had a couple of istockphoto credits left)

First pass at a cover for the Novel

I can’t believe it’s February already! Where did January go? Unfortunately I’ve entered the new month with a stinking cold. It’s been threatening all day but finally wrapped itself around me as we went to fetch the kids from nursery.

I have been making cards and mini paintings for the gallery today as well as trying to pull together January’s Claire instalments into an ebook. Unfortunately it looks like I won’t be able to offer the ebook for free but I’m still investigating how it all works for kindle: despite reading a dozen blogs on the subject I’m still a complete newbie when it comes to e-publishing!

I have found a cheap image for my front cover (unfortunately the image is tiny as I only had 2 istockphoto credits left so I’ve had to rescale it for the Kindle cover. Definitely work in progress) and I’m pummeling my brain for a better title than “two-hundred steps home” but nothing has come forward yet – suggestions gratefully received!

New mini paintings for the Valentines Display at Art in the Heart

I had hoped to finish the ebook ready for anyone who wants to catch up from the beginning but doesn’t want to wade through 31 posts but it seems my word document has lost some formatting so I need to re-read it from the beginning. That’s going to be frustrating because I don’t intend to edit the posts at this stage (aside from any missed typos). I want to keep it true to the blog for now. I’m going to have to sit on my hands as I’ve already found one continuity error (on Day 7 I write about the street light shining through Claire’s window but later I say she has blackout blinds). There are bound to be others.

Anyway I need to fight this cold off for half an hour more and write something about Claire’s next experience…

P.S. My husband took the kids for two hours this morning so I’ve got some sort of version of the January e-book going through Kindle review process although I haven’t yet written anything for the post. I have thirty minutes to my 10am deadline and husband and kids are at the end of their tolerance so might be another short one today!)

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“Ow!”

“Stop being such a girl.”

“I am a girl and that hurts!”

Josh looked up at Claire and shook his head. “What possessed you to take your hands off the handlebars anyway? You said you hadn’t been on a bike since you were a nipper.”

Claire lowered her head so her hair fell over her face. “I felt like I was flying. I wanted to sit up and feel the wind in my face.”

“Dingbat! Only the pros take their hands off on a cross-country track.” Josh dabbed at the blood pouring from beneath Claire’s ripped trousers.

“Oh look at my GAP jeans, they’re ruined.” Claire’s wail at the state of her clothes was louder than the cry of pain as Josh picked gravel from the wound.

“Nothing a patch won’t fix.”

“I am not putting a patch on my jeans. I might be reduced to sleeping in a bunk-bed and driving a rust bucket but I am not walking round with patches on my clothes.”

“Find yourself a Thrifty then. What do you call them here? A charity shop. That’s where most of my stuff comes from.”

Claire shuddered at the thought of wearing something already used and abused by someone else. It might be time to dip into my wages again. I couldn’t do this backpacking thing for real. She vowed to find a Mountain Warehouse or whatever at the next decent-sized town she came to. I’ll be buggered if I’m going to wreck my good clothes for Carl’s sake.

Josh applied a plaster to Claire’s knee and wiped her other scrapes and grazes with an antiseptic wipe.

“You’re pretty handy at that first aid thing,” Claire said. “I can’t stomach the sight of blood, even my own.”

“I used to work in a hospital back in Oz.” Josh’s voice was closed, preventing Claire from asking the questions that pushed at her lips.

“So, what’s your plan for the rest of the day, Planning Lady?” He looked up brightly at her and then pushed himself to his feet to sit down next to her at the table.

“Move on to the next hostel. If I leave now I’ll be there before reception closes.”

“What is the next hostel?” Josh picked at some dirt under his nails.

“Well, the nearest one is a bunkhouse and I’ve decided to leave those until the summer – I have to come back for Wooler anyway – so I’m going on to Once Brewed.”

“Once Brewed? That’s the name of a hostel? Awesome! Count me in!” He turned to face her, his face split in a grin.

Claire took in his expectant expression, like a dog sitting at the fridge. Oh crap he wants to come with me. What do I do? Claire had some notion that backpackers spent a lot of time hitchhiking but she hadn’t equated that with taking anyone along with her. Can I bear to travel with someone? What if I can’t get rid of him?

While her brain churned Josh sat staring, his eyes boring into the side of her face. Oh what the hell. I can always leave while he’s asleep. It might be nice to travel with someone who knows how this hostelling thing works. It’s not like we’ll have to share a room. Most of the dorms have been single-sex so far.

She turned to face Josh, grinning at the expression on his face. “Sure, why not? Can you be ready to leave in an hour?”

“You bet!” Josh jumped up and went to leave the room. He stopped at the door, walked briskly back to Claire and gave her a quick, odoriferous, peck on the cheek. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been stuck in this damn place waiting for a lift out. You’re an angel!” He turned to leave again and Claire called out to him to wait. He turned anxiously.

“Josh? Take a shower.”

***

From Blog to Kindle eBook – Free Gift (buildabetterblog.com)
Gosh, You’re Amazing (xmelissalittle.wordpress.com)

Let it snow, Let it snow, Let it melt. Day #15 of the 2013 Challenge.

My husband and I had fun building this while the kids were at nursery

I’ve spent most of today trying to get back to editing Pictures of Love while watching the snow get steadily thicker outside. I need to monitor the snow to make sure it doesn’t get so heavy we can’t get to nursery to pick the kids up.

My kids looking very unimpressed to be out in the snow at 7.30am

I took them out in the snow before we left this morning, in case it doesn’t hang around, and they were ready to come in after five minutes. They prefer a nice deep muddy puddle or a warm sandy beach I think. Daddy’s going to be disappointed – he’s desperate for them to be able to put their own gloves on so we can all go skiing.

It’s been hard getting back to Pictures of Love. I know it so well now I am truly sick of reading it (hence why the first chapters are so much more polished than the last. This is the fifth time I’ve sat down to edit it and I don’t think I’ve made it to the end once). My boredom makes me think I should just bin it and accept it’s never going to fly.

Somehow I can’t do that.

My husband was rather pleased with his snowman

It isn’t just all the hours that have gone into writing it. It’s more the ‘not giving up’ ethos that I know goes with being a writer. Who am I to say it’s awful? Anything that’s familiar becomes ordinary no matter how beautiful it may appear to someone else.

I recently got back the critique of the first chapter I paid for as part of a competition and it was surprisingly enthusiastic. I’ve had the first chapter critiqued before and they basically tore it to shreds, finding nothing to commend it. I’m okay with criticism but you’ve got to have something to build on! This time, though, it was praised for its strong voice and humour – things I was worried it didn’t have.

So I’m not giving up, just plod-plodding along. I’ve decided to send out some query letters – the novel isn’t ready to be self-published so I may as well fill the time somehow. At least I know the first three chapters are polished! (By the way, how bloomin’ long does it take to write query letters and find people to send them to! I can’t believe how many hours I can lose and still only send one query…)

Enough rambling. Here is the latest installment of the YHA Novel.

_____________________________________________________________________________

“Claire, over here!”

Claire looked round the half-empty pub for a familiar face but nothing jumped out. She was casting her gaze back across the bar when she saw a hand waving from a dark corner.

“Kim, there you are.” Claire made her way through stools and tables to reach her friend. “Your hair! My God, I didn’t recognise you.”

She bent over to kiss her friend’s cheek before sliding in next to her. Her eyes fixed on the bright red points sticking up from her Kim’s head. “I don’t know what’s more dramatic, the colour or the spikes.”

“I know, wicked isn’t it? Mum hates it…” She giggled like a little girl.

“Kim, you’re not sixteen anymore you know: pissing off your mum doesn’t need to be your primary concern.” She laughed, but in truth she was shocked. Kim’s hair had always been a beautiful blonde. It was the reason they met.

Claire remembered it, even now. She had crossed the playground on their first day at primary school and asked if she could touch Kim’s hair. It had been soft, like a fairy princess’s. Claire had tugged at her own thick brown locks in disgust. Now Claire stroked her dark straight hair and marvelled at her friend’s bravery.

“Oh I didn’t do it just to annoy Mum, although that’s always fun. No, I’m in a play, it’s part of the costume.”

“Is it a wig?”

“Nah, they offered one but where’s the fun in that?”

Claire laughed at her friend. “Shall I get drinks?”

Kim nodded. It was an unspoken rule between them that Claire got the drinks. Kim had been an actress since University and had yet to secure anything that paid more than a pittance, while Claire’s work had always been well remunerated.

“So, what’s the play?”

“Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m playing puck.”

“Hey, that’s great. I thought puck was normally a boy?”

Kim smiled cheekily, looking every inch the playful character. “There’s no ‘normally’ in Shakespeare. You’ve got to remember they were all originally played by men.”

“Talking of men, how’s yours?”

Kim flushed and grinned. “Hot, hard, handsome.”

Claire felt a pain under her rib cage at the look on her friend’s face. Kim had been engaged to her fiancé Jeff for two years. They were waiting for more affluent circumstances before they got married. The girls hadn’t seen each other for months, not since Michael, although they were linked on Facebook. Claire tensed, waiting for Kim to start the twenty questions. She stared at her drink then flicked her eyes up to her friend’s pale pixie face.

“Your mum told me you were starting a new assignment.” Kim gazed at Claire over her glass and they shared a look which said they knew what wasn’t being discussed. Claire smiled gratefully then took a gulp of her G&T before taking in what Kim had said.

“Mum said that? Blimey, I thought she never listened to a word I said. Wonders never cease.”

“So, come on, what’s the assignment? What drags you out of Manchester mid-week to visit folks and old friends? Not that you rang me…” She raised an eyebrow in mock censure.

“Sorry Kim, my head’s been all over the place. I only decided last night that I was going to come home today.” Claire paused, trying to decide how much to say. Even though they had known each other for over two decades, she and Kim hadn’t been close all that time. When Claire had been sent to public school the girls had drifted apart. They’d got back in touch during their University years and caught up for drinks when Claire was in Cambridge, which wasn’t often.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Kim didn’t sound put-out, just genuinely as if she didn’t want to press her friend for information. Claire thought about the people at AJC she had regarded as friends. Maybe there’s more to friendship than sharing a taste in shoes and handbags. And hairstyles, she added, glancing at the pillar-box red locks shining above Kim’s face.

“They’re trying to make me resign.” It was the first time Claire had said it out loud as if it were fact. She was gratified to see the horror on Kim’s face.

“How? Why?”

“The how is easy, I’m not so sure about the why.” Claire took a deep breath before launching into the tale of her last few weeks, right up to buying her new boots. She angled her foot out from under the table. “Gorgeous aren’t they?”

“I’d rather have the £130 quid!” Kim laughed. “I could buy some fake Uggs for a tenner and pay two weeks rent with the rest.” She let her cheeks fall into an approximation of a serious expression. “So, you’re taking on the assignment then?”

Claire hadn’t told Kim about her Maldives plan. She didn’t want Kim to think of her as a quitter. “Yes, I’ll be driving up to Berwick on Friday.”

“Wow, you’re so brave. That’s about as far out your comfort zone as me putting on tights and heels and tip-tapping into your office to sit at your desk.” She grinned at the mental image and mimed typing at a computer. “Would it suit me?”

Claire laughed too, feeling some of the tension leave her face and shoulders. “You’d be brilliant. You could give Polly, Molly and Sally a run for their money.”

“What are they, the office cats?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Make sure you stay in touch. I don’t get to see much of the country unless it’s the inside of a theatre. Post pictures.”

“That’s part of the assignment. Not that I’ve given it much thought. I suppose I’d better think of a blog name, a Twitter handle, all that bollocks.” She took another swig of G&T. “What should it be? My boss is trying to hound me out?”

“How about Posh Girl Goes Camping?” Kim sniggered. “Not that it’s anything like camping. Most of the rooms are en-suite these days.”

“How about Around England in Thirty Starbucks?” Claire thought about her budget. “Not that I’ll be able to afford them anymore.

“Have Helly Hansons, will travel?”

“Now you’re being silly! No, nothing’s really grabbing me.”

“You’re an Advertising Guru, surely you can think of something?”

Claire sighed. “Apparently I’m not a very good one. Advertising is all about promotion, but who wants to read about my slumming it in hostels for a whole year? I bet Coca Cola had nothing to do with it, it’s all just a sham cooked up by Carl.”

“What if it isn’t though?” Kim looked thoughtful. “I mean, Coca Cola, that’s huge. A horrid Corporate conglomerate peddling a disgusting unhealthy drink but, in your world, it’s big cheese. It might be your chance to get your revenge on your stupid boss.”

Claire considered Kim’s words. She’d forgotten Coca Cola. What if the assignment was for real?

Maybe I should start taking it a bit more seriously.

***

NaNoWriMo irony

The cover I mocked-up for Dragon Wraiths to print a copy via Lulu

I’ve been really struggling this week. Not just with a bad cold, conjunctivitis and a newly-unemployed husband at home scuppering my writing routine. None of those things has helped, of course, any more than the freezing rain, or the end of British Summer Time that has resulted in my kids getting up at 5.30pm every day.

No, what’s really killed my Muse at the worst possible time is the appearance of an unknown character in my head: my Willing Editor.

I’ve met my Inner Editor before – that nasty critic who stops me writing before I’ve even started and tells me everything I write is rubbish. I’m even on nodding acquaintance with my Reluctant Editor. The one who half-edited Pictures of Love before getting bored, and who tortuously ploughed through Dragon Wraiths to meet a deadline.

But to want to edit? To want to edit more than write something new for NaNoWriMo?

Unheard of.

Until now.

I think the change came when my husband commented on how much easier it was to read the second draft of Dragon Wraiths and has told me several times since how impressed he is at how good my editing was.

Praise – it works every time.

Also I’m deliriously happy that I managed to edit Dragon Wraiths enough to make the darn thing actually made sense. For the first time editing has produced tangible results rather than just giving me a headache. Hurrah.

The irony?

Well it’s Nano. I wasn’t going to do it this year, knowing I had too many projects on and am neglecting the family as a result. But I got swept up in the online chat, the excitement, the buzz (although that’s not being helped at present by the fact I’m not receiving the pep-talk emails. I really miss them and hope the guys at Nano fix the problem soon.) I persuaded my husband and my best friend to give NaNoWriMo a try this year. I wrote my top tips which said just get on and do it.

Then I got Writer’s block on a scale I’ve never experienced before. It has taken me five days to even settle on a topic and the one I have chosen is an old novel idea that’s so technical I keep getting dragged off into research. Thus far I’ve managed 1600 words including the synopsis.

Oh, and I’ve edited 30 pages of Pictures of Love. Properly this time. And do you know what? I think I enjoyed that more!

What if anything has derailed your NaNoWriMo this year? Will you get back on track? I now have a dual target of 50k words and 500 pages of editing for November. Apparently I work best under pressure.

p.s. one of my best NaNoWriMo-avoidance activities this week was making a mock front cover for Dragon Wraiths so I could print a copy for my mum for her birthday. It’s not what I’d choose for a final cover but I was pleased I managed to turn a word doc into a printed Lulu book (interior and exterior) in eight hours!

Always get a second opinion

I love a printed manuscript: it LOOKS like 7 months’ work

This week my Young Adult novel, Dragon Wraiths, got long-listed for the Mslexia Children’s Novel Competition. I would like to say I was thrilled when I received the email, but I’d be lying. It came only hours after I had typed up the last second-draft-edit amends and vowed to put the darn novel in the bin/cupboard/big pit in the garden because, seven months after starting it, I still had no idea what it was about.

Instead my overwhelming emotion was fear. How could I send my manuscript off, all 112,500 words of it, with my name on the front (though thankfully the competition is judged anonymously) when I KNEW it was a pile of crap? But I had come so far, invested 7 months of my life, not to say thousands of pounds of nursery fees, plus the competition entry fee. I wasn’t giving up.

So I called in the troops. Sent the novel to my mother and pleaded with her to read it and tell me the most awful plot-hole-disaster bits so I could focus on fixing them before sending the manuscript off a week later.

That was Thursday night. On Friday, when I took the kids over to see her as usual she had to tear herself away from reading the book. My book. Friday night she sent a copy over to my step-dad’s iPad and Saturday morning (early) I got a text to say he was so engrossed she couldn’t get a word out of him. That of course spurred my husband to start reading it again, the edited version this time. I have learned an important lesson about waiting to give out the edited version because he soon couldn’t put it down. (He sat in the car while I took the kids to an indoor play centre on Sunday on the excuse that he had a cold and it was too hot and noisy, when really he wanted to keep reading.)

By Sunday night everyone had finished it.

My step-dad (who isn’t an avid reader, but loved the Twilight series) said “Book 2 Please”.

“What about the plot holes?” I asked, perplexed.

“Well, apart from saying she’s never been camping in part 2 when part 1 pretty much opens with her camping on a hillside, we didn’t find any plot holes.”

“What about the ending? Doesn’t it all feel a bit forced?” It took weeks of agonizing to try to make sense of it all, with me cursing my Pantser habits all the while.

“Ending was great, it all made sense.”

I sat and stared, open mouthed.

So instead of spending this week desperately re-writing huge chunks of my novel I have been calmly tweaking the one or two weak scenes my husband highlighted. Today I printed out all 462 pages and posted it.

Dear manuscript, all my blessings go with you

Leaving me free to start NaNoWriMo tomorrow.

Of course, that’s a different ball game entirely. I was going to rework one of my romances for Nano this year, but now I’m thinking about starting a sequel to Dragon Wraiths. Who knows, unlikely as it seems to me, it might actually go somewhere.

What have I learned?

I’ve always been too scared to relinquish my work to a critique group for fear of being told to give up writing and go back to the day job. I know family members are biased, but my parents don’t give up their weekends lightly. If they read my book non-stop to the end it was because they wanted to. That must count for something. Maybe I need to have more faith in myself.

Writing is a solitary business and editing is worse because you don’t even really have your characters for company. It’s easy to forget what’s good about your novel. You get too close, you lose the ability to feel the suspense, to be swept up in the drama.

My advice? When you have torn your novel apart and rebuilt it from the ground up, and you still think it stinks, remember – ask for a fresh opinion. You might just be pleasantly surprised.

The Knife of Never Letting Go ~ All about conflict

I have just finished reading The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness – part of the reason why I have been quiet on the blog for a while. That and I have been writing a guest post for Findingmycreature, which will hopefully be on her blog sometime in November.

The Knife of Never Letting Go is a stunning book, one that drags you along from the first sentence to the last. I have learned a great deal from reading it, as it consolidated some of the lessons I have been taught through reading blog posts such as Kristen Lamb’s on the role of conflict and Annie Cardi’s on the importance of voice in Young Adult literature.

The voice of Patrick Ness’s main character, Todd Hewitt, is so well realised I almost wept with envy. It has made me revisit my Young Adult book, Dragon Wraiths, and realise there is little distinction between my voice and my lead protagonist’s voice, despite Leah being 20 years younger than I am. I have a lot to learn about creating the voice of a teenager and I may have to wait a decade until my daughter is one before I can recreate the voice as authentically as Ness has.

The book also has conflict in bucket-loads. There is conflict in every scene right through to the very last line. The pace is relentless and the story so compelling it made me sit up until 2am to finish it, even though I knew there was a chance the kids would then kept me awake the rest of the night (they did).

However the book also left me bereft and unsettled because (for me) there was too much conflict. Even when there was the occasional scene without conflict, I knew it was just creating the calm before storm, setting up the irony for when it all went pear-shaped again.

I’m a Libra, we like balance and harmony. My inner peace is wrenched apart by too much conflict. As a result, even though I accept the advice from people like Kristen Lamb about the importance of Goal – Conflict – Disaster, I find it very hard to write. My attempts either become terribly predictable: Oh look, my character is happy, let’s throw some crap at them and make them feel rotten, or I shy away from the places where I could ratchet up the tension and let my protagonist off far too easily.

Reading through Dragon Wraiths I found myself noting again and again – Make more of this, build up this scene, make it harder for Leah. When there’s a sentry in Leah’s way he doesn’t chase her for a league making her terrified and sweeping us up in her fear. Instead he’s distracted by his grumbling tummy and she sneaks past. Another security guard is conveniently on the floor above when she needs to avoid detection. She’s running from the authorities but not once is she approached by a policeman or gets accosted by some busybody in the street who has seen her face on TV. The entire book has less conflict than an episode of Noddy.

I guess the problem for me is that my life is full of enough (generally internal) conflict that I read to escape. At times in The Knife of Never Letting Go I found myself skipping ahead during the most tense and dramatic scenes, to find out the end result, because they were so drawn out I couldn’t sustain that level of suspense for so many pages. It was so expertly written, and I was so caught up in Todd’s exploits, particularly as a result of the very intimate first-person-present prose, that I had to metaphorically hide behind a cushion for some of the scenes. Only Doctor Who ever normally makes me do that (and the only characters in Doctor Who that have made me do that since I was eight are the Angels).

All that aside, Patrick Ness has written an amazing novel with a brilliant concept, 4D characters (my favourite being Manchee the talking dog) and enough things to get me thinking about my own characters’ voices and motivations to keep me re-writing Dragon Wraiths for a decade. It’s just a shame about the cliff-hanger ending. The characters were left in danger. I hate that. And I’m not ready to read the next one in the series yet. After a novel that edgy I need at least three Georgette Heyers to restore my equilibrium. Now, where did I put Friday’s Child?

Revision blues

I have revision blues. I was so excited about starting to revise my WIP but I still have no real understanding of how to go about it, and when I can’t do something it makes me sad. Not very helpful or grown up, I know. If my daughter said such a thing to me I’d tell her it just takes practice and it’s okay to ask for help. She’s three. It’s okay not to know how to do something when you’re three!

I like to think it’s the impossible deadline (combined with a killer cold) that has sucked my motivation, but that’s just an excuse. I’m good at excuses. If I’m honest (in a way you can only really be with yourself at 1am) the difficulty with revision is that it exposes how little I truly know about writing.

I hate being a novice.

I nearly sobbed in rowing today because the coach was telling me I was doing it all wrong. It was only my fourth lesson but I’d done so well the week before it was crushing to be told I was rubbish. No one is more critical of me than me and I get extremely frustrated at myself if I can’t do something. To the point that – like my stroppy three-year-old – I stomp my foot, yell “Can’t do it!” and chuck whatever item I’m holding across the room. (Did I mention I’m more of a child than she is sometimes?)

I read another instructive blog by Kristen Lamb this week, this one was about structure and how it separates the beginners from the professional writers. I confess I didn’t completely understand the blog which probably puts me firmly in the not about to be published anytime soon camp! I do at least own the Plot and Structure book she quotes from: I just need to read it.

So, as well as trying to polish a first draft in an impossible six weeks, just in case I’m shortlisted for the Mslexia award, I’m trying to learn how to write and how to revise all at the same time. It’s no wonder I’ve picked up Garth Nix’s Keys to the Kingdom again. I’m already on Drowned Wednesday. I may not know much about scene and sequel or Goal – Conflict – Disaster but when it comes to displacement activity I’m a master.

The one positive I’ve had so far is discovering a useful revision summary by KittyB78. It doesn’t tell me how to revise but it does give some things to look for, such as scene flow and characterisation. I like the idea of highlighting different parts, like dialogue, internal thought, characterisation, in different colours. There are also some other great revision tips in the comments.

My biggest challenge this year might be resisting the urge to do NaNoWriMo again. I love it and several of my (unfinished) novels were born in November. However the last thing I need right now is another first draft to nag at me and distract me from actually finalising one of my existing manuscripts. Kristen Lamb is always talking about writers being distracted by the next new shiny.

That’s me!

Writing first drafts is so easy compared with revision and yet seems more like Writer work, so I don’t feel guilty for being unemployed as I do most days. If only they could do a revision equivalent of NaNoWriMo, to help and motivate you to beat a Nano first draft into shape. Now that I’d sign up to!

Anyway I think my darling son is finally asleep, despite the tap-taping of my mobile phone and the eerie sight of me up-lit in the darkness, so it’s back to bed for me. I haven’t revised more than a page in a week so must get a good day in tomorrow.

May the muse be ever in your favour.