A daughter’s rejection and 2013 365 Challenge #22

Jungle Party Prep box

So far I seem to be taking the agent rejection thing in my stride. I’ve sent out about ten submissions and had two or three rejections. That’s fine, I expected it. Occassionally if I really liked the agency I’m disappointed but I certainly haven’t taken it personally. However I have discovered a type of rejection today that does hurt.

My daughter’s.

I spent the afternoon painting props for my daughter’s Jungle party, which we’re having in our house this weekend. Nothing fancy just a giant palm tree, a pin-the-tail-on-the-zebra and some leaves for Musical Leaves (think musical chairs). I showed them to her after nursery and her first response was “that one isn’t quite covered. You missed some.” And that was it.

And it HURT.

Jungle Leaves for Musical Leaves

I wanted to yell all sorts of rude things at her. Analysing my over-reaction afterwards I realised that I wasn’t (that) bothered that she didn’t like my jungle leaves. It was more that she was being exactly like me. When my husband does house DIY I’m much more likely to say, “what about this bit?” than “well done that’s amazing.”

Breeding a mini-me has forced me to come to grips with my worst habits and traits and it’s HARD. I’m also worried that she won’t enjoy her party because of something I haven’t managed to get right. She has talked about her birthday party pretty much every day since the last one and it’s become a big thing in her mind. Settling on having a zebra party (which I have expanded to be a jungle party) has put my ingenuity to the test. So far I have only failed to source a zebra cake (and I don’t do baking) so not sure what I’m going to do about that. Hoping I’ll find a store that will do one of those print-from-picture things.

Anyway, as today has been mostly party prep and a couple of query letters I haven’t done any research on Alnwick Youth Hostel. I’m trying to decide whether to send Claire to the castle or focus on her first night in a dorm. You’ll find out in a minute which I chose!

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Claire put her key in the lock, opened the door, and peered into the room as if someone might jump out and attack her. It was dark so she reached inside for a light switch, hoping no one was asleep. Surely no one will be in bed at 8pm?

A quick scan of the bunk beds showed them all unoccupied. Claire released a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding and stepped into the room. It looked like only one or two of the four beds were taken, as there were only two bags in the room. Relieved to be alone Claire shut the door behind her and had a proper look at the room. The walls were blue and cream and there were stripy curtains in similar colours.

It’s not about to win any décor or luxury awards but at least it’s clean.

She looked closely at the beds and realised that both bottom bunks had been claimed by the current occupants. Maybe I should have come straight to the room this morning, I might have been able to claim a bottom bunk. She didn’t fancy the idea of climbing up and down a ladder in the night. I haven’t slept in a top bunk since I was about eight and I got concussion falling out in the night. Thank god mum thought it was time for me and Ruth to have our own rooms.

The memory brought others to mind. How Ruth used to wriggle, shaking the bed as she shifted position every fifteen minutes. How her snoring that would resonate up through the mattress when she had a cold. Claire felt a chill prickle her skin. She hated sharing her space with people. Except Michael. The words entered her mind only to be shoved away.

Claire chose the bunk furthest from the door and tucked her bag in the corner. She removed her nightie and wash-bag from the rucksack and threw them on the bed to stake her claim. Then, with nothing else to keep her, she decided it was time to go and have dinner. She hesitated before taking her iPad from its position stuffed between cashmere sweaters. She had avoided having it on display in the hostel in case it marked her as different, but she needed to spend some time on Twitter and the other social media sites and it would prevent her from looking like an idiot by herself at dinner.

The hostel dining room reminded Claire of school dinners at primary school, before she was whisked away to join the same school her father had attended. Not that there had been girls there in his day. The dining hall there had been rather more opulent.

Claire chose a seat in the corner and prayed no one else would join her. There were a few people in the dining room but it wasn’t crowded. Claire ordered the most palatable thing on offer, then loaded up her blog and tried to think of something interesting to write. She had spent the day in a giant second hand bookstore – largely because it was warm and she didn’t have to walk anywhere. She wasn’t a big reader, but had found herself caught up in some silly romance with a bright cover. The book was in her bag upstairs. Purely for research purposes, so I can embody the backpacker spirit.

“Hello, may we join you?”

Claire looked up from her iPad to see two blonde girls standing in front of her holding trays. A swift glance confirmed what she already knew – that there were empty tables in the dining room. Claire hesitated. She couldn’t bring herself to tell the women no, feck off. But at the same time she didn’t fancy being crowded in by a couple of strangers. She noticed a flicker of consternation whisk across one of the girl’s faces and relented.

“Of course, please.” She gestured to the empty seats and sat back so her iPad wasn’t taking up table space. There are two of them, it’s not like I need to make conversation. Claire resolutely stared at her screen, giving off her best Metro-travelling vibes, the ones that created an area of blank space around her even when the trains were crushed with commuters. It failed.

“Hi, my name is Ola, this is my sister Francis. We are from Sweden. The nice man at reception said you were staying in our room, so we come to say hello.”

Claire looked up and stifled a sigh. She couldn’t ignore them now, no matter how tempting it was to pretend she didn’t speak English. “Hi, I’m Claire, nice to meet you.”

“You are English yes? You travel long?”

The one Claire thought was Ola was clearly puzzled that someone would choose to travel solo round their own country in the middle of winter. Or that’s what I would think anyway. Who knows what she’s thinking under that beautiful Scandinavian mask. Claire tried to decide whether to come up with a story more interesting than the truth, but she couldn’t find the energy. She settled for a slight twisting of the facts.

“I’m a writer. I’m researching a piece on hostelling in Britain.”

The girl who hadn’t yet spoken, Francis, lit up at the words. “You write for Lonely Planet?” She spoke the words reverentially, as if Lonely Planet were on a par with the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

“No, sorry, it’s an independent piece.” She finished speaking then gazed away, signalling that she had no more conversation. The girls took the hint and began talking quietly to each other in their own language.

I wonder if they’re talking about me? Claire eyed up the lasagne and garlic bread the girls were eating and wondered if it was too late to change her order.

If one of us is going to reek of garlic all night, I want it to be me.

***

Snowy, crafty day and 2013 365 Day #20

The Great Hall, Oundle School, in the snow

We’ve had a glorious family day today.

The kids got dragged around the job centre and supermarket yesterday so we promised them a new magazine, a trip to the coffee shop in Oundle, our local town, and sledging at grandma’s today.

And that’s what we did.

I have been cutting, sticking and colouring for about three hours this afternoon and I put a much happier little girl to bed tonight than last night.

Great fun magazine cutting, sticking and drawing. My little girl enjoyed it too…

I love how kids live in the present and don’t hold grudges. You get back what you put in, then and there. Wonderful.

Unfortunately I also got another rejection email today. A really nice one from Julia Churchill:

Thank you for giving us a chance with this. I’m sorry to say I don’t think it’s one for me.

While this has some nice points, when I take a new writer on I need to feel such a high level of conviction that I could sell their work, and I’m afraid I’m not quite there with this. Of course, it’s a really subjective business. Another agent may well feel differently.

Wishing you the best of luck with it, and a good 2013.

Sledging family fun. No hills round us so more pushing than sledging…

How lovely is that? As rejections go it actually left me smiling. Unfortunately I really liked the sound of the agency Julia works for, so I was disappointed.

What I take away from it though is that I really need to work on my query letter and/or synopsis for Dragon Wraiths. The response came back so swiftly I can’t help but think it was rejected off the cover letter. I have struggled to sell the story in limited words because it’s a four-part novel and it’s difficult to encapsulate it all in one or two paragraphs.

Cutting and sticking. Very theraputic, although not as much as colouring-in.

My husband still thinks I should self-publish Dragon Wraiths but I am reluctant. The more I read about self-publishing the more I’m not sure it’s for me. I really do need help in selling myself and my work and I can’t afford to hire an editior.

I would take a punt on Dragon Wraiths if it was easy to get it kindle-ready but unfortunately I have four different fonts in the novel that are essential to understanding the story and my kindle software changes them all to one font! (Unlike bloomin Microsoft Word which has decided to change my novel document into about four different fonts when I copy it over to WordPress. I’ve had to retype the whole of today’s post while listening to my husband snoring upstairs. Not happy!!)

Anyway I haven’t had any time to do research today so not sure what Claire is going to be getting up to. I’m struggling to keep my eyes open already and my darling husband is cooking dinner while I tap away… I think I might chuck her out into Berwick and see what she finds.

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So, this is the northernmost town in England? Whoop-di-do. Claire looked around the high-street and sighed. There isn’t even a bloody Starbucks. Caffé Nero just isn’t the same.

Claire had gone back to her room after breakfast to type up the notes on her interview with Hattie. She’d been determined to spend the day in her room playing on the iPad, but the greyness had closed in until she was driven out to seek colour and coffee.

Before she left the hostel, Claire did a quick search on interesting information about Berwick. Her research threw up thrilling facts like Berwick meant Barley Farm. That seems about right. Stupid hick town. I wonder why Scotland wants it back?

Claire decided to explore Berwick in an attempt to discover what made people think hostelling was so amazing. As yet nothing had cropped up to recommend it. Her idea of a vacation was to bake on a beach and read airport-purchased paperbacks. She always did some sight-seeing but it was the normal tick-box stuff: pyramids, opera houses, mountains. As far as she could tell Berwick’s best offering was a few boring bridges.

What do Backpackers do all day? They can’t shop; they have no money. There’s no Sky in a hostel, internet is only available at £3 an hour unless you have a smartphone and what penniless student can afford one of those? How many times can you wander round places staring at the architecture?

After two hours of exploring Claire’s feet were throbbing, her back ached and her brain was numb. What am I going to tweet about? The number of arches in the Royal Border Bridge?

She remembered Hattie recommending a trip to some Priory on a nearby island that apparently was accessible by car at low tide. The old woman had raved about it so much Claire had almost been tempted until she’d checked it out on Wikipedia. It looked like a pile of old rock. She had never heard of Lindisfarne, and doubted anyone she knew had, so it didn’t count as a tick-box visit.

Spying a bookshop, Claire decided the best thing she could do was plan her route and get through it as swiftly as possible. I wonder if I can stay in more than one hostel at a time? The wind whipped round her as she crossed the street and ducked into the store. She paused beneath the warmth of the heater while thoughts churned in her mind. The brief didn’t say anything about having to actually spend the night. Maybe I could check in, make a cup of Earl Grey in the kitchen, and move on. Cheered by the thought Claire scoured the shelves for a map of Britain. She needed to plot all the hostels and work out the shortest possible distance to drive around them all.

In the back of her mind a nagging feeling tore at Claire’s new resolve. No matter how much she loathed Carl it was not in her nature to shirk a responsibility or put in a half-hearted effort. The happy feeling seeped away like a wave on the sand. I am going to have to do this properly or not at all. Not for them but for me, for my professional pride. Damn.

On the shelf near the maps Claire saw the colourful spine of a Lonely Planet guide to Britain. She grabbed it and took her finds to the till. The sky seemed a little more grey as Claire hobbled back to the hostel on blistered feet.

Claire spent the afternoon in the Bistro cross-referencing the YHA hostel guide, the Lonely Planet book and the map. When she finally collapsed into bed at 9.30pm she was almost smiling. At least I know where I’m going tomorrow. Well I know what it’s called anyway. I wonder what Wooler has to offer.

She was about to close her eyes when her mobile phone beeped. Two thoughts went through her head like lightning. Ruth’s got her results back, and Carl is texting to gloat. Reaching for her phone without turning on the light Claire held the screen up to her sleep-blurred eyes. She blinked until the words came into focus.

Hey Claire. How are things? I miss you. Can we talk? Michael.

Claire’s heart thudded beneath her cotton nightie – bought for dorm-sharing days. What the hell does he want? She tried to think dispassionately about Michael but couldn’t manage it. Instead her mind filled with the look of pain in his deep brown eyes the last time she saw him. As if she had reached around during an embrace, stabbed him in the back and yelled, “Speak hands for me!”

***

365: 19.01.13 #19 Snow day (ghostwritermummy.co.uk)

The Highs and Lows of a Daily Writing Habit – 2013 #11

My daughter having fun at her third birthday. Was it really a year ago?

It’s day 11 of my 2013 challenge to write an instalment of my novel every single day and I’m starting to notice some unexpected side effects of having a Daily Writing Habit. Last year I wrote only on the days the children were at nursery, 2 or 3 days a week. As I discussed in guest post Always Writing I usually have my novel in my head but know that I can’t sit down every day to actually write because it would result in me ignoring my husband and kids too much.

I thought I would do more or less the same with the daily challenge – write most of it on nursery days and just do the blog entries daily. I didn’t allow for how the idea would set my brain alight.

Side Effects of a Daily Writing Habit:

Sleep (or lack thereof): I haven’t slept properly since 1st Jan. My mind is racing all the time with things to do: either things to write at the top of the next blog post, pictures to include, bits of dialogue for Claire’s next chapter, or things that haven’t been done around the house, like laundry, ironing, boot washing, dog feeding, dinner cooking, hovering, physiotherapy exercises, birthday party prep… The list is endless. The result is that I sleep for two hours at a time, wake up exhausted, and so it goes on.

Effervescence: I’m constantly fizzing with a need to sit down & write. Although, due to the previous point, it’s actually more like the buzzing of a dozy fly against a window than the sparkle of bubbly champagne. The short instalments are addictive: writing 500-1000 words and then editing it is very different to a normal first-draft-stream-of-consciousness-write-10,000-words-in-a-go experience. I find I like the finished nature of each post, it is very satisfying, like publishing a short story every day.

Enthusiastic Fear: People are reading my blog, liking posts, following me. I’ve had more visits and likes this year so far than in the whole of the last quarter. I’m scared and excited at the same time. I feel a responsibility to do Claire and the story justice.

Self-Doubt: When I first pitched my idea to my husband on 30th December he was concerned that a daily blog would put too much pressure on my already strained resources of patience, energy and sleep. Now he’s enjoying the novel he thinks it’s a great idea and I’m the one with doubts. I’m worried it’s taking over my life and putting Writer above Mummy. That isn’t acceptable.

Hopefully it will all settle down soon and I’ll find a balance. I have to: I have a Jungle-themed birthday party to organise for an amazing little girl who has talked about her next party every day since she turned three, 354 days ago. Now that’s a consistent daily blog…

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Claire looked round the empty apartment and fought a wave of self-pity. The YHA / Coca Cola assignment had been hard enough to swallow when she thought it was intended to help her get on the Board of AJC. Now she knew, or at least suspected, that it was a ploy to get her to resign the whole thing made her miserable.

I’m good at my job. I landed that Vodafone account, and the Birds Eye one. Not to mention the twenty other clients I’ve acquired since the beginning of last year. How dare Carl do this to me?

Feeling the fire of anger burn away the pity, Claire got up from where she had been curled into the leather sofa and went to the kitchen to make an espresso.

Drat, of course, the espresso machine was mine. I’ve boxed the darn thing up.

The removals men had been put-out to discover Claire didn’t have Tetley tea or milk or anything useful to make them a ‘brew’. They’d hauled her boxes down the flights of stairs to the street, paying no attention to Claire’s yelps of concern as they man-handled her shoe collection and the box containing her precious espresso machine.

Claire looked at her watch. 11.30am on a Monday morning. I should be at work. This is just wrong Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Carl had told her to take the week off before starting her assignment, to give her a chance to sort out her affairs, empty the flat, give back the company car. It felt like she’d been put on Gardening Leave.

Or maybe it takes most people more than a drunken Sunday evening to box up their whole life? Perhaps with hindsight it was stupid to agree to the removals men coming on Monday. What am I going to do in an empty apartment with no espresso machine for a whole week? There’s only so much Earl Grey a girl can drink.

Claire grabbed her bag and headed for the door. I need coffee. She walked the five minutes to her nearest Starbucks and gratefully ordered a skinny latte, realising she’d missed breakfast. Before long she was encased in her favourite chair, looking out the window at the people rushing by. Claire sipped her coffee and tried to formulate a plan to survive until Friday, when she would be checking into the Berwick YHA. Thinking beyond that point gave her a headache.

God forbid but I might just have to go see my parents.

The coffee cup was empty too soon and Claire looked around for something to fill another hour. Failing to find anything she decided to head to Deansgate for some retail therapy.

Claire wandered aimlessly along the street for an hour before she realised there was no fun shopping when you knew you weren’t going to be able to wear or carry your purchases for weeks. What was the point in giving in to the allure of the strappy heels that had called from one shop, or the beautiful dress that had yelled from another, when her trip to the Maldives was so far away? Still, a need to spend burned deep in Claire’s throat and she walked back and forth trying to find somewhere to wield her plastic.

She stopped outside a shop that had never registered on her radar before, due largely to the window display of hiking boots, camping gear and anoraks. The mere sight of all that healthy outdoor stuff made her want to head for the nearest Spa. Now, though, it seemed the only place where she could shop with a clear conscience. Shrugging her shoulders Claire thought what the hell and pushed open the door.

The interior was more crowded than Canal Street on a Saturday night. Racks of blue and grey clothing crowded round her while rucksacks that could eat hers for breakfast climbed the walls and loomed ominously. Along the back, row upon row of aggressive boots marched up in formation. Claire was about to back out when a young voice hailed her from the depths of the store.

It wasn’t immediately clear where the voice had come from until a man emerged from between the rows of clothes. Claire looked up into a tanned and handsome face. Gleaming white teeth shone from smooth, snoggable lips. Wavy blonde hair bounced above an attractive face while sea-blue eyes twinkled at her in welcome.

“You alright there?”

His voice did disturbing things to Claire’s tummy.

“Er, Um.” Claire looked at him helplessly, fighting the urges his proximity was raising in her midriff. He grinned, whether at her discomfort or out of friendliness Claire couldn’t tell. She looked around vaguely, trying to find a purpose for being there.

“Er, I’m er, going hostelling.”

The man gave her a glance that suggested he’d heard more believable urban myths but his smile didn’t falter. “That’s awesome. Where are you off to? Going Walkabout? To The East? Over the Pond?”

Claire looked confused. As far as she knew The Walkabout was a bar on Quay Street, The East a Chinese Takeaway over on Faulkner Street and she didn’t think she knew any ponds, although wasn’t there another Takeaway over in Salford called Pond something?

“No, not eating out. Hostelling.” Claire wondered if maybe hostelling was actually some kind of student slang for getting pissed and eating take-out. “You know, travelling?”

They stared at each other in mutual confusion before the shop assistant gave in first. “What country will you be traveling in?”

“The UK. I have to visit every YHA in England and Wales as part of my job.”

“Ah, you won’t want much camping kit then. Pretty tame country and the hostels are all mod-con, not much need for a Billy or an Esky.”

Again Claire looked at the man as if he were speaking a different language. She guessed from his accent that he was from Australia or New Zealand and wondered if he was talking Maori or Aborigine. She nodded, hoping that was the right response, and gave him a smile. Feeling something more was required she added, “I have a rucksack and a Maglite.”

“Well that’s a good start. What about a soft-fibre towel, washing line, travel wash bag, ear plugs, sleep mask, sleeping bag, waterproof coat, hiking shoes or winter boots?” As he said the last items he glanced down at what she had thought of as her sensible shoes – her black leather Gucci pumps with the 1 inch heel – with a slight raise of an eyebrow.

Half an hour later Claire left the shop with a smile as large as the shopping bag bashing her hip. On her feet were her favourite purchase, although the man had said they weren’t really necessary in England. Still, the Helly Hansen Eir Boots had been a bargain at £130 and they really were very comfortable.

***

Turn your goals into daily habits (onewildword.com)
Inspiration is a habit (rmbenson.wordpress.com)
A Daily Blog? (springingtiger.wordpress.com)
Blogging Basic – You Must Write! (dadblunders.com)
“I Don’t Want To Write Today!” How to Dump the Writing Blues (freelancewriter1020.wordpress.com)

Venice, Bologna, Family and 2013 365 Challenge #8

Venice from the Grand Canal on our flying visit

Hurrah we’re home. We had a fantastic weekend away in Italy catching up with my husband’s Italian family, meeting the newest member at his Baptism, and eating far too much gorgeous cheese.

We called in at Venice on the way back to the airport (having flown into Veneza Treviso because it was cheaper than flying straight to Bologna) and, as you can see from the photo, we got to see some great bits of the amazing city in our (very) short visit.

Chasing Pigeons in San Marco

We only had an hour so we caught a boat along the Grand Canal, then followed the advice of a local and took a wander through the narrow streets to the San Marco Piazza. It’s not a pushchair friendly city but we coped and the kids had great fun running around chasing pigeons. Thankfully that also meant they slept most of the way home. They were amazing the whole trip and it was a delight to travel with them.

It was a challenge to get up and write my installment this morning. My gorgeous husband is watching Mary Poppins with the kids while I’m in the kitchen tapping away. We’re meant to be at a coffee morning with my daughter’s baby group so today’s post might be a little rough around the edges! More tomorrow.

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Claire peered through the gloom, trying to distinguish bodies from furniture. They were in the Kaz Bar in Tiger Tiger for her leaving drinks. Molly, Polly and Sally were huddled together in a booth, giggling. One or other of them occasionally glanced in Claire’s direction and giggled louder.

I bet they’re laughing about the stupid gift Julia bought with my farewell collection. A 75-litre rucksack and a Maglite torch. Honestly, it’s not like I’m going hiking in the Andes. Actually it’s not like I’m really leaving at all.

Claire thought back to her farewell presentation that afternoon. She had been quite shocked to look up from her desk to see the entire office gathered outside her glass door. Carl had pushed through the crowd and beckoned her out into the centre, like the sacrifice in some ancient ritual. He’d signalled for quiet before launching into a speech about how Claire would be missed, how they wished her well and looked forward to her blog posts and Facebook status updates. When Julia had dragged out the gift and dumped it at Claire’s feet Carl’s grin couldn’t have been wider if he’d been a hyena.

“It won’t be wise to turn up in a hostel with Louis Vuitton luggage my dear. They’ll have you down as a snob before you can ask the way to the bidet. That’s if they don’t just steal it and sell it on eBay. The whole point is to blend.” And he’d grinned again, like it was all a big joke.

Well it isn’t a joke. Claire looked around the bar at all the people who had come to say goodbye. They will miss me, even if they don’t know it yet. And I will have the last laugh when I’m sitting on a beach in the Maldives while they’re doing Year End and worrying about the next mobile phone ad campaign.

“Get you a drink Claire?”

Claire looked up to see Steve lounging against a pillar near to where she was standing. She realised her hands were empty and was mortified to be caught standing alone and without a drink at her own leaving do.

“That’s fine Steve, someone’s getting me one. I’m just heading to the ladies.” She shone him her widest grin and tried not to run, which wasn’t advisable anyway in her towering heels. I guess I should be glad they didn’t buy me hiking boots or something similarly awful, Claire thought as she tip-tapped to the toilets and shuffled into a cubicle. There was a conversation going on in the next stall and Claire couldn’t help but listen to the slurred words.

“I give her two weeks. She has no idea what they’ve set her up to. I went travelling in Australia and alright the hostels here are probably cleaner and less crowded – I mean, who wants to travel around England for Pete’s sake – but it’s still going to be messy, noisy and Common. Miss La-di-dah will last a day before she’s booking a private room and I know the budget they’ve given her. Private rooms aren’t an option. Couldn’t happen to a nicer person in my view.”

Claire felt her face grow hot. It wasn’t hard to distinguish Julia’s drunken voice booming through the wall. Well, that’s just Julia, I know she hates me. When the next voice spoke Claire felt herself go completely still.

“You’re so right, Jules. Silly cow. Thinks she’s better than all of us because she went to some posh school and her family are loaded. Her sister can’t keep a fella and her brother’s a stuck up dick. No wonder she has nothing to do with them. Good riddance I say, I hope she doesn’t come back.”

Claire recognised the voice. It was Susannah, her best friend from Repro. Claire felt tears itch at the corners of her eyes, causing eye-liner to leak in and make them sting. She sat motionless while she heard the toilet flush. The two girls staggered out of the cubicle, laughing and shushing each other. As the room fell silent, apart from the throbbing bass of music coming through the wall, Claire leant her head against the partition and fought the tears. It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to floated into her head, causing a wry smile to twist her lips.

At least I know what they really think, silly bitches.

She pulled herself to her feet, pushed her shoulders back, and strode from the room. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Julia and Susannah watching her leave the ladies shortly after them. She sensed rather than saw the consternation on their faces and gained some pleasure from it. Once she had reached the bar Claire ordered a triple gin and diet tonic and turned to face the room. She spotted Mike from Accounts sitting on a Moroccan pouf by himself in the corner and headed over to take a seat next to him. He looked up as she approached and a mixture of confusion and delight crossed his face.

“So, Mike, how are things in Accounts?” Claire settled in and turned on her best charm offensive, determined to enjoy her party if it cost her everything she had.

***

Venice – the city of gondolas, love and pigeons! – Venice, Italy (travelpod.com)
Wandering the streets of Venice – Venice, Italy (travelpod.com)
Venice Canal 5 (wizard-systems.typepad.com)

A Baptism and the 2013 365 Challenge #6

The character matrix I use to keep track of my creations

Today I am at a Baptism in Bologna, Italy, with all my husband’s family, so this post was scheduled on Friday when I was meant to be packing (thank you husband!). As you’re reading this I am mostly wishing I had worked harder at learning Italian (I’m the only family member apart from the kids who doesn’t speak Italian. I can just about manage hello, how are you in Italian, despite many purchases of teach-yourself-Italian CDs).

My picture today is of my character matrix. (I borrowed the template from a blog but my WordPress reader is playing up so I’m afraid I can’t say who just now.) Usually I fill one of these out about halfway through a first draft, once I have a good idea of all my main characters and some interesting facts about them.

Because I need to ensure consistency in my blog posts for this 365 Challenge, I decided to figure some of it out upfront (like names, ages, physical appearance). I find it hard to imagine details about characters until I have written in their voice for a while. Characters don’t come to me fully formed. It’s more like meeting people in real life: when you first come across them you have a bunch of preconceived ideas about who they are based on past experience or stereotypes. As you spend time with them those ideas are either proved or disproved. That’s part of the fun of writing for me – finding out who my characters are. They always shock me.

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“Auntie Claire! Mummy said you were coming to stay but I didn’t believe it.” A whirl of blonde hair and beads threw itself at Claire’s legs and hugged tight, almost tilting her to the ground. Claire resisted the urge to shake her off like an unwanted dog and waited for the shrieking to stop.

“Hello Claire,” Ruth greeted her sister as she came to the door. The two women air-kissed, leaning over the child still wrapped around Claire’s legs. “Is that a new perfume, it’s very exotic.” Ruth sniffed the air and Claire could tell she really wanted to say it was awful, but as Claire was there to do a huge favour she had no choice but to be nice.

“Yes, Michael bought it for me,” Claire said tightly, before gently removing Sky from her legs so she could walk down the corridor to the kitchen-diner.

“How is Michael?” Ruth asked over her shoulder. Claire wondered if her sister had been so caught up in her own misery she had missed the status updates on Facebook. Or is it that she just can’t keep the maliciousness at bay for five minutes?

“We broke up.”

“Oh, did you? I’m sorry to hear that. He was very charming. Not that we saw much of him.”

Oh, here we go.

As if sensing her sister’s reaction, Ruth didn’t continue. Instead she pulled Sky away from where she hung off Claire’s arm and smiled brightly at her sister. “Tea?”

“Earl Grey please, if you have it?”

“No, only Tetley I’m afraid. Or I have Nescafe?”

Claire shuddered then shook her head. “A glass of water would be lovely, thank you.”

Ruth ran water from the kitchen tap into a plastic Disney Princesses beaker and handed it to Claire, who had sat down at the table. Ruth then poured herself more treacle-coloured tea from a spotty-red teapot and sat opposite her.

“Mum will be here shortly. I’m not supposed to drive, so Mum’s taking me. They’ll do the tests, keep me in overnight for observations, then Mum will come and get me in the morning. I’ll be back by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“Where are you going exactly? Peterborough General?”

“No, I’m still covered by Mum and Dad’s health insurance so I’m going private. It was going to be weeks before they could get me an appointment with the NHS.”

Silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the sound of Sky munching grapes. Claire cupped her hands around the bright pink cup and stared at the reflections in her untouched water. It was always like this with Ruth. Unless she was ranting about the latest injustice or gushing over some bloke she’d snogged they didn’t have much to say to each other.

“How’s work?”

Claire looked up, surprised at the question. “Fine. I have a new assignment.”

“Oh, something interesting?”

“Yes, it could be. I guess. It’s for Coca Cola.”

The spark of interest in Ruth’s eyes died. “Disgusting teeth-rotting stuff. I can’t believe you endorse evil brands like that.”

There didn’t seem any way to respond to the comment without starting a row. Sky was now slurping milk through a straw but she looked up and surveyed the two sisters. Catching her gaze, Claire was surprised at how much comprehension there was in her niece’s eyes. She realised she hadn’t seen her niece in over a year. Claire hadn’t joined her family for Christmas, which meant it was the Christmas before that she last saw Sky.

“Miss Hawkins says Coca Cola was invented by a chemist.”

Claire didn’t know what to say to the non sequitur. It no longer seemed possible to brush the girl off with That’s nice and a smile.

“What else have you learned at school?” She said instead.

“If two pieces of metal touch each other in space they get stuck together.”

Claire stared at Sky, bereft of words. Where did that come from? I remember learning completely useless facts in school, but that seems a bit technical for a six-year-old. She was still scrabbling for a response when the front door opened and she heard the familiar swish of her mother’s floor-length wool coat sweep the laminate flooring.

“You’re here then,” her mother said as she came into the kitchen. Claire turned to look at her, trying to read behind the words.

“Yes, the traffic was surprisingly light, I made good time.”

“Right. Well, we’d best be off Ruth. Have you told Claire where everything is, when Sky has her tea and when to put her to bed?”

“Won’t you stop for a cup of tea?” Ruth looked up at her mother, who was still wearing her winter coat. “We’re not due at the hospital for over an hour. Claire’s only just arrived.”

“We don’t want to be late.”

Ruth looked apologetically at her sister, as if their mother’s rudeness was somehow her fault. She handed her sister a handwritten sheet of paper. “I’ve written it all down, but if you have any problems you can ring Dad.”

“Much good that will do you. Your Father’s working this week, otherwise he would have taken Sky.”

“I thought Dad retired.” Claire smiled at her mother, to show that she was making a light-hearted comment. Her Dad had retired the year before, but he was finding it hard to let go. He had taken on various non-exec roles that seemed to take up more of his time than his full-time job as Chief Financial Officer.

“Your father works harder than all of you,” was all her Mum said, before turning to face the corridor. “Come on Ruth.”

Sky got down from the table and ran to give her Grandmother a cuddle. “Bye bye Nana, see you tomorrow. Auntie Claire and I are going to have so much fun.”

“Bye bye poppet. You be good for your Auntie Claire.”

Claire remained seated at the table as her sister bent to kiss her cheek, gave her daughter a huge hug, and scurried off down the corridor after their mother. Sky came over and leant against Claire, putting her arms around her neck. As the front door clicked shut Sky’s face widened into a broad grin.

“I’m so glad you’re here Auntie. I want you to show me how to paint my nails and my lips and all the things Mummy doesn’t let me do.” Her clear blue eyes sparkled in a way that promised trouble.

Claire was conscious of a strong desire to run down the corridor after her mother and sister, to tell them she would drive Ruth to the hospital. Instead she looked down into the face gazing mischievously up at her and forced out a smile.

“Okay, Sky. Let’s have some fun.”

***

Day #4 of the 2013 365 Challenge…

My refreshed website – still needs work but I was up til 1am getting it this far!

Okay so I am finding this challenge more challenging than I expected. I did my initial calculations on wordcount and figured I could easily write a thousand words a day and post them. I didn’t take into account needing to ensure each scene makes sense by itself, or the time required to tidy up spelling and punctuation. Nevermind how long it takes me to choose an image, upload it, add tags and categories and format the blog post!

This is only my second day without the children and my time seems to have been eaten up by buying birthday gifts for my little one’s 4th birthday (which is actually not until the end of January!), finding a Baptism card (it’s all Christening cards here, I found one in the fifth shop I tried) and updating my website so it ties in with my new business cards for the Art in the Heart Gallery (read about it here).

What’s keeping me going (apart from stubbornness, an unwillingness to humiliate myself in front of an audience and a desire to learn more about Claire) is a blog post I read from the lovely Kristen Lamb about taking yourself seriously as a writer. The blog was fabulously called Lies that Can Poison Your Dreams–Don’t Eat the Butt in 2013 It included a great quotation from Stephen King:

Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us get up and go to work. ~Stephen King

If I want to be a Writer and sell my novels I need to get on and write. So here is Day 4’s installment of my postaday novel. I’ll be scheduling Days 5, 6 and 7 today too (hopefully, although I have to go get the kids in under three hours) due to family commitments in Italy. I’ll be back in person next week!

_____________________________________________________________________

“Claire, it’s Ruth.” Claire held back a sigh and walked into the kitchen to put the coffee machine on. A phone call from her sister was never over quickly.

“Ruth, darling. How are you?” As she waited for her sister to start spilling forth her latest disaster, Claire mulled over how much to reveal about her new assignment. Her family would have to be told something, of course. Not that they ever came to visit, or called her home phone, or sent her letters. Still, it seemed only right to tell them she was moving out for twelve months. Tuning back in to the phonecall, Claire realised she had missed some key information and tried to catch up with what her sister was talking about.

“So the doctor said it was probably lack of sleep. You know Sky is a bad sleeper and her nightmares have been worse since she started Year Two.”

Claire worked out that someone was poorly, but was unsure whether it was her sister or her niece. Probably Sky. Silly, spoiled, overly-dramatic child. As if having her father run off with her ballet teacher gives her an open-ended excuse to be a brat forever. Surely they outgrow that nonsense once they start school?

Claire thought about her own schooling. Her parents had paid for the best, obviously, although Claire often wondered whether that was to ensure their three children didn’t hamper their lifestyle, rather than to give their off-spring a good start in life. The school had encouraged independence and character but had no time for tears and tantrums. Claire had learned quickly to work hard and stay out of trouble. More than could be said for Ruth. It had been a constant mortification to her parents that, while their first and third children both achieved academic success, Ruth only acquired notoriety.

Ruth’s next sentence cut through Claire’s reminiscing like a knife through brie.

“The tests are week after next. That’s why I’m calling. Is there any chance you could come and look after Sky? It’s half-term and most of her friends are going skiing. Of course we can’t afford that…”

Claire inhaled deeply and forced herself not to rise to the bait. Ruth was always poor and begrudged Claire her success. Claire accepted that looking after a child on your own probably hampered your career options, but look at J.K. Rowling, it hadn’t held her back. She was convinced Ruth could help herself if only she’d try harder. Claire’s irritation at the badly-veiled hint nearly overshadowed the first part of the sentence, but not quite.

“Have Sky? How long for? When?” Claire could hear panic in her voice and forced herself to breathe in through her nose. Once she was sure she was back in control of her emotions she said in a slow voice, “I start a new work assignment on 1st March, and I’ll … be on the road a lot. You know. Meeting clients.”

“Wining and dining on someone else’s credit card.” Ruth’s voice cut in.

“There’s more to it than that,” Claire responded quickly. Then, before Ruth could start the age-old argument, Claire inhaled through her nose again and consciously lowered her voice. “Tell me the day you need me to have Sky, I’ll check my diary.”

“Well, it’s two days, actually.” Ruth sounded embarrassed.

As well she might. I don’t want to look after her brat for two hours, never mind two days.

Claire had, thus far, avoided spending too much time with her niece, or with her two nephews Jack and Alex. Her brother and his wife lived in Geneva, so that was understandable. Ruth lived near their mother in Cambridgeshire, so her lack of involvement caused considerable friction. Kids just aren’t my thing.

Thinking about minding a six-year-old for two days made bile rise in Claire’s throat. She gulped down her coffee and wondered if she could use the new assignment as an excuse. There was something in Ruth’s voice, though, that made her pause.

“Can’t mum take her? I thought Mum and Dad were the perfect grandparents?” It seemed odd to Claire that two people who had no time for their own children could go dotty over someone else’s, even if they were their grandkids. Maybe they were going soft in their old age.

“Er, Mum’s coming with me, to the hospital.”

Ruth’s words slithered into Claire’s brain, freezing where they made contact. “Just what tests are you having exactly?”

“Weren’t you listening? I said you never listen to me, you and Robert, you’re both the same.”

Claire almost smiled at the petulant tone in Ruth’s voice. For a moment they were twelve and fourteen again.

“Sorry,” she admitted, saying nothing more.

“The headaches, the ones causing spots in my vision. The doctor thinks it’s tiredness but they want to be sure. I’m having a CAT scan or an MRI or something, I don’t remember the details. I’m not clever like you. That’s why Mum’s coming.”

Claire took the two steps from her kitchen to her lounge and sank into the white leather sofa. “CAT scan? Ruth, are you serious?”

“Of course I am. I wouldn’t joke about something like that. So, will you take Sky? I don’t think Dad could cope with her for two days on his own. You can stay at my place or at Home, whichever is easier.”

Claire rubbed a hand across her forehead, as if scrubbing away unwanted thoughts. “Of course I’ll come. Text me the dates. I should probably come home before I start my new assignment anyway, store some things in the attic…”

She thought Ruth might ask her about the assignment, but she didn’t. After another ten minutes elaborating on her headaches and trips to the doctors she said that Sky was calling for her and hung up the phone.

Claire slumped back into the sofa, cradling her iphone in her lap. Darkness seemed to engulf the room. A gloom that had nothing to do with the rain hammering against the window pane.

***

The Sort of Hope Who Has Time (allsortsofhope.com)
One word for 2013 (ishouldbewashingclothes.wordpress.com)
365 Challenge (tarawoodruff.wordpress.com)
New Year Challenges!? 365 Challenges and Goals (teejrants.wordpress.com)

2013 365 Challenge #3 and a Confession

The last time we went to Bologna (in 2007) it was our first wedding anniversary and we ended up visiting the Ferrari Museum. I am truly the best of wives...

The last time we went to Bologna (For a wedding in 2007) it was also our first wedding anniversary. We ended up visiting the Ferrari Museum. I am truly the best of wives…

Day three, still writing! Actually I have to fess-up that the weekend posts will mostly be written and scheduled tomorrow because we are heading to Italy on Saturday for a Baptism. The kids are so excited to be going on an aeroplane they haven’t stopped talking about it.

My husband and I are just wondering if we’re mad: we’re flying to Venice airport, driving the 40mins into Venice for lunch (I’ve never been!) before driving 2.5 hours to Bologna to check into our hotel. Thankfully the Baptism is on Sunday and we fly home on Monday so it should be a little calmer after that. I’ll be back to real-time writing next week. Please forgive my little cheat and rest assured I’ll still be writing while I’m away, just not posting.

Here is the third installment of my 2013 365 Challenge.

_______________________________________________________________________

Claire’s heart thumped beneath her gold heart pendant as she saw the email in her inbox. Carl had been quiet about her new assignment for a day or two and things had gone on as normal. Well, as normal as it got in AJC. Steve had filled her diary with meetings to discuss the accounts he was due to take over but, as he was away on a three-day conference, the meetings weren’t until the following week. Hoping the conversation in Carl’s office would go away like an unwelcome case of acne, Claire had continued with preparation for the Vodafone shoot and the Birds Eye’s Press Ads.

Claire looked at the email subject line and felt her hand quiver as it hovered over the track-pad on her laptop. Just click Open and find out the worst. Her hand shook for a moment more before she dragged the cursor over the email link and clicked.

The email was terse, as Carl’s often were.

Details of your assignment. Julia will sort the details. You start 1st March.

Good luck.

Carl.

She could imagine Carl sitting laughing at his desk as he wrote the words. Good Luck indeed. Bastard. She opened the attachment and was surprised to see it was only a single page with Coca Cola and YHA logos at the top. Scanning through the words quickly she saw that the brief had been prepared by Carl’s boss, the top man himself.

So Carl wasn’t talking complete crap when he said this came from the Board. Great.

It didn’t make Claire feel any better to know that her sudden move had been decreed by the powers-that-be. In some ways if it had been Carl’s vindictive move she could have handled that better, found some way to get her own back or turn it to her advantage. Knowing that she had come to the attention of the Board made her skin prickle.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Claire turned her attention to the actual brief.

Assignment: To travel to each of the Youth Hostelling Association’s 200 hostels, located throughout England and Wales.

Your assignment includes maintaining a blog to discuss reviews of the hostels, utilising social media platforms such as Facebook and Twitter to inform Fans of amusing stories and anecdotes, and generally promoting the brands of Coca Cola and YHA.

You will relinquish your company car and be given one more suited to your assignment. We will arrange for your apartment to be let and cover reasonable expenses, although you will be expected to stick within a backpacker’s budget (c. £20-£30 a day). You will continue to receive your normal salary and holiday entitlement.

Your accommodation for your first two nights’ stay has been booked in the Northernmost Hostel at Berwick-Upon-Tweed for 1st and 2nd March. From that point on you will be expected to plan your own route and manage your own bookings.

Your secondment is for one year, including your allotted holiday allowance. This means you will need to manage the length of your stay at each hostel, and your driving route from hostel to hostel, to ensure that you have visited each of the 200 hostels in that time.

Claire’s mind reeled as she read and re-read the brief. A car more suited to my assignment? She thought lovingly of the charcoal grey Audi parked in the street below. Take my Audi away? And her apartment. Okay, it wasn’t really hers. Mortgages were for people with kids and dogs. Hers was rented, furnished and serviced. Her sleek steel kitchen was kept clean by a firm who came once a week. Still, it was uncomfortable to think of someone else living there.

There was a hard knot in the centre of Claire’s brain and she knew the worries about her car and flat were skirting around the real issue. £20-£30 a day? That wasn’t going to buy more than an M&S sandwich, a couple of Starbucks and a takeaway noodles for dinner. Was she meant to pay for her hostel room and petrol out of that too? I’m not paying for it out of my salary, that’s for sure. If they’re going to make me do this I at least want to come out of it with something.

Claire’s mind drifted to pictures of a fortnight’s holiday in the Maldives when the ordeal was over. She’d never had enough money left before, after maintaining her shoe-and-handbag habit, but a year living on expenses would leave her nicely in the black. Claire sat back in her chair and smiled suddenly. The brief didn’t say when she could take her holiday. There was nothing stopping her dossing around the country for a few weeks and then jetting off for white sandy beaches and bath-water-warm seas.

Maybe things were looking up after all.

***

4 Thing Thursday: 365 Days In 2013 (streetmeetsstyle.wordpress.com)

The Long Silence Explained

It occurred to me after I posted my essay on guilt yesterday that I forgot entirely to explain the long silence, despite putting that in my title. Making it a separate post possibly gives it too much weight, as if anything more than normal life has been going on in the last four weeks. It hasn’t. That said, there has been a convergence of events since the beginning of November, creating something like a maelstrom in my life. Some I’ve mentioned already – my husband being made redundant for example – but others happened amidst the whirlwind of NaNoWriMo and beyond.

NaNoWriMo in itself was a struggle this year. I learned a lot about myself as a writer and about the life of a Writer (with the capital letter firmly in place.) I didn’t start NaNo until several days into November because my brain was frozen after weeks of editing. Ideas don’t exactly spill out from my tired mind on the best of days but I had truly exhausted my imagination writing and editing Dragon Wraiths in nine months (ready for the Mslexia competition – more on that later). So in the end I opted to write up a story idea I had for NaNo back in 2010 (abandoned for something easier due to having a tiny baby to care for).

The idea excited me because it combined my favourite things – love stories and Georgette Heyer. The basic concept is a girl auditions to be an extra in a Georgette Heyer movie (based on the book Sylvester) but ends up being cast as the lead role despite having no acting experience. Various plots and dramas ensue and it ends with a love story.

But oh the writing was hard. I know next to nothing about making movies – not something that would normally daunt me, that’s what Google is for. But researching during NaNo is difficult as it breaks the flow. Then I realised I had no story arc, only character arcs, so I was writing into the dark. Again not something that normally bothers me, but this time (whether due to sleep deprivation, mental depletion or just a rubbish story idea) I drove into the dark to find only more dark.

I managed to limp over the 50k mark with two hours to go, but it was the greatest struggle and I was happy to abandon my half-written novel for Christmas Shopping on 1st December. Will I pick it up again? Hopefully one day. I began to understand my characters and get interested in the intrigue, but it is a draft that requires a complete rewrite so it’s likely to languish for a while. What did I learn? That maybe I’m not a Pantser writer after all. Perhaps, now and then, I need a better idea of where my story is going, other than that it will end with a happy ever after. I learned, too, about sitting down and just getting the words out. I had a week of no writing towards the end, leaving myself a 20k target for the last couple of days. I know I can write that much, but only when the ideas are flowing. This time I dragged myself along, like someone finishing a marathon long after the wall has been hit. And it was good. Good to know that I can write even when the ideas aren’t flowing, when the sleeping isn’t coming, and when I’m praying every day for my last novel to fly. Maybe I could make a career out of writing if I ever find an agent.

That brings me on to another event – Mslexia. My novel didn’t get shortlisted for the Children’s Novel competition but I did receive a very encouraging (group) response to suggest why. I was told that there were many strong novels written in the first person (like mine), many covering contemporary issues such as climate change (like mine), many with strong individual voices (hopefully like mine) and where there were two books covering the same topics only one was shortlisted. So maybe mine was just nearly good enough, rather than way off mark. Either way I believe in it, which is a first, and happily started sending query letters to agents the next day. The month before Christmas is probably not the time to be querying but I shall start again in the new year after reading through my newly acquired Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook.

The other things that have been happening are that I have had some paintings accepted into the gallery Art in the Heart, despite my view that they would think them insufficiently arty (see earlier post). It was fun getting all my paintings out of the loft and choosing four to be displayed in January, alongside my miniatures and cards. It was nervewracking too, trying to narrow twenty paintings down to four, and writing an Artist’s Statement that was both interesting and honest. I still have much to do – getting new business cards and flyers and promoting the gallery through social media, as indicated in my contract, – but it was great to temper the disappointment of the Mslexia competition with a success.

I might have to expand my website – Author/Artist/Photographer/Mummy isn’t covering it all any more!

Finally I had a job interview last week for a Marketing Manager (although really a Marketing Director) role. I had to pull together a presentation with a day’s notice, and despite tears and tantrums (mine and the kids) I managed it. I was rather relieved not to get the job as it turned out I would be managing 8 staff – I find it hard enough managing two pre-schoolers – but it was wonderful to put my heels on again and remind myself that I used to be good once. It’s funny how, in this slash-slash generation, you can forget the lives you lived before. Funny, too, that Artist and Marketing Manager should both come back as Writer and Mummy were under pressure.

So, where next? I have decided I need to try harder to start my own business, to use those brain cells that have been long dormant. I rather-jokingly came up with 3AD Publishing when I prepared Pictures of Love for self-publishing, so that I would have a publisher’s logo on the spine.

My husband has started 3AD Solutions to promote some of his Product Management ideas. I think it might be time to combine forces.

The cover I designed for my sister’s book

I have enjoyed preparing texts to self-publish (I did one for my sister and her husband for Christmas, as well as several of my own) and I loved designing the front covers. There must be a market out there for those services!

Whatever happens, Writer/Mummy will continue, even if she morphs into Artist/Writer/Photographer/Mummy/Marketer/Designer/Editor.

Phew.

Bring on 2013!

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.

Learning to row and little ones growing up

Turns out rowing is in my family’s blood!

I must apologise for my prolonged silence. When my babies were born a childminder I met said, “As a parent of very young children your world will shrink to a tiny point where the only things that matter are whether they eat and sleep and are happy. As they grow older you will begin to remember that there’s a whole other world out there.”

As my son’s second birthday approaches (this Friday – I can’t believe it) that prophecy has become true. All of a sudden I have re-joined the human race. As a result, some things – like my writing and this blog – have been forced into the background, despite my best intentions that that wouldn’t happen. I’m particularly concerned that I have entered my young-adult novel Dragon Wraiths into the Mslexia competition without the final draft being completely finished. I’m taking a gamble that I’ll be able to at least fix any continuity errors before I might have to submit the full manuscript, which they estimate as being in November for the short list. To be honest I don’t really expect to make the short list so it will be a nice dilemma to have.

For those paying attention to my on-going ramblings about my young adult book I have had to forgo entering the Chicken House competition, as the final first draft came in a third over their word count limit of 80,000. I’m not an enthusiastic (or experienced) enough editor to lop off thirty-five thousand words in a month.

So what have I been doing in the real world?

Learning to row

I married into a family of rowers and always vowed I would learn one day. I vowed I’d learn Italian too (my husband is half-Italian) but that’s proving more tricky. My husband planned to teach me to row after our second child was born, but a premature baby and postnatal depression put paid to that idea.

Then this summer our local Adult Education brochure arrived and I read it cover to cover, as I always do. I’m an academic junkie as well as always being on the lookout for local Italian classes. No joy on that front but there was a five-week Ladies Only Learn to Row course. Fate.

I changed the kids’ nursery days, swore my husband to secrecy, and signed up. Three weeks in and I’m loving it: Now I can actually propel the boat without facing the prospect of a cold bath that is. The first two weeks were HARD. My brain wasn’t used to concentrating for two hours at a time and I got very cross with my lack of coordination. The lady from British Rowing seemed to think I was the antithesis of a natural.

Today, though, the boat flew. It was amazing. I rowed with my eyes closed. Literally. To start out rubbish and get better – to feel myself improve and to get instant feedback (if I sense I’m about to join the ducks I’m doing it wrong) – is exhilarating.

If only writing was like that. Or parenting.

After nearly four years of feeling like a failure it was fantastic to be proud of myself for once.

Little ones growing up

The other thing we’ve been doing this week is looking at primary schools for my daughter. Scary stuff. I’ve thought about where I would like my children to go to school pretty much since my daughter was born. Several of my friends are teachers and my sister moved her family to America partly because of a school she wants them to attend. Education is important.

I think back to the various schools I went to as a child and I can see the different shifts in my personality that came with each one. To make that decision now, when my daughter is not even four and my son (who will hopefully go to the same school) is not quite two, seems madness. Thankfully we are blessed with an array of great state schools around us so the choice is more small village school versus larger town school, and whether to take current friendships into account. No decisions yet. I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime I am trying to get my head back into writing, to plod on with editing Dragon Wraiths (harder than I hoped it would be) and writing query letters for Pictures of Love (which I still intend to self-publish but, as I haven’t got time to do the final proof-read at the moment, I may as well rack up a few more rejection letters!)

Have any of you recently sent your first child to school or started a new hobby? What keeps you away from editing and blog writing?