Archive for April, 2009

Leaving For France


2009
04.28

 

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The Canal du Midi - a great place to think

 

This week has been one of bothMists and Gardens In The Rain.  I have been spoiled!

On Monday I woke just before dawn to a lake of mist lying in the fields beyond our house – then the rains came and the garden grew almost tropical overnight. But the rain has persisted and put a chill back into the day and now I am ready for the sun.

I will miss the flowering of the apple, clematis, wisteria, what is probably the loveliest time in my garden (as John keeps reminding me) but I’m more than willing to swap for endless days of sun, the roof terrace, the cafes of Agde  and most of all the time to write. For the last few weeks I have been holding off, reining myself in, just waiting to make my escape.

I love France. I feel at home there, it calls to me from another life and somehow it always reminds me of  Somerset and the West Country.

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David at work

At the launch of Knives last week Wendy and I discussed the desire to escape which is a theme often expressed in her writing. I think perhaps that all writers long to escape – that all writers want to find time and space away from the everyday in which to work creatively. I say this as a writer who often works at the downstairs table while life goes on around me,  as one  not precious about silence or solitutude. I do believe having a space of one’s own is an essential marker of intent, but I love working alongside my son David who works from home in his newly established internet business. Our days together are companionable and fun and I will miss him.

 But getting away is different. New places and new people equal new inspiration. Domesticity flies out of the window and creativity flies in - all those hours in which to write,  to talk about writing, to wander along the canal du midi and think about the writing, to read, and to soak up everything France has to offer…including Debora’s  (recipe here) french onion tart- ummm… 

bags

 

But what to take? Suddenly I find I want to take everything and there just isn’t room so I am about to unpack what I’ve already packed and see what I can do without.

Things I cannot do without include: laptop, notebooks, pencil cases, camera, watercolour paints, sketchbooks, books , i pod, hairdryer, towel, extension lead …HELP – what about the clothes, shoes and toiletries…ah well I’m not complaining it’s the kind of problem I’m totally up for solving – France here I come!

Writing Your First Novel – The Ending


2009
04.26

 

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A street I explored on my day out with Carole (see Twenty Five Years in Prison) a location I will definitely be using in my new novel.

As I arrive at mistake number six -the final mistake to beware of when writing your first novel (and subsequent novels too, of course) – I am conscious that this may all sound rather like a set of  rules or a writing formula. Of course I would never recommend either. There is so much more to writing a novel than avoiding mistakes. If it were only about mistakes – if it could all be done by a set of rules – then our persepctive would be entirely critical and negative  instead of creative and joyous. However, the pitfalls I’ve highlighted are well acknowledged and will be worth bearing in mind when you are considering your own work. I will certainly be keeping them in the forefront of my thinking as I write my new novel but I will not let them weigh me down.

So - the final mistake concerns the ending. Joseph Finder says, ‘ A great ending is second only to a great beginning in importance.‘  Not giving your book the ending it deserves can be a big mistake; although if your novel finds favour with an agent or an editor in a publishing house they may well give you the opportunity to improve it.
This happened with my first novel, The Sweet Track. When they first read it, the editors at Flambard Press drew my attention to its lack of resolution. They felt that as the novel drew to a close the conflicts that beset my characters were not sufficiently resolved; or where they were, more attention needed to be drawn to them. This was a case when tell don’t show was needed and a time for more explicit writing. 

A reader knows the end of a novel is coming simply because of the number of pages she has left to read and she needs to feel the sense of resolution building in the final chapters: the changes that have taken place, the way in which things are forever different, a glimpse of the future.

Don’t however draw it out unecessarily. An ending is rarely about tying up all the loose ends or explaining everything – although it is important for readers to feel they know in some degree what happens to the characters; once again it’s about finding a balance.

Good endings often have symmetry to the beginning. The novel ends in the place it began. I am reminded here of a novelist whose work I admire – Patrick Gale. His novel ’Rough Music’, begins and ends on the same beach.

Writing Tip - when I was re-working the ending of The Sweet Track I took a lot of books from my shelves (Rough Music was one of them) - books that I loved or admired – and looked closely at the endings, and in some cases the beginnings too. This way I was able to get a  feel for what worked best. One of the changes I made in the final pages was that instead of Lilli and Becca going out to walk across the Levels in the late afternoon, they went out at dawn. I’d discovered that dawn often featured in endings and I could see why – after all, dawn is a new beginning.

There is so much to learn by reading successful writers – look at their final chapters as I did and see what you think works and would work for your novel and Good Luck with the writing!

The Importance of Friends


2009
04.22

It’s midnight now – far too late to be blogging really but I am sitting with a final glass of wine toasting the evening and looking back…

It’s 7pm – people are gathering at Bishop Auckland Town Hall and Library for the launch of Knives - a collection of short stories by Wendy Robertson, and published by Iron Press – I look across the room and see old friends arriving from HMP Low Newton, I look again when I realise that a very special friend Caroline , who I hadn’ t expected to see is among them. I am there beside her immediately – big hugs all around. I regret that I haven’t seen her in so long and I am reminded cliche though it is (but of course all cliches have their origins in truth) – how we shared the good times and the bad – we really did – the laughter and the tears, lots of both, and believe me there are times when that is so very important in prison. She was the best support a manager could have  and I miss her (even though I’m no longer a manager!). Derek is there too: he took over from me  as Head of Learning and Skills and is always so generous in his praise of what went before, such a gentleman – another special friend also, Lesley, who looks well and lovely as always. Charlie and his partner Katie are there and Ann – all of these people, so kind and supportive to the women in Low Newton and doing such a great job.

Also there are friends from Wear Valley Writers – a really superior (and I do believe it to be superior) writing group run by Peter Walters – among them Hilary, Wayne, Lisette, Alison, Joe… and newly made writing friends who have come all the way from Easington : Mary, Mavis, Susan, Chris, Agnes and Freida.
Famous writers!  Sharon, Pat,  Fadia and Kitty -  many writers and readers from across the region in fact, and of course Peter, founder of Iron Press

It has been a privilege to do an ‘In Conversation,’ with Wendy and to be part of what feels like such a successful evening - but  the best of it all were the people – the friends

I raise my glass to  the people who came – without them, without you all, mentioned or unmentioned -and please forgive my omissions but it is very late -  it would have been nothing.

Thank you and now to bed – I will think of you all in the morning, when I am lying in and you are at work

and PS – Gillian, thank you for the book!

Fossil Hunting


2009
04.21

 

 

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Part of an Ammonite from the Beach at Saltburn

 

In his book, On Writing,  (another wonderful desert island choice for a no nonsense, inspiring book on writing)    Stephen King describes stories as found things; like fossils that you have to chip away at  in order to reveal. 

Writing  a novel is very much like fossil hunting  for me. I have to root around for my story and gradually uncover it  layer by layer. I’ve been doing some of this digging around for the past ten days or so and the reason for this is that I have begun a new novel! How exciting is that?

My current novel Bad Girl is now with my agent, so fingers crossed! She tells me that this is not an easy time to sell a novel- I wonder if there has EVER been an easy time – but she is not without hope. In the meantime of course the best thing to do is forget all about the book out there, apart from wishing it well every now and then, and start the next one. Michelle Roberts, one of my favourite writers asks, ‘What’s the best book in the world? Her reply - ‘The one not written yet. It waits in the darkness, like a ghost, like the unborn.’
I’ve been thinking about my new book for sometime now so it’s more than just a ghost, but it still has that shadowy, vague presence that could be described as ghostly and the baby is still very much in the womb, although definitely kicking.

Writing TipSo how do I go fossil hunting? Here is one method- the only tools you will need are pen and paper and your emerging characters. Take each of the characters in turn and write a piece in their first person voice. In doing this you will discover all kind of things about them, how they got to be in your story and about the story itself. You may be surprised by how much you write.This is also a very good way of deepening your knowledge of your character and devloping their unique voice. It can be done at varying stages of the novel not just the beginning

So that’s what I’ve been doing in my beautiful cream Pukka vellum notebook. Now however I have put it aside as there is less time for writing. Now there are more important things to be done, (can there be anything more important than writing? Yes – but only rarely) and top of my list are my preparations and packing  for France

On May 2nd I am off to Agde in the Languedoc – for two months! Yes two whole months of writing and sun -my own outside writing room – with my writing buddy Wendy. It’s hard to believe that our plan hatched in the dark, cold days of winter is about to be realised but excitement is growing: cases bought - clothes, passports and cameras unearthed, lists begun…we are on our way!

In The Company of Writers


2009
04.18
window

Looking out on the garden

 Yesterday I sat down at my dining room table in the company of  the  brilliant Peter Mortimer – writer and founder of Iron Press  and the lovely Kitty Fitzgerald of Pigtopia fame. (If you haven’t read it you should - it’s an enchanting if tragic story) I have to say that it was great fun. There is nothing better than talking with like minded writers, who share similar problems but get on with the job of writing and publishing regardless.

 

Peter and Kitty came to my house for a particular reason; to deliver a delicious box of  books – hot off the press and in time for a launch next week. The book in question, Knives, (see link above for Iron Press) is a collection of short stories written by my dear friend Wendy Robertson. The dark stories in this collection explore ‘how we are formed and transformed by the accident of meeting others.’ I’m looking forward to reading the collection this weekend and to Wendy’s launch next Wednesday at Bishop Auckland Town Hall 7.30pm

Perhaps the only thing better than talking with other writers over coffee at the table,  is talking over a glass of wine in the pub. On Thursday I did just that, this time in Pink Lane in Newcastle at the Mslexia inspired gathering for writers and artists. I enjoyed this immensely, especially meeting Helen and Clare for the first time, and hope there will be more.

NOW - we still have two more of the six biggest mistakes to cover so here it is - Mistake Number Five, concerning backstory –  too much of, and/or in the wrong place.

The way you deal with backstory needs careful consideration. Don’t make the mistake of dumping the character’s backstory on the reader all at once, especially not at the beginning when the reader needs to get to know the character in the here and now.

Too much backstory too soon will slow things down and may well bore your reader. Reveal the backstory slowly, in pieces, as necessary. There is a balance to be found between, revealing your character’s backstory so that the reader is interested and engaged, and keeping things moving. Remember backstory is backward looking – it stops the story dead. (A lesson I learned in novel number two!)

It is best to begin with just enough information to hook your reader and get them wondering. Once you have done this then gradually reveal more of the backstory.  This way you  keep your reader turning the pages and you weave mystery and complexity into your novel.

One way you might consider revealing backstory is through dialogue and this is good for keeping things moving but it can be contrived – so be careful. Overly explicit dialogue is a real problem that the reader will pick up on straight away!

Writing Tipas well as a buddy to write with you need to be in the COMPANY OF WRITERS. They are the only people with the same concerns, passions, difficulties, disappointments and successes as you. Try;  Mslexia, New Writing North, local writing groups (your Library should have details), workshops, internet etc  all of which should provide you with ideas and opportunities for meeting other writers.

Twenty Five Years In Prison


2009
04.17

Yesterday I had  a phone call from someone special that I once worked with at HMP Low Newton. Hearing his voice instantly took me back to my cramped, rather cold, office at the back of the library, where I would sometimes sink into my incarceration and forget that there was a world waiting outside.

I worked at Low Newton for twenty five years, starting as a teacher, becoming an Education Manager and finally a Senior Manager within the prison, in charge of Learning and Skills development. I never meant to stay that long – somehow the place just grew on me. Or perhaps more accurately it was the women who grew on me. 

Prison is full of women who shouldn’t be there, women in need of therapeutic care, women who would be best helped in their own community. There are of course dangerous women from whom the public needs protection but  they are far from the majority. By and large the women I met in prison were great survivors. They were often vicitms of crime themselves, particularly sexual abuse and domestic violence. Many were heroin addicts.

They didn’t make excuses for what they’d done, or feel sorry for themselves, or blame other people. They relished the educational opportunities on offer,  having missed out on most of their secondary school days – they were often carers from a young age too. Perhaps the most surprising thing about them was how much they laughed and made you laugh with them, and also how much they concerned themselves with your welfare and  how kind they could be.

There are a lot of things about working in a prison I don’t miss. I don’t miss the gates, keys, bars, funny windows, or the time it took to just get in and out of the place. I definitely don’t miss the way you never really knew what kind of  a day it was until you got out through the gate in the evening; where the air always tasted different. I recently had a day out with my lovely friend Carole, who like me worked at Low Newton for many years. More than anything that day we were imbued with a sense of freedom, like kids playing hooky: we had escaped and the sun was shining and we were certain that we appreciated being out in the open far more than anyone else could. After all hadn’t we spent what felt like a lifetime behind bars?

Sometimes when women came back into prison for the third or fourth time (in some cases woman were back in and out many times) they would see me and say, ‘Are you still here Mrs Joy? You’re doing  a longer sentence than any of us. ‘ Once, before I left, when a woman asked how long I’d been at Low Newton and I said twenty five years, she looked at me with genuine pity and said, ‘God bless you miss – you poor thing!’

Of course it wasn’t like that. If it had been I couldn’t have stayed. There was much laughter, caring, hope and comradeship at Low Newton and during my time there Iworked with many wonderful colleagues and some very enlightened Governors. But I wont deny there were times when working  in prison was tough. It took it out of you and there was a deal of heartache and pain. From time to time, no matter how you used to it you became, the pain seeped through, under your skin, and inhabited you.

 

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Wallpaper, by Katie. Wallpaper is something you wont find in prison

The Mists


2009
04.16

 

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Blossom in the Mist

Help! from Easter sun and beer in the garden, we have plunged into early morning fog and cold, grey days veiled in mist. (Well at least that’s how it is in the North, I think the weather down south is considerably more clement. )

I’ve been out once already, early this morning, to take my car to the garage and although I’ve come back in, and been sat here some time ,I still have my coat on  – so that should give you some idea of how chill the wind is.

Still, for all my discomfort, I can’t help it – there’s just something about mist I LOVE!  Maybe it’s because I’m a flatlands, Somerset girl at heart; maybe it’s the mystery it evokes, the possibilities that it conceals, the way it can thread itself across the land sitting just above the course of  a river snaking through the valley.

Then there is the lifting to reveal a new country, ‘It was too late and too far to go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now and the world lay spread before me.’ Charles Dickens – Great Expectations. My daughter must have sensed something of my affinity with mist because when she was younger she made me a beautiful bookmark with this quote on the back.

In the first chapter of my novel The Sweet Track – Lilli has just left the seasisde town where she has been looking for a job and is cycling home through the mist…

As she cycled home a mist rose up from the rhynes *and ran across the surface of the pasture. It spread across the fields hanging a foot or so above the land, rising around her and obscuring her pedals and boots. It enveloped her and wrapped itself round like a winding sheet; like a shroud. By the willows cattle were gliding through the gauzy vapour only their heads and backs visible, like targets on a fairground shooting range. The sky turned pink as the sun fell and the moon rose, as Lilli moved through the landscape travelling over the ancient pathways and disappeared tracks once laid across the inland sea. She knew them by instinct; she walked them in her sleep while the land turned to water around her.

*Rhyne is a west country word meaning ditch

Somehow I always sneak the mist in – just to prove the point here is an extract from the beginning of my latest novel Bad Girl… 

Not a wisp or a curl, not a trail or a smudge, not a trace of cloud, only blue. But you can never see the whole of it. Not from this window…

They call me Theresa. Theresa Darling, that’s my name, T for short, sometimes, especially when I’m in jail.  My mother chose it. It was after her favourite saint, the “Little Flower,” Marie Françoise Therese Martin. My mother worshipped her and kept her picture next to the bed in a pink plastic frame decorated with roses.

 

She lived in hope that I would grow up sweet and pure just like saint Theresa. Well I hate to disappoint but pure I most definitely am not, and I’m no sweet pea either. Bless her, but what the fuck did she know?

      When my mother gave up, when she finally abandoned her hope, like a beaten up old box left out in the rain, she abandoned me, or to put it another way, she passed on, as they say. She died. By then I was fifteen and old enough to look after myself so that was okay and besides I’d met Asif and we’d set out on our summer of love. But that’s not to say I stopped missing her or that I ever stopped loving her or wishing it had been different.

      So, how come I’m such a sinner then, such a bad girl, what with my holy name and all? What makes someone like me the rotten apple, the black sheep? I can’t answer that. I don’t go in too much for all that psychobabble. The way I see it, it’s my responsibility to look after myself and keep things right and if they’re not, well I’m the one to blame, no one else.

      Saint Theresa promised the world a shower of roses when she died. She died young, she was only twenty-four. I’m twenty-three and I’m promising nothing. Not that I’m planning on dying, not yet, anyway, but in Longmoor – believe me – in that place, death was only ever a breakfast away.

     Longmoor, east of the city, sat out on the flat lands, beside the river. It was hot, hot as hell, on the inside but cool on the out, like an ice cream pie, the kind you bake, only the other way round; inside out, if you know what I mean. Outside, damp morning mists wound round like the confessional lace. Inside the temperature was turned up to the max, to keep us switched off and slow, to keep us sweet while we wilted under the screaming light. What was I doing there? Well I kept that to myself. We all had our secrets. We needed them, although you got to know soon enough. Wait. It was all about waiting.

 

 

 

Well mist aside I think it’s time to make coffee, warm up and get writing!

Surprise


2009
04.15

 

 

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If your story is predicatable, you are in danger of both underestimating, and boring , your reader. This is mistake number four!

So try surprising your reader instead – if the obvious thing is to take the plot in a certain direction, you might want to consider something altogether different…

A surprise can take a variety of forms - it may be a major development, something that throws a whole new light on your main character’s situation – it may be a  discovery your protagonist makes, an action by another character that leads to revelations: any revelation of new information that is dynamite as far as your protagonist and their situation is concerned.

Joseph Finder says, ‘One way to avoid this trap (of predictability) is not to over-outline. Be spontaneous in your writing. Allow the characters and the plot to surprise you.’  I like this suggestion, probably because this is the way I write. I am not good at outlines, although I do outline at different stages as my stories progress. Really I like to keep plotting flexible and open to all possibilities.

I have probably done more outlining of plot than ever before while writing  my latest novel Bad Girl. This is probably because it has elements of the crime novel and crime novels tend to be more closely plotted.

Just as with plot so with character - although your readers will come to know and understand your characters, your characters will need to surprise your readers every now and again too.

Writing Tip - A useful way to approach this problem of predictability is to ask the question ‘What if..’  this can also be helpful if your story seems stuck. Take your story or character(and their situation) and  then ask yourself the question, ‘what if’ – now write six ways of developing your character or continuning the story, be as imaginative and loose as you can, wild even! Explore all possibilities and you may surprise yourself by finding that your story takes an entirely new and surprising turn.

 

 

All Plot and No People


2009
04.13

 

 

‘One thing we may be certain of – people are the novel’s concern’ – Elizabeth Bowen

‘I believe that all novels…deal with character and that it is to express character… that the form of the novel… has been evolved.’ Virginia Woolf.

Without characters there are no  stories. Our characters must live in the minds of our readers. In order for this to happen they must live in our minds first and this means we need to know our characters very well – how they live and breath, what they eat, who their last text was from, what music they play, how they walk…..

Hemingway said, ‘A writer who omits things because he does not know them only makes hollow places in his writing…’ To avoid such hollow places we need to know as much about our characters as we can. We may not include everything we know in the text but it will inform our writing. So we need to imagine and invent…

Now there are a million ‘how to’ writing books out there which will give you helpful ideas/exercises for developing your characters, so I don’t intend to go into extensive detail here. There are just two things I’d like to say

  • This may all seem very simple and you may think, as I did with my first novel, that I knew my characters well but it came as a big surpirse to me that this did not always come across to my editors in the reading.

             I had to do further character devlopment before the novel was published..

  • Editors commented that the protagonist in my second novel, The Orchid House, was too passive – this can be another pitfall – that of the passive hero – remember the hero needs to act and advance the action, and be seen in action, and don’t forget there must be confict/tension from the start - something he wants, needs etc.

In This Year You Write Your Novel – a great book on writing, Walter Mosely (pgs 36 -37) recommends, ‘the pedestrian in fiction – Maybe your character gets up out of bed and walks across the room to the mirror. You need to see the bags under her eyes… (hear) the sound of the sheets falling to the floor…(feel) the grit beneath her bare feet…the pain in her left knee  where she twisted her ankle on a stone stairway while attending her mother’s funeral…’ 

Such pedestrian details will help the reader enter the character’s reality and believe.

Writing Tip – have your character get up out of bed and go on a journey to the bathroom – as above. Give us the pedestrian detail. It may surprise you – you may find out something you didn’t know.

 http://lifetwicetasted.blogspot.com/ - Do read Wendy Robertson’s – Making People Is Mad - Wendy says,  ’it’s crazy, isn’t it, inventing all these people who live and breathe in my imagination.’  I cannot disagree. Crazy but good.

 

tree

Sundays


2009
04.13

 

 

 

fritillary

From My Front Garden

 

As a child I hated Sundays. To me they represented lost days, mired in lethargy and boredom. Days spoiled by the tensions of enforced silence and barely concealed anger that rattled around in our house. Getting out of the house and away across the fields and riverbank was my escape.  
There were exceptions to the Sunday rule - in particular the summer picnics in the Quantocks and on Berrow sands and trips further afield in the old Hillman Minx, which was prone to overheating especially in holiday traffic.

This  disaffection with Sunday has persisted with me. I am rarely comfortable in its surroundings although I am getting better and Sundays are improving especially now that I no longer go out to work on Monday!

Easter Sunday was perfect – cloudless blue sky and sun on my back - a day spent working in the garden, then rounded off  by sitting back with a beer appreciating all the hard work and the way the garden has sprung into life with the coming of the sun (rather later here in the North I’m afraid).

Good Sundays stand in such stark contrast with those bad remembered days that  I find they sometimes inspire me to write. Here are two of my Sundays, with many more rolled in -

 

Sunday

The kind of light, crisp
white, perfect summer’s day
in spring

A saucer of blossom
cups the shoulder of my coat
casting

back when we walked
in the Kentish orchards of youth
not sown.

Sky blue on the rocks
together, unspoken, still
grown

Drinking love’s fruit cup  
under pale sunlight’s
stem

Days beyond improving
a love not inclined to
telling-

-then, when we were moved
by the same beauties
as now

by the same silent falling
of blossom on a coat
in sun.

 

 

Sundays

High stools and low ceilings

banish a century of Sunday blues

Moss walled cocoons

crowding alleys cobble 

of patent pavements,

red wine, undress, recall

unknown memories

shared, didn’t everyone

watch Morse? Did you

without falling asleep

would we watch together

is that what this is,

is that what

Sundays are for ?