Making it up as we go along.

I spent most of yesterday on Dunwich beach walking, thinking, writing, jotting.

It was extremely windy and the seaside is changing now particularly at weekends. The beautiful people have arrived: families, romantic weekenders, dogs and/or children in tow. I feel more the outsider now. On this long, long beach I was almost totally alone save for a group of young (to me!) people who walked by, so happy, so confident of who they were, what life was all about, and it was about having fun at weekends, to chill after the pressures of a busy week, in their cropped trousers, clothes with labels I've no inkling of. Such good looking men in mirror shades, their loose-hipped, soft-lipped, finger-licking-good girlfriends following close behind. A glance at me as I clung to the strip of sand right by the sea, a glance that seemed to say to me, what's she doing here all alone walking in such a desolate place? Probably more likely indifference, my own hang-ups got a chip on my shoulder this week.

Look this isn't what I meant to write today, not what I meant to write at all. It's just I've been thinking, a lot, and I woke up at three this morning with what I thought was insight into my situation, but I don't know. It may be just coincidence that it's a whole year since I started this blog, and somehow I feel it's time to end this one. It was supposed to be about Selfish Jean after all. I may start another one about something else, a new book or a new life, I've no idea, but I just don't know what to do next.

It's pre-sunrise now and I've just heard the cuckoo.

Had a bit of a Road to Damascus moment (or is that a Big Crosby/Bob Hope film?) and feel I'm on the verge of a whole new life, either that or I have to retrace my steps back to my old one somehow.

Last year was amazing, exciting, different in all sorts of ways from volunteering in an orphanage to all the book publicity events. However, it was all planned out and I'm not sure I got the mix right. I let the book thing take over too much, going along with this book lark, then trying a second novel lark, because well when you’re offered stuff like that on a plate, you go for it don’t you? Of course it was a dream come true, but maybe one book is enough really. I just feel I don't want to write anymore at the moment, not to the point of spending months on something for nothing. It was a crap book anyway, the second rejected one, I can see that now. It didn’t really come from my soul, bits of it did, but not much of it. It was phoney I think.

Except as I was walking on that beach I realised it was heading to Walberswick, in which part of my new novel was set, and I realised that the Mackintoshes would have walked this very beach many a time too, and it reminded me, the book opened with them walking on a beach. A big theme in the book was about failing, about them failing, but then realising they could move on and start in a new way, as they did several times in their lives. We all have to reinvent ourselves sometimes.

So unintentionally I was walking on their beach on a day I was contemplating my future, in a year that has no pre-plans whatsoever, and that feels a bit frightening, but also a bit exciting, a clean slate. What next?

Maybe that’s why I called this a blag blog, because I felt I’d blagged my way into this getting publishing lark, that it wasn’t really real and it wasn’t really me. A lucky fluke. It was fun, and I met some great people, but it just took up too much valuable time, I think. Books aren't that important. No, don’t all shout, I don’t mean that exactly, of course books are important, how else would we escape, or know how to live, or recognise our experience in another’s, or be transported somewhere else? I just mean mine won’t ever be those sorts of important books, (interesting how I went in the plural then though isn’t it?) Selfish Jean was written, in a way, for me… to let out some of the anger I felt about a situation I was in. To let out some of the stuff I felt I was having to hide, by being a good girl to get approval from those nice adoption people looking for a Stepford Mother type. The book was all fiction, but the emotion behind it was real. Now, I realise why the second book was no good, I just wasn’t angry enough or believed enough in what I was writing.

Maybe I’ll write another book when I live something I feel deeply enough to write about. And of course I will always write and help other people to do it, or rather I’ll help them write the stuff that is in their soul, the stuff they care about, feel about, their real true selves, disguised in fiction or fact the choice is up to them. But I have to do that myself too or I’m living a writing lie.

To me, what is much more important than writing about something is actually doing something, something that makes a difference, another cliché I know, but true.

Will there be more of this? Was this just one of those middle of the night maudlin moments we all get from time to time? I don't know.

Whatever thankyou for reading and good luck with your writing and life and try and get the balance right! Work out what's imporant, what's really important, not what you think is important...

I can see through my window that the sun has now risen over the sea. and a beautiful new day has begun.

Conversations with Strange Men Part Three

I was introduced to an Indecisive Poet. Here's a summary of our esoteric conversation.

Him: You're quite quirky aren't you?
Me: Er... I suppose.
Him: Your teeth are nice, lips a bit thin though...
Me: Sorry?
Him: Breasts look good. What size are they? Shall I guess?
Me: Er... I don't think so...
Him: You're a bit chunky aren't you?
Me: Chunky!!!!!!
Him: But all in all, I find you not unattractive.
Me: Really? Funny you use the negative like that...
Him: I don't get you...
Me: No.... I guess not.

Reading A Lot Into Things

This is what I'm currently reading, which is the book about Suffolk and recommended to me by the Indecisive Poet. You can't search inside by the way if you're thinking of trying.
But here's some stuff about writing from inside it that spoke to me. As in not out loud. I mean I know I'm feeling a bit mad this week, but not actually hearing voices, I just mean, you know...
anyway...

"For days and weeks on end one racks one's brain to no avail, and, if asked, one could not say whether one goes on writing purely out of habit, or a craving for admiration, or because one knows not how to do anything other, or out of sheer wonderment, despair or outrage, anymore than one could say whether writing renders one more perceptive or more insane. Perhaps we all lose our sense of reality to the precise degree to which we are all engrossed in our own work, and perhaps that is why we see in the increasing complexity of our mental constructs a means for greater understanding, even while intuitively we know that we shall never be able to fathom the imponderables that govern our course through life."

Conversations with Strange Men Part Two

This took place in The Brudenell Hotel when I sat on an opposing sofa and ended up chatting to a a rather nice chick-lit reading builder! After some pleasantries about the shoddy service and the beautiful weather, here's how it went.

Him: So you're working now then? (nodding at my lap top)
Me: No, not really. I'm just doing emails, updating my blog.
Him: What is a blog exactly?
Me: A web log. Kind of a diary.
Him: What for?
Me: Well mine was to publicize my book, but...
Him: Oh you're a writer!
Me: Er.. kind of...maybe...
Him: What sort of books?
Me: Book. A novel. But I've just heard the second one has been rejected so...
Him: Never mind it must be such an amazing feeling having a book published. Knowing that you wrote that and it's out there and people are buying it.
Me: Well yes... I had kind of forgotten how exciting it was at the time... Thanks you've reminded me, it is pretty cool and funky.
Him: I'd love to write a book. I do write but never finish anything.... I did inspire a famous story once however.
Me: Really?
Him: I'm a builder and I went to see this customer and she told me the problem and asked: Can you fix it? I said, yes we can! She was the author of Bob The Builder.
Me: You're kidding!
Him: No.
Me: So you're kind of a guru builder. You inspire writers. Maybe I should hire you!
Him: Er... have to go now. Got a call to make.
Me: Oh OK. Nice meeting you. What's your name?
Him: Bob. Bob the Builder.

Conversations with Strange Men Part One.

Why do drunk men always seem to talk to me? This happened earlier at a tea dance. Yes that's right, a tea dance! No alcohol available apparently.

Him: Do you know your eyes are the most amazing colour?
Me: Er...
Him: The most amazing blue. Are they real?
Me: No, both glass.
Him: I'm really drunk you know?
Me: Really? And it's only 11 in the morning...?
Him: Haven't stopped since last night. Your eyes....I expect people tell you that all the time.
Me: Occasionally, but thankyou.
Him: They look like my Dad's when he was on morphine.
Me: Right. And is he OK now?
Him: Yeah recovered and got his dream job couting newts at some nature sanctuary.
Me: Great! So why do you have one finger nail painted red?
Him: (laugh) I was taken advantage of by a young lady last night, but I can't quite remember.
Me: So she like paints one finger nail before she leaves, like a Mark of Zorro?
Him: You're so funny. Has anyone ever said your eyes are so...
Me: I think you're a louche character.
Him: I'm not loose.
Me: No... louche.
Him: What's that mean?

Maybe I'm no good at sex.

If this entry was to be written by Selfish Jean here's what she'd say:
So what was the fucking point of them trying to discover new writers only to reject them in the end? I know business is tight for publishers (so you hear) but the whole point of getting writers this way was to discover new talent. So that must mean I was talented for the first novel, had a strong original voice, full of irreverant humour, which apparently the second novel has too, but suddenly I can't write anymore. No fucking way!

No, I think it was the sex that did it. It's just too much! I mean did I really think I could get away with describing a blow job from a man's point of view? I didn't did I? Yes I did. Aaaaggggh! I've totally humilated myself. I'll never show my face again. I just had to outdo Selfish Jean and the scene most people comment on (if they dare) is the masturbation scene in a nun's cell. I mean I had to try and top that for the next book and what else was there? I'm glad it wasn't accepted for publication really then, because what the fuck would I do for the third book?

Well hopefully that was a bit of good publicity, as anyone searching for masturbation or blow-jobs on the internet will have brought up my blog; Selfish Jean will suddenly become a best seller and publishers will be clamouring for the rejected tome! That'll show 'em.

OK, so maybe my male "I" wasn't totally convincing, but the whole fucking point of the book, or a major theme at least, was that I don't actually believe men and women are that different, deep down, underneath I mean, or rather that the differences are less than the similarities. Also I got quite into the Yin Yang thing in theme, in that everything always turns into its opposite eventually and back again and so....Oh that's bollocks isn't it? I am wrong. Men are different. Obviously. What was I thinking of? I don't understand them and they certainly don't understand me. I need to study them a bit more.

Actually (this is me again now!) I'm not that angry. Not sure what to next, but not angry. Not really. I always tend to blame myself and I shouldn't have rushed it, took more time, developed the themes more, but I don't really believe it would have made a huge difference if I'd sent it in six months later as far as MNW goes anyhow, they just don't have enough slots. If they publish 20 new novels in the last year in this imprint and plan to continue publishing one per month and each of those writers can send in a second, the maths just don't add up for publishing second novels. Most are bound to be rejected whatever they're like. It's like a cascade effect. Second novels are always tricky, it's a well-known fact, but in "normal" publishing deals there's a bit of a cushion, a bit of an allowance made, for us there isn't. Maybe that's how it should be? I don't know.

Enough!

This from Conor Corderoy who also had his second MNW novel rejected. He sent me the following by email.

Here is something I have on my study wall. It's by Hugh Leonard.

'Writing is neither profession nor vocation, but an incurable illness. Those who give up are not writers and never were. Those who persevere do so not from pluck or determination but because they can't help it. They are sick, and advice is impudence.'

What a difference a day makes

Of course I'm bloody well not giving up writing!
I think what I meant by my maudlin meanderings yesterday was the idea of giving up trying to write what I think will do the trick i.e. be acceptable. I can't quite decide with the rejected work whether I tried too hard or didn't try hard enough, both I think, in different bits of it.

Matt you are so wise (for one so young and lovely!) I think you've hit the nail on the head. I just feel so relieved today that it's over. I've had the thought of what to write for a second book hanging over me for over a year, thinking of different ideas and rejecting many of them and this idea was actually based on a play I wrote and I elaborated on it, so maybe it was meant to be a play all along. Funnily enough, I knew Selfish Jean had to be a novel, so maybe I was writing the new one in the wrong genre.

Lucy, you're a gem (for one so middle-aged and lovely!) and one of the great things to come out of MNW has been our friendship, so thanks. I also think that though you planned your second alongside the first, we were still different to many of the other writers that we didn't have a collection of "old" novels hidden under the bed or in the archives or an old PC, so in a way we are still learning on the job. I've always said the worst sort of failure is never having tried at all, but always wanting to have.

So thanks Lucy and Matt for your fulsome, interesting (and beautifully written) replies. I think I just meant I'm taking stock at the moment, what next? And considering lots (I'm lying, a few) options. And what next is a bloody big glass of wine and having a fun summer! Last summer was far too busy for very little reward.

I'll continue as planned, I think, with arranging my writing workshops for helping people discover their "voice" as it might help me too! I was thinking today how the work I do in this field, often with ill people or those who have very little confidence in their own creativity and imagination is what is important to me. It is a paradox though, as I encourage them to write to make them feel better, build their confidence, change their mood, express themselves, however when you get to the professional level, the opposite happens, it's hard work, fraught with anxiety and filled with rejection. Professional actors have a similar problem I feel. Maybe the lesson is keep it amateur! It's a very, very competitive market.

I'll continue to blog the thoughts as I go here rather than writing up my diary, which would probably have more swear words, and ramblings about strange men, but hey fuck it, why be reticent here?

The Man From Del Monte He Say.....

No! My second MNW novel has been rejected.

Oh well it was fun while it lasted. I feel disappointed obviously, but also oddly relieved it's over. I've decided to blog my immediate reactions and see how I adjust . Blogging will be more diary like for a bit. Random thoughts and feelings.

The main reason for rejection seems to be the fact I had a dual first person narrative, one of which was male and I didn't really convince with it. I knew it would be a challenege, but I didn't want to play safe. As in tennis I thought it worth trying to work the line, at the risk of losing more points.

I knew it needed leaving in a drawer for a few months to look at again, rewrite again, but again I took the risk. Writing a novel is such a lot of work when you aren't really convinced they'll want it at the end of it anyway.

You see, is it just me, but you know what? I'll admit this. I always felt a bit phoney as a "writer". It felt a lucky fluke Selfish Jean was picked out at all. Maybe it's enough to have one book published. I've always been more interested in theatre really, but when the novel was published I thought, maybe I got it wrong, maybe I'm a novelist really. It's all writing of course.
Why do we write?
Why do I write?
I used to write when younger I think because I I felt I had something to say, but really it was about success and being noticed. Now I think it's about trying to connect something about the way I see the world...people... if it isn't doing that, then why? For me it's not enough really.

A big theme in the book was about moving on, trying something new when one option fails despite repeated goes at it... I really feel I want to move on now. Is it possible to give up being a writer you might ask? Well giving up expecting to get anywhere major after years of almosts ... I have some talent I think, just not enough really. I think it's grown-up to admit it and move on. Maybe I'll think differently in days /weeks to come. You see this hasn't affected my sense of who I am, or my own self worth. I'm not being self-pitying, I'm just not sure I'm a writer....but if not what?

Not sold as Many books as I First Thought!

Oh dear!
On the one hand Macmillan have paid me money for unsold books which thankfully I don't think I have to pay back. On the other hand I thought I'd actually sold all books they paid me for. I've just received my latest royalty statement and there have been a lot of returns, which means I've sold about a third less than I thought, so in theory owe them money!

The good news is, according to a recent article in The Observer (which a friend sent me and I've now misplaced so can't quote exactly) that I've still sold around twice what would be expected from an unknown, first time novelist in hard back.
Disappointing not to get any money though! So it's in their interest to publish my next one isn't it? To try and get all their money back!

However, there's also the problem of what sort of books are selling to publishers at the moment and there seems to be a general impression that it's not so many women and maybe why Lucy is having a problem with very charmingly worded, but ultimately same answer rejections. Check out what she has to say.
Maybe that's why we are pooling resources and styles to write a detective novel. Just on my way over to hers in a mo, the ideas get better the more wine we drink... I think...

Some Ideas About Writing from Ian McEwan

I thought his Saturday was a bit of a bore quite frankly, and I love Ian McEwan normally. I haven't read the new one yet, but I also love Chesil and shingle beaches as I live near one.

This is more to do with an article in The Independent April 6th. Interesting stuff about writing and use of metaphor and underplaying it.

"This particular beach offered so many metaphorical possibilities, they could kill the novel! So I really had to row back quite hard on that... it was so rich, that I had to keep the volume down."

Very interesting. Does that knowledge come with experience? Also makes me wonder if I'm someone who hammers my metaphors home in the fear that a reader won't get them if I don't. Here's what McEwan has to say:

" Readers will rebel when they spot an overriding, determining metaphor."

I suppose it depends what market you're in perhaps?

Owning or Being Owned?

I promised you a little bit of The Tao of Leadership and here it is! I just opened the book at random.

Are you doing this work to facilitate growth or to become famous?
Which is more important: acquiring more possessions or becoming more conscious?
Which works better: getting or letting go?

There is a problem with owning a lot. There is a problem with getting more and more.
The more you have and the more you get, the more you have to look after. The more you might lose. Is that owning or being owned?
But if you give up things, you can give up spending your life looking after things.

Try being still in order to discover your inner security. If you have inner security, you will have what you want anyway. Also you will be less harried, and you will last longer.

There you go. What do you think?

So what are tenterhooks exactly?

Whatever I'm on them. Should be hearing about book yeah or nay soon and finding it difficult to settle to much.

Wandering paths by the reed beds and reading in bed.

Roger Morris's A Gentle Axe and enjoying it very much, though I'm getting lost with all the Russian names and who is who. I always have this trouble from Chekhov to Dr Zhivago. Roger does have a lovely way with words though and it's his descriptions that are often very haunting. How about this for example: "The music of a barrel organ clashed with the songs or woodworkers at their lathes and the cries of the itinerant vendors and the stallholders. Overhead pigeons swopped with cluttering wings and settled next to placid, mice-intent cats."

You're there aren't you?

Supposedly writing a crime novel with Lucy which should be great fun as my smack-in-the-gob writing somehow goes very well with her flowing, smooth style, surprisingly! (check out the details on her blog)

Reading a book called The Tao Of Leadership for a course about group dynamics which I'm doing and really enjoying (the course and the book) and had a great workshop presentation with the group the other day about opening doors. The reason I mention this is I should just learn to chill and be able to let go of anything whatever the outcome. It's the old Yin/Yang theory, everything turns into it's opposite eventually, so why worry? Success? Riches? Love? Learn to do without them and more will come your way. Mmmmmm, it is a wonderful read, but really hard to live! I do really want to believe it though, it makes sense in a bit of a mad world. Anyone else into it?

I did have a dream last night that I bumped into my publisher and he said he was in the middle of reading my book and enjoying it, he had a crooked, silly grin on his face and said he liked my quips, (men always tell me that!) but couldn't make a decision till he'd got to the end. A good omen? We'll see.

I want to write more, but my battery runneth low, and the Tao doesn't seem to be recharging it at them moment, what is empty will be come full (when I get to a plug!) I shall update quotes and links shortly.

Have a good Easter!