Sunday confession

Back in January I made the decision to stop writing. I gave up; retired. It was a relief. Writing (or failing to get my novel what I wanted it to be) had begun to make me really unhappy.

I thought about why I’d begun writing a novel in the first place. It was something I’d always wanted to do but like so many people, I only talked and thought about doing it. Then one day, I stumbled across a blog that invited anyone writing a novel to join a race for support and camaraderie. It wasn’t easy but it made me happier than unhappy.

I have a not-so-secret confession which people rarely believe - I don’t have any burning desire to publish. I wanted to write the best book I could just for the sake of it. There’s something about the process of writing (and making art or craft, come to that) that does it for me. And having to turn my creation out for anyone’s scrutiny (publication or exhibition) brings me out in hives.

And so I did write a novel: 107,000 words of story, a beginning, a middle and an end. Most people spend their lives saying they want to and never do it. I did it and I should be proud of that.

Over the five years that I’ve been writing I’ve had breaks from it; periods of laziness or frustration and even though I’ve longed to give up, I haven’t been able to stop; not completely anyway. There has always been something inside that I identified as a need to write. However miserable it made me I had to continue to do it.

Two months ago, for the first time in four or five years, I felt as though I had a choice. I don’t know what had changed, except perhaps that the unhappiness outweighed the pleasure and I felt as though I’d been released from something and that I could stop writing. It was liberating. There was some grief too but mostly there was relief.

I began to attend jewellery-making classes instead. I feel that making uses a totally different part of my brain from writing (although maybe it doesn’t or shouldn’t) but when I draw or make I go to a place where nothing intrudes. I struggled to find that place in writing… I’m going to come back and tell you about the jewellery course tomorrow but here’s the funny thing:

I have begun to think about my next writing project.

RAKE WEIRD TEAM

I've failed at the 'being a better blogger' already, right?

What have I been up to?

I have been writing. I've done 10,000 odd words of novel and 1,500 odd of non fiction book. 

I've had some migraines; raced about Bangkok looking for pink computer covers for Daughter (it had to be pink; HOW many malls? I found it at Fortune.) I've tried to have a life too. I've attended book club and a coffee morning so that I remember how to socialise and today I've been back to Wood Street with my friend K. She needed some furniture and I needed wanted some letters. Daughter and I wasted quite some time making anagrams with my new letters.

Now if you'll excuse me I've 500 words left to do today.

Here are my wooden letters:

Still scared

Things have calmed considerably in Bangkok. The original curfew that was instigated on Wednesday night between 8pm – 6am was extended. The following three nights were 9pm – 5am and last night until tomorrow it’s 11pm – 4am.

I feel a bit manic. We’ve raced around trying to be normal. On Friday after the biology exam we went to the cinema (Daughter and I saw Bounty Hunter which was just the sort of nonsense with pretty faces we needed. Son saw Robin Hood – I have a very low tolerance for dodgy/slipping accents (Johnny Depp, I'm talking about you in the first Pirate film) – I’m not sure I’ll cope with this film.) On Saturday all four of us went to see Shrek which had us all laughing. I do love Shrek. I saw lots of friends while we were out all trying to be normal or trying to cheer themselves up.

Everyone has taken a bit of a bashing but I expect we’ll get there in the end.

However, it turns out I’m still scared.

Not about Bangkok – though I am a little, if I’m honest – it’s the novel again. I’ll stop a minute while you all sigh. *Collective sigh*

Scared scared scared. That’s what I am. I’m fairly certain that I know what I have to do but I’m too frightened to start.

(I need Dummies Guide to Twentieth Century Britain. Does anyone have recommendations for researching twentieth century life? How we used to live?) 

Unsteady Jenny

I love how meeting blog friends is like making proper, in the real world, friends. I met a blog friend today for the first time –  *Waves* - she just lives over the road from me which is pretty fab.

I went to hers; so I got me some cat lovin’ too, which is even better.

Lovely Talli has given me this Prolific Blogger Award. I wondered if it was for my verbal diarrhoea-like tendencies. These have been strangely missing this week as I worry away about my novel and my next step. I'm not sure how many people I nominate... I might have to check up on this.

Back on form tomorrow for a Friday Photo.

All first drafts stink, honest

Yesterday I finished reading my first draft.

First drafts are always sh*t though, right? Who said that? Hemingway? Elmore Leonard?

For days now my poor family has been suffering my sighs, exclamations of horror and claims that I’ve been sent to sleep by my own manuscript. But no, that isn’t a bad sign, it’s just the sign of a crappy first draft. I am not a planner; I’m a flyer by the seat of my pantser so I had no idea where I was going. Of course it’s a mess but ‘writing is rewriting’ isn’t it? No-one has to see it until I’ve done some major surgery.

And there were good things. If I try to be fair and not totally panic-stricken the last 180 pages weren’t bad, in fact, I rather enjoyed them, so I must have learned something as I wrote. I had a good idea of the story by then. I noted in those pages that I went in late to scenes and got out early: excellent. The first 280 pages were quite awful and there’s a lot of work to do on them but if I can identify the better scenes, I can remedy the crappier ones. And my dialogue is mostly good even if my narrative stinks.

Okay; deep breath and no more talk of shredders.

No Friday Photo and metaphor madness

Ha! I thought writing the first draft was the mountain.

I’m laughing at myself now, only a little bit in desperation, because here I am standing on top of that peak and I see there’s another one, even higher up, in front of me. It must have been hidden by the clouds.

Of course I knew there would be hard work to do after the first draft… but I’m only just beginning to see HOW much.

I remember in the early days of learning to drive how difficult it was just to turn left. (I wasn’t one of life’s natural drivers.) I had to look in the rear view mirror, signal, press the brake, change down a gear with clutch and hand, start turning the wheel to the left to hug the edge of the road, look both ways on the road I was turning into… all within a split second. My driving instructor made me go around the same block about six times because I couldn’t do all those things at once.

Maybe it’s the same for everyone; perhaps I think too much about process. Anyway all I could do with the first draft was write chronologically – to consider anything else was madness.

Now, as the time lengthens between finishing the draft and the present, I’m beginning to think about structure. My thoughts are beginning to crystallise. Now that I can see the whole in my head I might be able to work out a plan.

But before I start rewriting, something else exciting has landed in my lap. I think an extra month away from the novel is probably quite a good thing.

Happy weekend everyone.

Blog famine

You know, this won’t do. It simply won’t do.

Why the blogging famine here at Tea Stains?

I am unable to put together a coherent post so here are some bullet points for you.

• I enjoyed Mystic River.
• I’m enjoying Incendiary - which isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy Heartburn.
• I’m wondering why shop assistants need to stalk customers.
• What would have happened if the deadline had come around and you still hadn’t done it?
• I’m confused why tourists come to Thailand without having done a teeny weeny bit of research. It’s not okay to wear a skimpy and flimsy white dress with spaghetti straps and conspicuous black underwear. Save it for the beach.
• I am sad that one of our guests is flying home today and the other will go to Koh Chang on Thursday.
• I am beginning to feel something (other than confusion) about starting work on my novel again!

I hope to find my blogging mojo over the next few days.

Euuughhhh

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I'm still writing the never ending book. I can't bring myself to blog until it's done.

I might be some time.
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From washout week to storming Sunday

I reported yesterday what a disastrous week I’d had with my novel writing. And it couldn’t have come at a worse time… just as I’d launched on a neck and neck race with Sheepish. So the week was a disaster: draw a line under it. There is no point in dwelling on it but nor did I want to produce a shameful 600 words which is all I’d managed. I’d done well enough the previous week to make up for a shortfall this time but, you know, I didn’t want to give Sheepish the satisfaction… Although… maybe, I could mess with her head? I could lull her into a false sense of security, couldn’t I? Then she'd relax and I'd whip her woolly bum next week? *Clears throat* that sounded better in my head.

No no no. I said 500 words a day, five days a week. That’s my minimum. There was nothing else for it but to dedicate my Sunday to it.

So Sheepish, punctuated by Sunday lunch at the pub with family, I’ve had two Starbucks stints today and my words this week: 2607. I have to say, even though you’ve beaten me, that I am a bit proud of myself. It takes my total word count (as you can see left) to 68,000.

I can do this. I can.

From Utah State Prison to Bangkok...

In my final report my mentor said:

“I have recently re-read Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca and suggest it might make a useful model for you as your novel has certain key features in common with it. Both novels revolve around a mysterious death in a family and feature the destructive power of jealousy, and both also attach great significance to a house as a metaphor for the site of conflict. Du Maurier uses a lot of circumstantial detail, but always as a means of creating a mood and building tension. If you do not already know the book … or have not read it for a long time, I urge you to read it with the aim of unpicking the way du Maurier tells her story.”

I have read it - as an adult because it was one of those gaps in my reading I was trying to fill in - but not recently enough to remember much about it (other than the opening line: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”) I certainly hadn’t made any connections to my own novel…

I finally found a second hand copy in Bangkok, at Dasa* books. It’s not a particularly nice copy: it has a tacky red silk background and small text (oh dear, how old I am getting) but it’s a copy. When I got it home I noticed that in a previous life it had resided at Timpanogos Library, Utah State Prison. I had a look at USP’s website and it looked a grim place. Not worse than any other prison and I’m not making any kind of statement about what it should or shouldn’t be like … but really, I hope some of the inmates enjoyed the book. There are notations by the text and passages underlined and it made me wonder if someone used it to study from…

I'm still wondering how it arrived in Thailand. More to the point, who did it and how did it escape the US prison system? Was it smuggled out?

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*BKK readers: Dasa books has moved... only a few doors down (past the posh piano shop) but don't assume it's closed down. Keep walking down Sukhumvit and you'll find it... and you may need to reward yourself with one of their chocolate brownies, served warm with cream....

Get me and my writing pants!

My children have been in school for two weeks now and as a result I’ve managed to establish my writing rhythm. People keep asking me when I anticipate finishing this draft. A date gets mentioned, and I say ‘that would be nice’ as though I have no control over it.

Last night I met my friend J in Starbucks. She asked me the question. I said I thought it would be great to finish by the close of 2009. “Actually,” I said, “I would prefer to finish by the end of November, then I could have a month before looking at it again during my non participatory skiing holiday.” I said that I could commit to writing x words a day… Her gaze became vacant and disappeared over my shoulder; I thought she’d seen someone she knew. Then she muttered numbers: “Yes, you could easily do that.” Cor, my mental maths is a bit more of a paper and pencil affair. So then I said “what if I do 500 words per day, five times a week?” She did that vague thing again, which now I knew meant her brain was whirring. “Yes; still possible.”

I suspect the nice round 100,000 words is not realistic. I think now that I’m talking nearer 90,000. I have some dates marked out in October just for writing (I just have to protect them) So that’s it. That’s the aim: the end of November.

What's in a name?

Firstly, I’m very over-excited that my caption ‘won’ DJ’s Wordless Wednesday. I’ll skate over the fact that we were all winners. I can’t turn on the funny. It is the skill I’m most envious of in other people, particularly writers.

DJ’s award leads me onto wondering if anyone knows if Blogger will let me have a ‘page’ where all my blog awards are… that I can link from the sidebar? I’m very proud of every award I’ve had but on one of my rare tidy ups I had to remove them from the sidebar as it all got so cluttered. I have them sitting in a folder ready to display… but I can’t work out how to do it.

I think it might be time to don my apron, a headscarf and reach for the furniture polish for another TeaStains tidy up. My blogroll is out of date; if you have a big, showy offy widescreen, then my tea stain won’t reach all the way across it. It’s not just spring cleaning needed here…

My blog started two and a half years ago when I could hardly admit to myself, let alone out loud, that I wanted to write. It took a further eighteen months before I was writing seriously. So the blog is all a bit untidy and I suppose it needs to develop. It needs to go from a scared woman in Thailand trying to admit to herself she wants to write to a (slightly) more confident person who wants to write the best book she can.

As for publishing…I really don’t know. But, if that’s what I want, I need to start thinking about TeaStains maturing.

I started life here as JJ to avoid there being two Jens/Jennies in the Novel Racers (Spiral). And of course I wanted the anonymity too … Then I started to write my book and I learned things about publishing – such as having a platform – I became JJ Beattie because I felt if, eventually, I want to seek publication, the time I’ve spent at TeaStains will be the beginning of that. So in my big tidy up, should I remain as JJ Beattie or should I become me? Jenny Beattie?

Oh dear. I don't know and I really hate housework.

Whoops

Isn’t it funny the things that we struggle with in our writing?

I’d read so much about how many writers find dialogue difficult that I was completely and utterly prepared to be stumped by it but I LOVE writing dialogue. I love writing those loaded sentences and the non sequiturs.

I remember Cally telling us at one of the Novel Racer meets about how often her character woke up in the morning. I chuckled … and made a mental note to make sure my character hardly ever woke up in the morning (you know what I mean…)

I got my knickers in a twist recently about what day it was in my novel; something happens on a Sunday and it was crucial that I knew where I was so I went right back to the beginning to work it out. So that I could find the change of days again – I’d do a find search on the document - I made a note of the opening lines of each new day and made up a timetable. This is what it looked like:

MONDAY: Marina arrives and it’s the funeral.
TUESDAY: “The following morning, Marina’s body clock woke her at 5am.”
WEDNESDAY: “The following morning, as soon as Marina was conscious…
THURSDAY“The following days, Marina stayed mostly in her room curled up….”
FRIDAY
SATURDAY: “On the Saturday lunchtime, Marina’s sixth day home…”
SUNDAY: “It was only when she was fully conscious that Marina realised…”
MONDAY: “The following morning Marina began to search for the book again.”
TUESDAY: “Marina woke just after midnight…” This is the early hours of Tuesday. And Page 165: “The following morning, Marina sat alone in the kitchen…”

Whoops. Boring boring boring. I’ve got work to do. (I'm not stopping the first draft to do the work... I shall fix it later but it doesn't do any harm in seeing the horrors now!)

More on mentoring

I thought it was about time to come back and tell you about the mentoring process as I’m experiencing it with The Literary Consultancy. I'm far enough into the process now to see some of its results.

I can submit up to ten thousand words, six times to my mentor. She (in my case) will report back within two weeks (usually around a week in my experience.) You can find further details of what the mentoring deal includes here.

Someone once said to me that I was brave submitting a first draft to anyone to look over, but the truth is, it’s not a first draft. I write the ten thousand words and then I edit them. They aren’t finished, but not are they as rough as a first draft either.

My first ten thousand words were ready to go as soon as the agreement was made. I had been working on these for such a long time that several friends were concerned I was only ever going to have ten thousand, fully polished, words. While I waited for the first report to come back I worried. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to write another ten thousand words in six weeks; I worried what the report would say. The report came back with a good balance of positive and critical comments.

I did manage to write the second ten thousand words and I sent them off after the six week interval. I worried again. This time I worried that the first section had been a fluke. I thought that my mentor would come back and say ‘Oh, what happened? The first section showed promise … what happened to these words?’ The second report came back and instead of the above, there was a good balance again of positive and critical comments.

I was beginning to believe that I could get the words down. I had written two lots of 10k of words… I could probably write another 10k, couldn’t I?

However, the third ten thousand words were much harder. I really needed the growing belief that I could do it. The novelty had worn away a bit and it was hard slog. I had quite a few personal issues to worry about. It was Christmas and I was going away with my family but I would have to work while on holiday as I was a behind with the words. I sent off the third section with a covering note saying that I had struggled with these words. My mentor wrote back saying that the process is flexible and next time to take a bit longer until I am happier. That way, her comments are extending me rather than correcting things I already know. When the report came back she had included lots of positive and critical comments and told me that in general, it felt underwritten. This was a crucial comment that helped me understand my pattern of work.

Bitterly disappointed that I’d let myself down, I sat down to write the fourth ten thousand words. Somewhere during this writing, I discovered that I had two distinct heads (metaphorical heads, silly!) The reason I hadn’t been able to get the third lot of words into order was because I had creative head on and in order to polish, I needed editing head and I simply hadn’t recognised that. As long as I knew which head I needed to sit down with I was able (mostly) to conjure the right attitude. I also realised that I always need to return and flesh out … hence the underwriting.

So here I am two thousand words into the fifth ten thousand words. I know what’s coming in the story but I have absolutely no clue as to how I am going to get there. BUT, I have a developed a relaxed attitude to this, a faith almost, that it will happen. I hadn't had any idea either how to get from one word to one thousand words, but that had happened and more.

It’s like being an alcoholic, one day at a time or in my case, one scene at a time.

Books

It’s Book Club today.

We’re talking about Emergency Sex (and Other Desperate Measures) by Kenneth Cain, Heidi Postlewait and Andrew Thomson. It’s written by three UN workers who meet in Cambodia and they tell their stories through that mission, and then subsequent missions in Rwanda, Bosnia, Somalia, Haiti and Liberia.

It’s another hit for the book club reader in me as I would NEVER have picked it up voluntarily and it was tragic but brilliant.

I’m now reading Pigtopia by Kitty Fitzgerald. You might have seen in on my pile of goodies here. It has a lovely spine and cover (the spine is very important if that’s the way it’s presented in the book shop) which is why I picked it up.

In my own struggle to cobble together a novel, I’m strongly attracted to ‘beautifully crafted’ in the hope that I might learn something.

Pigtopia tells the story of two unlikely friends, Jack and Holly. ‘Jack Plum looks like a monster’ says Holly, ‘but his voice is sweet and soft. He also looks like an adult but he doesn’t act like one.’ With only his invalid, alcoholic mother at home, Jack wants to befriend Holly but he waits until her 14th birthday so he can make offerings and approach her when the time is right. When he does speak to her, she’s terrified as Jack is the brunt of local folklore. Jack asks himself ‘why she is so feared and is it just my big hoghead and ugliness?’

Holly, despite her lack of physical development, is more mature than her peers. Things got better when her Dad left so she lives happily alone with her Mum. However, the status quo is about to change at home.

So they begin an unlikely friendship. Jack introduces Holly to the pigs that he rears in secret and Holly promises to help him with life’s practicalities.

Some of the reviews I read suggest an uncertainty whether Pigtopia is written for children or adults… they wonder from the book jacket (not the same edition as mine) and speculate whether Kitty Fitzgerald knew. But what I think… I DON’T CARE. It just doesn’t matter who it’s aimed at.

Listen: ‘Mam says that Dad was pigflesh and pigmind, a huge mucky porker what nabbed her by force, then jogtrotted off beyond the farlands when he understood what had been hatched.’

I’m about half way through and something rather awful has happened. Holly has promised she will help Jack without the outside world intruding in on his world. Jack has 'the frights' and so do I. I can’t wait to find out what they’re going to do.

Bottoms up to Calistro

I was going to come and talk about orchids and packaging today…

…and then I read Calistro’s post and now I can’t be bothered to tell you the drivel I had planned because it’s not nearly as exciting as …

…Calistro having an agent who ‘absolutely loved’ her book and I’m really, really excited for her.

I do feel a warm glow at predicting at Manchester Novel Racer meet back in … April/May I think, that Cal would be next and it feels particularly good to say ‘I told you so’. I know there are no hard and fast rules to these things, but it seems to me that Cal did it right. Of course, there’s not a right way to do it but if there were, this would be it.

Serving one’s apprentice in the short story market: selling, being placed and getting commended, demonstrates writing ability and seriousness to one’s attitude (despite the fact that the short story is such a different beast to the novel.)

Fantastic news.

Update

I’ve just finished reading Labyrinth by Kate Mosse. I really enjoyed it. You’ll all have seen it on the shelves, but it’s a biggie at nearly 700 pages. I’ve read much more widely since I’ve been a member of a book club so I probably wouldn’t describe Labyrinth as being my first choice genre, but I read it because she’s a tutor on the Literary Consultancy’s Literary Adventures writing course that I’m going on next month. The minute I finished it I had that lovely/horribly reaction of feeling bereft of the new friends I’d made.

My children flew home to Bangkok on Saturday and I went to meet them at Suvarnabhumi airport (pronounced Soo-van-a-bhum). Son got to me first, gave me a big hug and whispered ‘We flew business. We got upgraded.’ His ‘Na-na-na-na-nah’ patent in the warm breath in my ear … I wasn’t at all envious …

There seems to be a correlation (for me, anyway) between writing and blogging: the more I write, the less I blog. I’ve got stuff to blog about, but I appear not to need to say it quite so desperately when I’m writing elsewhere. My word count isn’t escalating dramatically, but I’m reworking Chapter One. I know I should just get the story down, but there are several reasons for what I’m doing. If there is any chance to show any part of my embryonic novel to anyone on the writing course, then I don’t want it to be just plonked down without any further thought. Secondly after the wonderful conversation with the vicar about funerals I can now add stuff in and change errors I’ve made.

I’m getting there

I managed to stay awake all day yesterday – even through Batman – and sleep on and off last night.

Today I’ve got my contact lenses in which is testament to the fact that the narcolepsy symptom of my jetlag has eased. I’ve emptied the suitcases; onto the floor. The dirty washing has made it into the basket and the books and the clean clothes are in a neat pile … on the floor.

I’ve been on the phone to Carol for two and a half hours to catch up with what I’ve missed here. And I’ve written 630 words for an article which I reckon I can record in 100 words a day. (Did you see? I'm first today; first... no matter that my day starts six hours earlier than yours... I was first.) With that off my back, I’m free to do some novel! Except, now I’m tired and I’ve got piles of books on the floor to fall over in the night when I’m awake again.

*whispers* OMG

I’ve been OUT for about seventeen months now. Out in cyberspace I mean and in terms of having admitted to myself and others that I want … am trying … to write a novel. Strictly speaking being out under a pseudonym probably isn’t really being out – but it’s an alter ego not a pseudonym.

It's a long road and I was very early on in the process but I’ve been here on the blogs all this time, listening to the conversations, particularly though not exclusively, those of the Novel Racers and I hear things. Sometimes I hear things that make me think ‘what do they mean?’ ‘I don’t think that happens to me.’ I didn’t feel … inadequate or even intimidated but I did wonder if it would ever happen to me. Maybe it didn’t help my confidence, which is fickle at the best of times, but usually I just thought I hadn’t quite got the experience of some of the others. And that’s fine.

But do you know what? It is happening to me. Those people from Novel 2 … they keep appearing in my head and having conversations; all on their own. The Mum and the Sister have been here today, separately, and had arguments with the MC. I can see one of the more minor characters. He doesn't speak much so I haven't quite worked him out but I can see and feel him.

It’s decision made, really isn’t it?

On I go with Novel 2, then.

Doncha just love it?

I was feeling a little pathetic yesterday. I couldn’t write at home so after lunch with Husband and Son, I went to write in Starbucks. I bought a fruity frappacino, read the freebie Eng Lang magazine and then hugged my bag to my chest and went to sleep. Yes, in Starbucks. This means one of two things: either I have properly immersed myself in Thai culture (Thais will sleep anytime, anywhere) or I was a bit poorly.

When I got home I was full of self loathing for not writing, but then I realised I was feeling ‘not quite right.’ I took Migraleve immediately which put a halt to the pain and meant I could function. I woke this morning still feeling not quite right but we’ve got stuff planned so I got myself up; read a couple of blogs (including this one) and went into the shower (I apologise for any horrible images this conjures up for those that know me.)

While I was in the shower (ditto apology, didn’t mean to remind you) with my mind a wandering, I came up with Novel No 3 idea. (There is a small problem in that I haven’t written either novel 1 or novel 2, but it used to be the lack of ideas that worried me … now of course it’s the writing of the ideas…) Anyway, it’s perfect; it fulfils all the things that obsess interest me while being different enough from the ideas for 1& 2.

I owe Wordtryst big time for a comment in her post, which my mind picked up and flew with.

Then I had an idea for an article I’m doing that I knew was due but the subject had eluded me.

Doncha just love it? Now, of course I’ve got the small matter of writing them…