Tag Archives: reading

‘Psst – wanna do something illegal?’

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Truth told, Kathy Evans didn’t quite put it like that – but I did get the chance to go with her to the launch of Miriam Halahmy‘s ‘Illegal’ at Blackwell’s Bookshop, Portsmouth University . She mentioned it on Facebook and I blagged a lift – she is a delightful chauffeuse, I have to say (or I might have to go in the boot in future.)

As a writer, you don’t tend to get out a lot. It’s a solitary business – so a bit of human contact is good. Not only that but the outside world provides its own stimulus. Even a change of scenery can prompt better writing – and going anywhere near a place of learning – well…

There is more. I was glad to see Anita Loughrey and Amanda Lillywhite there – more SCBWI pals. Regular readers will know how much I value the fellowship that SCBWI offers. Not only do they understand the obsession you have, they share it too  – and encourage you in your lunacy. That’s some support network.

I hope Miriam felt suitably encouraged.

It isn’t just about the friendships, though. There is also a good chance of meeting agents and publishers at launches. You might build up other contacts such as publicists – and it does no harm to be seen.

However, it was when Miriam read the beginning of ‘Illegal’ that I found the most personal reason to be there. People from a fair old variety of decades and types stood and listened. They went  into that little world that Miriam had squashed inside the pages of her book. It wasn’t a world that I could make. It wasn’t marketed at the readers I write for – but the story still existed. And that’s what mattered to me – one day it could be me. People might want to enter my little worlds.

I need that hope to hang on to.

Thank you, Miriam and Kathy.

All that is gold does not glitter

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This week I thoroughly enjoyed this blog post by Meg Rossoff  and the reply from Kathryn Evans here. Both wrote fascinating and well-constructed accounts of their intriguing lives. I feel honoured to have such brilliant people among my friends and acquaintances – and I know very many of you reading this could come up with equally extraordinary autobiographies.(Please do – I’d love to read them.)

But I also felt very humble. I haven’t done anything half so interesting – I’ve had a rather dull little life. How can I possibly account myself a writer in amongst these wondrous folk?

Well, I do have that essential quality for a writer – imagination.

My CV may not include the distillation of noxious herbs and their application to vile old women ( you’ll be glad to read), I may not be qualified to mount the most spectacular fireworks display in a ruined priory – nor am I actually able to shape-shift and explore the depths of the North Sea – but I can dream these things up.

And I am something of a pirate – I raid books and magazines and TV programmes and films and other people’s conversations. I sneak off with the shiny bits and clothe myself in their finery. I can nab a bit of someone else’s life and try it on for size: the more magnificent, the better.

Sometimes I even dress that way.

So my friends, if you are like me, a bit commonplace, it’s fine. The source of your writing may not be obvious.

Even a little grey pigeon can be a peacock on the inside.

 

Look up from what you’re reading!

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It’s World Book Day on Thursday March 1st .

Now if you’re reading this you are probably a writer, obviously a reader (snortle) and you understand the importance of books in education. * If you’re a teacher, I have some extra ideas for you.

You probably know I care a lot about libraries – and I’ve found an organisation that helps two thousand of them. It also helps over two million people have access to books in sub-Saharan Africa. The press often writes these countries off as basket cases but they are full of people who want to better themselves just the same as you and I do.

So I’m keen to promote the work of Book Aid International. The website has lots of ideas for fundraising – I rather thought I’d do a bit of a bake for the forthcoming Chi-SCBWI night at my house. My friends won’t mind a bit of scoffing and they may be kind enough to cough up.

As they say, Books Change Lives.

For those of you that work in schools, Book Aid are running two competitions:

You could win  £100 of National Book Tokens for your school. The closing date is 2 April 2012 

1. Dress up competition for pre-school and primary schools

Simply email a photograph of your handmade crafty book character costumes, along with a brief explanation of how it was made and the materials you used.

2. Poetry competition for secondary schools

Write a poem on the theme of ‘change’ and email your entries to Book Aid International. Remember quality is more important than quantity!

I know that I am very lucky – I can read pretty much anything I like. I’d like to share a little bit of that good fortune with other people in this way – how about you?

 

 

What if…

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Recently, there was a brief moment when it appeared my mortal span might be somewhat shorter than expected. As you might anticipate, it tended to concentrate the mind wonderfully. Now it turned out to be a ‘false alarm with good intent’ as the RNLI put it – and I shall no doubt trouble this world for a good long while yet – but it did make me think.

Speculation is an author’s business: we love to think what if?

So what changes would I make?

You may have read The Top Five Regrets of the Dying – which seemed like a good place to start. Being true to myself holds good, but not working so hard? I think if anything I want to give more to my writing now. Expressing feelings –  I am exploring them through  my work. It’s hard to express something you’ve only got a vague idea of. The last two – keeping in touch with friends and allowing myself to be happy – these seem less related to my writing – and yet… Certainly my SCBWI pals are a wonderful help in every direction, and enjoying my writing on its own terms is crucial.

So not much change there, then.

The one that got me, the big scary thing was TIME.

But at my back I always hear
Time’s winged chariot hurrying near

(Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress)

How to deal with that paralysing sense of urgency? Motivation.

I was unable to attend Bekki Hill’s Motivation Masterclass – but I was grateful to read Liz de Jager’s post about it, and also Julie Day’s account. The questions that Bekki asked are challenging – but essential.

For my part, I desire honesty. I want to convey the truth of my imagination. And if that means it may not be obviously commercial, then as long as my wonderful family keep supporting me, so be it.

I want to fail better. I yearn to create something big, even if flawed. I need to stop dabbling about in the shallows, stop staring at the tiny details out of fear. If I only look for nudibranchs, I’ll never lift my head up. I won’t hear the dolphin chittering at the tiger shark and then chase it off.

Whatever my circumstances, I want to make the best of them. Can’t sleep? Read – and create a commentary on the strengths in the work, and how they inform my writing. In a waiting room? Observe , listen, make sense of what occurs. How could I adapt and use that? Look for the insight in every moment.

This final point may sound bleak, yet it is oddly liberating:

finally, I’m on my own

It’s my responsibility to nurture myself. I am very appreciative of every kind and supportive remark I’ve had. I’m so glad of all the help I’ve been given. But it’s down to me to find the time and space for this writer to grow – no one else.

What do you think?

The most democratic of spaces…

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The Library Book is published today – and I have taken the words of one of its contributors to headline my post this week. Kate Mosse, a local Chichester resident, is a frequent and eloquent advocate on behalf of libraries. She speaks up for libraries everywhere, even though West Sussex is relatively healthy on that front.

She is in good company.

Big names such as Stephen Fry, and tireless long-term campaigners like Alan Gibbons, are asking all of us to do something for our local libraries on Saturday 4th February : National Libraries Day.

My contribution will be a little unusual. Instead of taking books out, I shall bringing books in. ‘The Local Rag’ ( yes, Castle Printers‘ news round up really is called that) ran a story on the library wanting books. The Witterings Library was overwhelmed – which shows the level of local support. Since the original influx, they have asked for paperbacks under two years old and hardbacks under four. I will do what I can to provide.

You might like to check what your local library wants – or in some wonderful cases –  is giving on Saturday. Show them you care.

Join a wonderfully diverse band of supporters : The Bookseller, The WI,  and Unison.

Please sign this e-petition ( if you haven’t had chance yet ) by  FEBRUARY 5TH

Buy the Library Book from Waterstones or Amazon or even better from Hive and delivered free to your local bookshop.

Take books in – or out – of your local library.

Do something so that people will have the chances you had in the future.

Marx for tots

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I took a break from editing to visit an exhibition at Pallant House Gallery in Chichester. The illustrator featured was a friend of Eric Ravilious ( who so perfectly captured Downland Sussex ) and had worked on children’s books so I thought I’d give it a go.

Enid Marx (1902 – 1998) was the first woman engraver to be appointed a Royal Designer for Industry in 1944 amongst other claims to fame. Do look her up – she is quite inspiring. But I want to focus on what I saw – and what it said to me as a writer.

It was lovely to see a real book, slightly worn and read, on display. Her designs for Zodiac Books’ ‘Nursery Rhymes’ were light-hearted, slightly scribbly and full of tiny details. She hid ‘easter eggs’ to spot – a technique which appeals directly to children. An early form of interactivity, you might say.

It was also plain she did not patronise children. The birds for Who Killed Cock Robin are each recognisable, the seaweeds in a cloth-book are identifiable and the herring gull and tern quite distinct. She gave her animals character (her cats are particularly fine) but they are not twee. Her large owl is definitely predatory, if not haunting.

I should not have been surprised that she and her partner Margaret Lambert studied and wrote about English traditional art. There is that same directness, delight in detail and playfulness. Despite her sophisticated technical ability, she strove to create something engaging and apparently simple.

That was the message for me. I believe that open-minded children are not so easily fooled by the smooth and glibly perfect, that they react to the quirky, the wonky but honest, and loathe being talked down to. It is our job to produce the best we can, using all our adult guile – yet remain true to our stories.

Never mind the quality, feel the width…

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I’d read Stephen King’s ‘On Writing.’ I knew I had to put my work away in a metaphorical drawer for six weeks.

But it’s hard. You’re locking your baby away. Your baby that you’ve cried over, laughed and smiled at. As a writer you have to be totally involved with your work. If you don’t care, why on earth should your reader?

It is, however, entirely necessary to thrust it on one side. You have to have time to develop the emotional distance so that you can stand back and look at it with a critical eye.

If you’re too close, there’s a terrible temptation to fiddle, to tinker with the little safe bits. If it were a wedding dress you might rearrange a few seed pearls on the bodice- whereas it’s the darts that want seeing to.

Now I have to admit that my MA script is a bit of a meringue at the moment. There are some flounces that it really doesn’t need. They are well constructed but detract from the overall effect. They will have to go because they just don’t suit.

I don’t really like it – but I can see it has to be done. The big cuts have to be done first – no point pinning on the broderie anglaise until the overall form is right, is there? Makes me wish my design and my  toile had been better.

Ah well – at least with writing, you can cover the joins.

Cooking the books

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Those of you who have been on Arvon courses will know that taking part in the cooking is integral to the Arvon experience. At The Hurst, I was a member of the Thursday Singing Crew and whilst stirring my onions and belting out Songs from the Shows, I thought about the creative process.

As I see it, when you get ideas for a book and you do research, you’re looking in the fridge and the larder. You dig out the things you have in store, your experiences, your memories. Maybe you pick up something new. You assemble all your bits like the TV chefs and have a good think.

You might already know the shape of the book, the form it will take: you’d know if you intended to make a soup or a sorbet. Likewise, you’d have an idea of genre be it a ghost story or a spy thriller. Sometimes the best things come from fusion – anyone for supernatural romance or a sci-fi western? Whatever it may be, you’d need some idea of the conventions if only to subvert them.

Some mixes might have limited appeal, like snail porridge or a robotic bodice-ripper but throwing everything in results in a mish-mash, a pot-boiler, which pleases no-one. You know the kind of bottom of the fridge stir-fry, or plot with far too many elements thrown at it. The Venetians have an expression:

non piu di cinque ( no more than five)

not a bad idea in writing as well as in your risotto. The more you add, the more it diminishes the whole.

But that doesn’t mean the judicious use of herbs and spices doesn’t have its place. Just a little of something unexpected can lift the ordinary into first class: chocolate in your chilli; an astonishing image at a critical moment. It all comes with effort and odd bursts of inspiration.

At first, you stick to the recipe, read every How-to. Then you get bolder, take a few risks, produce the weird and the inedible. Only after a great deal of experimentation, maybe with the help of someone more experienced, do you learn how to handle it yourself.

Finally, I hope, you reach a stage where your work pleases your taste and people like what you do. You create for yourself, using your own intuition as a guide but not ignoring thousands of years of tradition. You have a style, a voice of your own and, although people may adapt what you’ve done, you make something distinct and original.

Like a soufflé, there may be lots of work done to create a short-lived moment, but at best, something may linger in the memory of many people. We all need things to sustain us.

 

Passing it on

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I’ve been away to Turkey on an activities holiday. It’s one way of counteracting that dreadful complaint ‘writer’s bottom’ and a good way of meeting new people. During introductions,  it usually got round to what you do for a living.  I decided to be bold and admit I write for children. The response was gratifying – it has to be said this was the middle classes at play – people were interested.

In particular, one family wanted me to chat to their son, Lewis, about his writing. As an ex-teacher, I couldn’t resist this appeal for help.

Now I have to admit this wasn’t entirely altruistic. I had taken my business cards and was quite happy to self-promote. As we all know, word-of-mouth is the best advertising. I had Kate Mosse’s voice in the back of my mind:

Never fail your constituency.

Not only that, but I have a viva voce to go before I complete my MA at West Dean and all practice is good. Explaining what I do and why clarifies things for me. As Frank Oppenheimer said:

The best way to learn is to teach.

So, not only did I enjoy reading Lewis’s high quality and instinctively dramatic work and the opportunity to hold forth, it was useful to me to examine what I had really learnt. Thus I am delighted to be asked by Greg Mosse to support the new MA students on a Tuesday: that’ll sharpen my ideas up.

It may be sentimental but the thought occurs to me that knowledge is like love – the more you share it about, the more you have.

From the heart

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Thursday 5th May 2011 I had the pleasure of attending a fundraiser for StonePillow , a local charity working with homeless people. I went to hear readings from three very local writers: Isabel Ashdown, Jane Rusbridge and Gabrielle Kimm. The quality of the extracts was excellent – and it gave me to thinking why.

The three main works were quite distinct – though all had an historical element. Both ‘Glasshopper’ by Isabel Ashdown  and ‘The Devil’s Music’ by Jane Rusbridge take place in England in the  recent past, whereas Gabrielle Kimm set  ‘His Last Duchess’ in 16th century Italy. But it wasn’t the vivid recreation of a previous era  that captvated: it was the emotion.

All three authors read with a clear sense of the emotion in their work. Speaking to them afterwards, it became clear that despite the distance between the reading and the publication, the feelings of their primary characters still animated the writers. And this in turn engaged their listeners.

This is critical to me as both reader and writer. I may have no idea how banquets were conducted at the Court of Alfonso d’Este – but I can connect with the tentative feelings of a young bride. Similarly, I can identify with  the experience of a frightened boy or an embarrassed  teenage girl in any time, location or culture because of their emotions. Emotions link us to all humans: and the single emotional thread was the first key concept Greg Mosse taught us on the Creative Writing MA.

These writers, and many more who engage with their readers, portray emotion with clarity and honesty. They use dialogue and action to reveal their characters’ emotional lives. Everyone experiences anger,  love and loss – and writers show these because they are inherent to the human experience. They don’t use emotions to draw the reader in – they experience the emotions of their characters and record them.

Therefore a creative writer shows anger, love and loss through distinct voices.  At this reading, I had the direct experience of hearing those voices and the physical emotion in them. As a reader, you ‘hear’ the voice of the characters in your head – and you also have a sense of the author’s voice. It is the intensity of feeling in the writer’s voice that draws us into their fictional world.