Baking bread and other arts

Well, well, it feels like yonks since I was here, at my little blog, rambling about writing, living, creating and other nonsense.

And indeed it has been a goodly time. They’ve been odd months: busy, unsettled, flitting from one project to the next without feeling like I’m getting my teeth into any one in particular, with the exception of BloodMining.

So…February I made a tentative start on novel #3, interrupted periodically by minor fiddling with the third draft of novel #2 and considering submitting it. Praise be, I decided against.

March I spent redrafting BloodMining for my editor, Gill, and deluded though I may be it feels like a better book. I’ve yet to hear back from her, so let’s wait and see, eh? During March I was also busy submitting some shorts to exciting places like Ether books, and I even had a go at a piece of flash. To my surprise and delight ABCtales editor Tony selected it as a story of the day. God love ‘im.

April began with a strong desire to get back to novel #3 and I’ve managed to squeeze out another chapter. However, novel #2 – once again unnamed having decided that my second title was as rubbish as my first – has pulled me back big time. A character from novel #3 – one whose company I’m enjoying tremendously but don’t yet know intimately – likes to bake, especially bread. She enjoys kneading and pulling and stretching a stodgy, indigestible lump of dough and turning it into something delicious and satisfying. I feel that this is what novel #2 needs. The raw ingredients are there; I need to bash it around some more and bake it in a pre-heated oven for just the right amount of time. So novel #3 is on the back burner again (ouch). Also, it’s holiday time and almost all of my time is absorbed with the kids. When I begin something, like this, I’m interrupted constantly and frustrating though this can be I’m very aware that I ignore the little blighters more than I should, so I’m considering not even trying to write any fiction this week and giving myself over to the Gingers. Perhaps they deserve it.

heavy: stone #13

Bound by fear, face down on the bed, the duvet oppressive despite its weightlessness. I am crushed; aware of my knees, elbows and chin pressing down. Indentations on the mattress. I will push the fear away; I am strong, heavy, existent. See the marks I make.

dreaming

There's a chance I might have to rename BloodMining, so I've been playing on Wordle again.

Dress dilemma and a lovely lunch

Had a good meeting with members of the Bridge House team in Bangor today. They were professional, friendly and enthusiastic, and they treated me to lunch, which was definitely an unexpected treat. Recently, I’ve read Jane Wenham-Jones’s excellent and humorous wanna be a writer we’ve heard of, and she recommends that new writers take their publisher to lunch to ensure loving attention to their book. This works at large houses where your publicist may have ten or twelve books to look after at any one time… but I’m BHP’s first novel, and it seems that they’re going to work very hard on it.
Anyway, I was more nervous than I expected to be and had a minor what-the-hell-will-I-wear paddy. Writers are meant to be exotic, eccentric creatures, aren’t they? And the truth is I’m neither. At a writerly event last year the room was swarming with birds of paradise floating around in plum and turquoise velvets, flowing capes and oversized, feathered hats, silver-tipped canes (honest), and statement accessories. I looked like an estate agent who’d stumbled into the wrong party. In the end I went with tried and tested just be yourself and donned my usual get-up of jeans and smart(ish) top, finishing off with my fake fur yeti coat. No one laughed when I walked in, and I was comfortable. So all’s well.
Timelines for editorial, design and marketing were agreed, and I was delighted to discover that I’ll have some say in the look and feel of the cover. Hurrah! Another benefit of a small house. I have friends published by biggies who loathed and despised their covers, back cover blurbs, straplines etc. And I might too, but I’ll only have myself to blame…

Funny old life

Over Christmas a relative asked me the road to publication question, followed by the ‘what’s it about’ one. I realised how little practised I am in both, and thought I need to get some practice in. To the second I managed to bumble it’s about a woman who discovers that she’s not who she thinks she is when her son is diagnosed with a hereditary condition. To save his life she must unearth family history and secrets. I finished with a regrettable; it’s a kind of identity quest story. I think it’s better summed up thus: A former foreign correspondent must uncover the truth about her origins. Her son’s life depends on it. The first question was much easier to answer, if considerably more long-winded, and the answer is, I think, a great example of how life can take the most unexpected turns.
It's almost two years ago to the day that I printed out the first draft of my novel, BloodMining. It took twelve months to write; snatched hours in between working full- time and looking after my two little lads, GingerOne and GingerTwo. Although it was ropey I felt I'd achieved something. Like so many people I’d harboured an ambition to write a novel for years. I wasn't sure I could do it. I'd written non-fiction for much of my adult life, but fiction is SO much harder. But after penning a handful of short stories with minor success (they seemed manageable with a new born baby - GingerTwo – JK Rowling I'm not) I thought the time had come.
The first draft took twelve months, but it was a complete novel. I spent a further eight months redrafting and editing until it was in a state that I was, if not exactly proud of, not desperately ashamed of. I joined a writers' group and showed chapters to 'proper' authors: people who had masters’ degrees in creative writing and even had books of their own published. They were encouraging, and so I entered a debut novel competition. To my surprise I was long-listed. I wrote another draft and sent the first 10,000 words and synopsis to Roz Hart at Real Writers. Her comments blew my socks off. Once I’d finished basking in her praise (thank you, Roz, it meant the world to me, still does) I addressed the concerns she’d raised, those that resonated. When I set off on the journey I did not write with publication in mind, but I started to think maybe, just maybe...
So I wrote to half a dozen agents. Most said no immediately, but two were encouraging and asked to see the entire Ms. Whey-hey! In the end they both declined to represent me, but offered enough kind words to make me think it’d be worth battling on. In the meanwhile I entered two other competitions and this time I was short-listed in both. I wrote to another three agents and a handful of independent publishers. Although the odds are stacked against (independents publish, on average, just six novels a year) independents are more likely to take on unusual or first time novelists. Again, two came back asking to see the entire Ms. And again, both said that although they admired the book they didn’t love it enough to spend a not-inconsiderable sum of money and months of hard labour on it. I heard back from one competition: I had not won.
Pessimism set in. I re-read the book and was dismayed to find all sorts of things I hated about it. Some easily fixable, others more difficult to nail. It’s flawed, complete rubbish, I said. And by now I had almost completed the first draft of novel #2 and was having a whale of a time with it. Putting BloodMining in a virtual back cupboard, and consoling myself with the knowledge that few writers get their first book published, and how much I learnt along the way, I forgot all about it (almost).
Then one morning in October I received a call from the lovely Debz Hobbs-Wyatt at Bridge House. I’d won their debut novel competition! They wanted to publish the book! I was at work, in the staff-room, I had to sit down. For days I wandered round in a state of shock. I told few people; I didn’t believe it was real; I expected the ‘Gosh, I’m so, so sorry - we misread the winner’s name, it was Laura Wilson that won, not you,’ call. It never came and slowly, I came round to the idea that it was really going to happen.
Contracts have been exchanged, a designer has been appointed, marketing strategies are in discussion, I’m due to meet my editor, Gill James, this week, and I still can’t believe my good fortune. Thank you Bridge House for taking a chance on me.
If there’s a lesson here I guess it’s to take the work (as opposed to yourself) seriously, be critical, take criticism from those in the know, learn from it, be persistent and, possibly most importantly, keep writing.
I’m looking forward to another draft of BloodMining, and once that’s done doing the same for novel #2 and getting started on novel #3. I have lots of ideas, lots of background reading to do, and I’m excited about writing it. What more could I ask for?

Two for one

Oops, though I wrote my small stone yesterday, I forgot to upload it (yes, it was a good new year's eve). So here are two:

sinking into mashed potato
comforting tired bones

iridescent sky
sunlight bouncing off car bonnets
ignites such joy

And for every stone I'll be putting up pictures of some of my favourites things... which may, or may not, have anything at all to do with the stone

Snappy Synopses

Bloody difficult, aren’t they? I’ve spent another two hours on the synopsis for my work-in-progress this morning and I’m still not sure if I’ve got it right. At least it’s an improvement on my earlier attempt. Well, I say that now; ask me again in a couple of days and there’s every chance I’ll contradict myself.

Met the delightful Julia Crouch again at a mutual friend’s birthday party yesterday and had a look at the cover of her forthcoming debut, Cuckoo. Having seen earlier drafts of the first two chapters I can’t wait to read it. The hardback is out in March I believe. Of course Julia, of the three book deal with Headline, has no need to rustle up dreaded synopses any longer. Well done her; good to see talent and success coming together. Anyway, there are some reasonable synopses how-to guides out there but none better than that offered by writing coach Jacqui Lofthouse. If you’re not on Jacqui’s mailing list already I suggest you sign up now. She offers a plethora of solid and inspiring advice on all manner of writing dilemmas for both would-be and experienced authors.
I’ve heard from Bridge House again and it looks like we’ll be meeting to discuss editing next month. I’m looking forward to talking things through with editor Gill James; I’ve lots of ideas for BloodMining and I’m sure she will have too. I can’t wait to get going and still can’t believe that it’s going to be published next year. Exciting and terrifying.
Until then, back to novel two, and staring out to sea.