Nov 16th Plus ca bleedin' change...

Yes, the situation is exactly as it was last week - no call from the Agent - so much for the solar eclipse bringing great events into my life... beginning to think Susan Miller is over-rated. Or perhaps it is her "gee-whizz" American optimism that gets me confused.   I might change my mind if I win the lottery tonight, then I can go and buy some Peter Blake prints.

It is a weird thing that one's mood can swing around despite a complete lack of changes in circumstance.

Last night I enjoyed an evening with Ramsgate's glitterati - many of whom appeared to be my friends... which was nice.  Oh, the small town life is ideal in so many ways - as long as you don't start writing about them!

November 8th - The Return of Gloom

So after a week of not worrying about it, the putative agent did not get back to me.  I sort of knew that.  But I told myself I would call her at 4.00pm this afternoon, and then I just couldn't face it.  So now I feel miserable, tearful and generally awful. 

God, I haven't felt this miserable for ages... I could have put myself out of the misery by calling her (probably), but it was fear of her not saying anything positive, of saying "no" - of rushing her into a negative response.... so where am I?

I feel desperate - need comfort, M offered to take me out to supper - but we can't afford it as usual...And anyway, all I can think about is how wretched I feel.

And yet, as I often point out to myself, nothing has changed objectively...I have still got two well-written novels, I have not actually been turned down by the agent (yet) and in fact she probably won't - I think if she were going to she could have emailed me this week and said so.

M is being gloomy and has also convinced me that high powered lawyers will be tracking me down to sue me for defamation, since apparently repeating rumours is a form of defamation.  Oh God.  I have taken down the blogs.

Fanfare for me!

Yes, you do have to blow your own trumpet - nobody does it for you. So I copying this from my other blog for a start. This afternoon I announced to the awaiting world the completion of Conscience vol 1 on Facebook this afternoon, and got a "like" from Finn - and the rest of my eager chums? nada, zilch, niente...  I expect they were all busy, it is Hallowe'en after all, and I seem to be the only person who doesn't treat it as a lesser Christmas.  I hope that's why no one noticed, or did they notice and think I was showing off... or are they all assuming I am about to fail.   Perhaps I am.

Anyway, I finished Conscience today.  This was an idea I have had for a while - and, sometime in 2003 I went up to London on a train with a small notebook and came back with the whole plot.  I've never looked at that notebook since, it is probably full of gorgeous ideas which I would be kicking myself not to have used.  I can't actually remember when I began to write it - when I started The Romantic Feminist I had already written about 20,00 words of it, and I wrote a little more on it after I'd completed the first few drafts of the RF.  I wrote it so slowly and infrequently, it had taken me at least a year to write those first 20,000 words, perhaps two years.  This afternoon I finished it.  I decided this morning that Thursday and Friday were going to be busy days, so I should just go for it.  The last chapter is just under 5,000 words, all written today.  It will need considerable polishing, but I wanted to get some momentum back - the previous chapters had covered about 4 weeks in about 15,000 words.  I didn't think my readers would want it to drag out, every painful conversation, every initiative.  M of course wanted me to include a scene with a recruiting sergeant - I felt that had been "done" - I left it out, there is some anxiety about how the wife character changes - is it a but unrealistic, has she been subsumed to the plot in some way...

Some weeks ago it became apparent to me that the story, which I originally imagined as one big fat book, and then realised would make more money as two, might actually become three books.  Currently this version is about 87,000 words - slimmer than TRF, but still a respectable size - about 220 pages... it may need some padding out - but there were a few ideas I had as I went along that perhaps need to be expanded a little - and maybe the last chapter would benefit from another couple of thousand words.  I am desperately excited, and thrilled, and also a little deflated - what on earth will I do next?  Some housework perhaps?

Relief

OK, I took the bull by the horns and called the agent - I never call anyone if I can help it, so this was a major deal.  I spoke to someone else, got a message that she was sorry - could I email her with the details and she'd get back to me.   I did, and today got an email from her, apologising and saying she was going on holiday next week - and would read both TRF and Conscience - and get back to me when she got back in the week beginning 5th November - and let me know whether she wanted to take me on.   So now I only have to wait for 9th November before I start panicking and feeling anxious again, and have to do mass submissions.

Today I re-read first 3 chapters of Conscience 1 and "saw that it was good".  I worry that David's character may not be sufficiently engaging - and that the formal Edwardian language I've used may be too cold and distancing - but we'll see.  There's lots of inventive stuff in it - but is there enough?  I always hate it when other people's books are "too thin" and that may be true in places with both books. Or even in TRF "too much dialogue" ?  Never had anyone complain about that before - M commented that bits of it sounded like a radio play (that is a compliment actually) and N was saying she could see it as a film - although I don't think it has a strong enough story...

Meanwhile, Kirstie has read TRF and said it was "very readable" - which I fear contains a "but" somewhere in it.   Anyway, all feedback is useful - and I'm learning to filter out the subjective stuff from the real structural stuff...quite excited to hear what she has to say.  It's lovely getting praise for it, but it's more exciting getting a proper, helpful critique.

Fear and trembling

Oh dear, my friend N likes TRF very much and might be interested in publishing it... what on earth am I going to do.  I am terrified, she is such a small publisher - and doesn't have a website even, that I am really not happy about the prospect. Maybe I need  to tell her I don't want to spoil our friendship.

Not quite an ultimatum

Today I finally had another go at the Agent.  I sent her the following email.

Dear *****,

A friend has just read The Romantic Feminist and gave me some notes, so I've made a few new changes (not too many since she seemed to be reading a book called Lucy Gets Laid and suggested I remove a lot of the feminism! However, she enjoyed it very much). The new version is attached.

I am aware that we will soon be reaching the anniversary of my original submission, and you have had this new version of the book since May. No doubt it could be further improved, and I would be happy to hear any suggestions you have.

At present I am within about 2-3 weeks of completing Conscience, the first of 2 or perhaps 3 books set in WWI and after. Casual, social discussions with publishers of my acquaintance, encourage me to think the story is pretty marketable. Perhaps you could advise me on the etiquette here: should I send Conscience to you as the currently sole putative agent - or can I just send a mass submission to any agents I fancy? Due to the approaching centenary of WW1 I would obviously like as many people to see it as possible.

I know you are extremely busy, and there may be other submissions that have languished longer than mine - but I would really appreciate a response.

With best wishes

Inevitably, I immediately received an "out of office" reply.

I am feeling so flat.  So discouraged, not because I don't believe in the books and the writing, but because it is taking so long.  Still, just better plug on and finish Conscience, so that I can think about submitting it.  I shouldn't be feeling flat really - shit scared might be better.

Notes from a friend

On Monday I got some notes on the The Romantic Feminist from Denise.  I am going through the book from beginning to end, reading it aloud to myself and making adjustments.   I am incorporating some of her suggestions, I have cut back on one character, and will reduce some of the conversations... and I have twiddled a little bit with the end - but not much.  I am going to send the improved version to the Agent at the end of the week I hope - and point out that it's nearly a year since I first approached her and that August was quite a long time ago!

I am sleepy for some reason, although it's the middle of the day.

Retreat to write

I went on a retreat to Minster Abbey, the local convent, last week.  It is not meant to be a "writers' retreat" - and in fact I was chiefly retreating from the endless demands made on me.  It was bliss - despite some quibbles (the table in my room was too small for an open notebook and a laptop).  There was no internet access, which I thought was wonderful.

I realised how much time I spend fussing about with internet-related things - and listening to Radio 4.  Without these distractions I was able to write a great deal of Conscience, including a totally new section (which may be the beginning of the next book).  I also read a great deal - some research, some for pleasure. It seems that it has helped me become a bit more disciplined about my writing now - unfortunately I returned home to a great many domestic tasks - we have students staying this week, and an American graduate student coming today - so the idea of writing properly today is a bit of a dream.   However, I now have about 63,000 words - and realised if I could do about 2,000 per day I could probably "finish" the first draft by the middle of the month.  Now my major niggle is whether to turn it into 2 books or 3... people do like a nice trilogy - but.... I feel the middle book might be a bit thin unless I expanded some of the other characters' stories a bit.

Inside the eye

Without my eyes could I function as a writer? So much of what I write about is visual... I fret when my sight appears to alter - although I'm now used to the increased time it takes for my focus to adjust when I go from distant to close objects.

Yesterday I saw photographs of my eyeballs.  Great yellow-red orbs covered with ribbons of fine red lines, and a white disc on each.  I was concerned by the darkened area - but apparently that was the really important bit - the macula - the part that sees detail - and it was fine.  My blood vessels showed signs of circulation problems - not reversible - and of my high blood pressure.  It was an amazing sight - it does make you recall the line from the Bible I am fearfully and wonderfully made.  We can know so much about ourselves, and yet so little.  

Agent angst

I am having this.  She has had The Romantic Feminist for more than 10 months now.  She said she'd read it in August, she hasn't.  I was very fired up at the conference today to go and tell her to hurry up.  But then I foolishly (?) did the I Ching - and got that rather annoying one called The Marrying Maiden.  The interpretation read:

You are too junior, not yet ready to exert influence; there is no point in your setting intentions or making plans. All you can do is to feel your way, adapt, and find your place, without originating any action or having any agenda of your own.

So that told me.

‘With one eye, can see.
A hermit’s constancy bears fruit.’  
Perhaps it was venturing out of my hermitage today that did it for me!  The other changing line read:


‘Marrying maiden overruns the set time.
Delays and marries at the right time.’
The dear old I Ching is always warning me against harvesting too early etc. so perhaps this is all of a piece with this.

I guess I should just quietly progress with things until I hear - but suppose she forgets?  Actually, it doesn't matter, I am doing what I want to do.  The news from the conference today is not terribly encouraging, but I suppose I need to gain a bit of maturity about what will happen to my "writing career" next.   One has the fond fantasy that one will get an agent, and then the agent will find a publisher and the publisher will publish one's books.   Actually, it won't be like that at all.  Agents give up - publishers change their minds, there isn't a smooth, white-stoned path all the way to the bank and literary respectability.  Au contraire, cher maitre, au contraire.   I knew this of course, but it was slightly shocking to be so firmly reminded of it.

So, the agenda for the moment is Returning (the second hexagram)


‘Returning, creating success.
Going out, coming in, without anxiety.
Partners come, not a mistake.
Turning around and returning on your path.
The seventh day comes, you return.
Fruitful to have a direction to go.’

It would be nice if the agent got in touch next week - but, but, but...

Whose writing is it anyway?

I went to a terrific conference today.  I should probably name check all the major participants in the hope of bringing this blog to more people's attention.

I particularly liked a writer called Katherine May - she wrote a blog called 52 Seductions as which was eventually published as a book.  Must have a look at it.  There was a great deal about experimental work that one could do using digital media - such as crowd-sourced writing - but this seemed a bit too cutting edge, and there was a sense that the work that was produced wasn't actually especially good or readable.

I find myself wondering occasionally about writers who want to work in this way - surely most artists want to be in control of their work... to really have something that's uniquely theirs. There was a certain amount of discussion about ownership - and that was interesting.  For example if you use anonymous comments to make a piece of music/writing - don't those people have some sort of right over the material?   I would argue that they don't, if they know it'll be used for a piece of art and agree to it.  Otherwise one gets to the situation where if you transcribe a conversation overheard in a bus and use it for characters in fiction, should you track down the participants and ask for their permission or give them a tiny crumb of the action?

There was a rather horrifying thing about Kindle - apparently if there are contractual issues over a Kindle book it will just be deleted from the device, so if you've bought a book which defames someone it will be withdrawn willy-nilly.

There was also a discussion about piracy - apparently the leader of the Pirate Party in Germany, Julia Schramm described intellectual property as "disgusting" - until she got a E130K advance for her book and didn't want it pirated.  Unbelievable.  The "free content" crowd are definitely out of their heads.  Art does have to be paid for - artists have mortgages and debts.

Imaginary books

Just slugging it out - me versus the world.  I am finding it hard to write, although I have now moved my desk - the window is behind me - all I have to look at is the fireplace, the books on the mantelshelf and the screen, it's good I think. I have rearranged things so that there's more space on the desk somehow.  How long before it turns into the usual chaos of tottering piles, time will tell.

I have struggled to settle to writing today, once I got down to it I managed 2,600 words - mostly acceptable.    However, a lot of time was spent looking up things like a quote from Ovid (hard, I couldn't remember the Latin - so had to find it in an English version... then find the Latin - harder because the English version didn't match line numbers... and then try to find out whether there was any blackout in WW1 - there wasn't apparently, but I am sure there was something after the Zepplin raids in 1915, but couldn't find the book that I would have read it in, then some John McCormack (providing the soundtrack for the hero)..

I have also been doing a lot of seat grooving today - listening to my new dance playlist and wriggling about in my chair - I don't think this is exercise, but it feels a bit like it.  I am annoyed that I didn't go to London today - hope I can go next week - the research is vital.  I want to have a lot of stuff fermenting when I go to the Minster Abbey retreat - in the hope that it will all emerge.   On the other hand, it will be a bugger not having the internet - I am so used to Googling for factoids.    Last week I was reading We will not Fight by Will Ellsworth-Jones - about conchies.  It was helpful, and interesting, but the amount of reading done to get at the half dozen juicy facts I actually needed was shocking.  I'd like to find something more focussed - but it wouldn't make a very interesting book I suspect.  The Indigent Writer's Guide to Historic Factoids gosh, one could have a whole series - like Terry Dreary's Horrible Histories... I am always having these ideas (well, since I was about 14 - when I wanted to write a Who's who of Tudor England - but I suspect that's been done).

What I'd really enjoy doing is a Who's who at the Court of Louis XIV - perhaps I should do it for my own amusement... M le Duc du Chevrefeuil is a name that comes to mind - but who is he?  Chum of St. Simon's I think - his father in law perhaps?   Perhaps this liking for little factual books of biographical nuggets is a bit aspy... Actually, I don't think he was called du Chevrefeuil - because that's French for the herb Chervil...Populating a book with imaginary aristocrats could have a certain anarchic panache, there would be a competition for people who worked out which ones were made-up.  Have to avoid obvious blunders like using actual French nouns..I've noticed that the majority of the leading aristos at Versailles had titles which referred to properties in the Isle de France and the Beauce - presumably where the best land was - or the longest titles (couldn't award titles for places in Burgundy you didn't rule until 15thC), so that would be the place to look: the Michelin atlas..

Thank God for autobrain - if I was using my actual powers of ratiocination at present this would be a very dull entry indeed.  And so to bed.

Slow progress

Conscience is proceeding slowly, and yesterday I did nothing - instead I re-wrote a tiny section of The Tuggses for performance at the Kent Coastal Festival - and did some more editing on Let Her Go for Naomi.  I expect I'll hear from her shortly - on a bad phone line, which clips her words.  Oh dear.  Please Naomi, buy yourself a decent laptop and phone - get your business a website and things will be much easier!

So, there's action.  But I don't think I'll go to London this week, am not quite ready to do the next bit of research.   Perhaps today should be a research day.

Another thing

This has been a spectacular day for writing etc.  Not only did I finish editing the first 12 chapters of Conscience, but I also sketched out a couple of brief ideas for other novels/stories.  There's one idea I particularly liked - called Unseen it is the story of a couple whose child has an hereditary disease which isn't apparently in either of their families - but it is because they are both Jewish... or rather have Jewish ancestors who have been concealed by history... but I need to research Tay-Sachs disease first - think you have to be quite closely related for it to emerge, so maybe we need another impetus to promote the research - maybe it isn't a whole novel - just a theme within one.

When I thought the day was over I went to tidy up some bits and pieces and suddenly had an image - I wrote it, and found it was about Leo - on a plane - so I delicately inserted it in the appropriate place in TRF.  It's good to have more stuff from his viewpoint. So all in all, a very good day's work.   It's strange - last week I felt so exhausted I could barely comment on Facebook - felt as though I would never want to write again (even though I knew I would - there's nothing else I can do).  I think it's partly because I knew I had no appointment today and could choose what to do.  The same is true of tomorrow - so perhaps it will be another good day.

A good start

Today I completed the re-reading/editing of the first 12 chapters of Conscience.  It reads well, almost like someone else's book.  It doesn't seem as "me" as TRF - which is as it should be.  I feel really happy.  I see that I need more research - and probably soon, so I must book a seat at the Imperial War Museum Library to read some regimental history.

Anyway, I now have 48,000 words - and a convincing story - and I need to get on with it.  I am going to try to experiment with a new strategy.  To write every morning from about 9ish to 1.00ish - then lunch, a little light domestic work, and then reading/research in the afternoon.  I will have to start inviting people for tea rather than coffee in the afternoon to keep my mornings free.

Curiously, I think writing the sex scenes in the new version of TRF will help me deal with the dreaded topic of the unsuccessful consummation.  But first I have to decide when his father should die - just after the wedding perhaps?   Or keep him ill, but alive?  Don't want that to become an issue.

Conscience?

It has been some time since I have made an entry on this blog - I should like to be able to say that this is because I have been writing, but actually although I have  been sitting at my desk, I have been merely present, in a state of some anxiety - playing Spider Solitaire and fretting about the Summer Squall arts festival.  None of this has been good for me.

After a really exhausting August, when I barely wrote or did anything constructive (apart from stuff for the Squall) I began to feel I confused and distressed at the thought of returning to any of my novels... the obvious one to work on was 17 Years, but I was not enjoying it - so yesterday I decided to have a look at Conscience - which was a revelation.  After two or three chapters I found myself quite impressed with it - it didn't seem to have been written by me, and all the worries I had had, whether David's feelings for Kitty were understandable, seemed to be resolved.  I had made new, independent characters - and his growing interest in her was following a sensible arc... after reading 5 chapters I got excited about it again.  It is a weird book - it's quite formal, almost as though it was written by a contemporary, rather than a century later, but I still found the odd anachronism... and perhaps not enough contemporary slang yet...

I need to do more research - because I have some conscientious objectors as orderlies in September 1916 and I don't know if that is realistic at that point.  So I am reading a book about conchies and hoping to understand this better - I think I also want to be sure that David's slightly anti-war viewpoint wasn't totally improbable - it was uncommon amongst Anglican clergy - but not unknown and only slightly more common in non-conformism.

But enough - I will finish reading and editing this morning and get on with writing it.

An offer - of sorts

Today went to the annual Vale Square party - where we meet lots of interesting people, get drunk with them, swear undying love and see them again next year.  On this occasion we met a couple we've met before - and I discovered that she is a publisher - is setting up her own publishing company,,, would like to see my book. On the one hand, I feel I ought to be jumping for joy - but I am feeling a bit wary - she's a very new publisher... doesn't have much of a track record - how would she promote my book etc.?  Still, I'm sending her the pdf... and see how she likes it.   I'm not entirely sure of the etiquette - given that the Agent has the work... but I suppose I can't do it any harm... if she wants to make me an offer, and no one else does?   It's not as though we've got into a sort of rights fight over it yet...

Have had the awful cynical thought that having a publisher - however small - "interested" in the work - means that there's a sort of bargaining chip... well, it's all good anyway.

Arrrrggggghhhh

I am having a hard time finding time/'energy to write at present.  We are sort of having a summer holiday - which is nice.  But I am also working hard (gardening for money, and housing students and BnB guests) as well as doing (or worrying about not doing) stuff for the Summer Squall festival - in Ramsgate on 25th-27th August.

So occasionally I have a little write on 17 Years, but my heart isn't really in it.   I am also feeling a bit heavy hearted about reading a friend's unpublished novel - I wasn't until I noticed she hadn't taken any notice of the editorial suggestions I made last time... which made me wonder if she'll take any notice this time.  I think I'll have to speed read it and get it back with some general observations.  But really, I should be doing things for the festival and not worrying about any of this.

The Romantic Feminist p 136

Another random selection from the current version (could it be the final version?)   Leo is grown up and married to his second wife Melissa.  He has just read Lucy's recently published novel...

Melissa had interrogated him about his “past” when they first met – he’d told her very little about Lucy, he hadn’t realised there was much to tell.  He smiled as he remembered how tenderly and earnestly Mel had extracted the information about his past from him.   She told him she was “exorcising his demons” and he wanted to believe her, to unburden himself to her.  He felt he’d met someone who really understood him at last.  She had pointed out patterns in his behaviour and tried to help him amend them.   As the years passed though he couldn’t help noticing how hostile Mel became whenever they met someone from his past.  Not content with having rescued him from what had seemed to be a downward spiral, she seemed to want him to obliterate the past, and disliked any evidence of it.   This could make things very difficult with Alexa his ex-wife, who also lived in Cambridge – and their two children.  Melissa could be a little sticky about the time he spent with them.

It was important that no one told Melissa about Lucy’s book.  He was pretty sure she didn’t know Lucy’s surname, and she wasn’t a great reader, so unless the book became a monstrous best seller ... Only one way to resolve this problem: go out and buy the book. He looked at his watch: he had plenty of time to go down to Heffers and see if they had a copy.  And then saunter down to a nice pub by the river and a bit of a read.  He glanced around the house – if he quickly tidied up the newspapers and threw out the old flowers, plumped up the cushions, he could probably get away without doing any hoovering.

Having the book safely in his bag, Leo entered his favourite pub.  It was quiet in the mid afternoon, and he could sit outside in the sun.  He opened the book with a certain amount of anxiety; he had no idea what to expect.   As he read the dread gradually dissipated, there was some pain in reading it, but also satisfaction.   It would have been an easier read if it hadn’t been about him.  He couldn’t help being flattered that she had obviously observed him closely – taken so much notice of him.  Of course she didn’t really understand him, couldn’t guess what his motives were.  But some of the observations.... had she been stalking him?  How did she know that?  The legendary female intuition he supposed.  She was a lovely woman really, so many good things about her.  But why hadn’t she got in touch with him about the book?

It brought back all that teenage insecurity.  It was a shame one felt so intensely when one was least able to enjoy the feelings, because one was so full of anxiety about getting things right.  What had happened between them had just been a collision that had happened when they wanted different things.   Not so different from an adult love affair – except of course at 16 one is less well-equipped to deal with it.  Perhaps it would have been different if they had met when they were adults...

The sun had moved around and he was sitting in shade now – he looked at his watch: it was after five.  Oh Lord, Melissa will be home in a minute. He got up quickly, fumbled for some mints in his pocket, and left the pub, with a half glass of rose on the table.  The bike ride was knackering – and he arrived home with a few minutes to spare.   He was carefully stowing the bike in the shed when her car pulled up.  God knows why he called it her car – but she seemed to use it more than he did.  

17 Years

I am having ideas - it's very good - very happy making... I wrote a little section, about 1500 words of previously unconsidered topic the other day.  But I don't have much time to write at the moment - I am carrying out various attempts to make money - gardening at the moment, and the B&B stuff etc.  Every little helps - wish I could so something a bit more lucrative like journalism...or giving lectures!

Met a nice woman called Jo last night - she won the writing competition at the Squall last year - and I asked how she was getting on - she said she'd written 12,000 words.  She is busy - she hasn't yet settled into her stride... can't write, too much else going on.  I suppose I've written about 12,000 words of Islanders - but I did that in a few days.  I realise how lucky I was last year to finally tell myself to make the transition - even though our finances are a disaster - I feel that this was the right thing to do - and it has made all the difference to quote Robert Frost.

The Romantic Feminist p. 91 ff

Lucy and Leo haven't seen each other since 1973. She's married to Phillip, a lawyer and has two children.  Helen is her mother.

4

“For the heart of man is deceitful above all things.... who can know it?”

Jeremiah 17.9

August 1989

When she received the invitation to her sister Ceccie’s wedding Lucy noticed it would be on Leo’s 33^rd birthday.  The wedding was to take place in Wiltshire, Ceccie was marrying a banker.

 “A lovely country wedding” Helen told everyone proudly. “We’re all staying at the Angel in Laycock, it’s absolutely charming.”

Lucy wished that occasionally her mother would include her in “family plans”. 

“You’d better book somewhere quickly Lucy – or everywhere will be full.”

“You could have mentioned this and booked a room for us too.”

“Oh – do you want to come with us?  I didn’t think. It might be difficult with the children – we don’t want them running about everywhere.”

“Does the hotel not accept children?”

 Lucy booked the ground floor family room in the hotel and arranged for the baby listening service.  They could have a nice family meal with everyone – and have a few drinks.  It might be fun, Phillip might enjoy it – once he’d stopped grumbling about how much it would cost them. 

Lucy and Phillip were sitting in a pew which is not quite as near to the front as she thought a bride’s sister should be – those pews are filled with other people: defective ushering perhaps.  But it is a glorious medieval church which Phillip is enjoying; Ben and Max are small, cute pageboys, trained and protected by bossy ten year old bridesmaids, and receiving admiring glances. Lucy experiences restrained maternal pride and she sits, flipping over pages in the hymn book and thinking, as she often does, that people should have more adventurous hymns at their weddings.  She is fairly happy because she is wearing a silk dress she has had for years and a beautiful hat.

Someone is getting into the pew behind and her back suddenly prickles as if she is being scrutinised: I know it’s Leo.  She waits for a polite pause before turning around, and there is Beata and this man, Leo.  Nobody told her he was coming – was that an oversight?  Or her mother’s deliberate policy?  She smiles with genuine pleasure, it is lovely to see Beata again, then she turns to him – is that really Leo?  After 16 years she can’t be quite sure, but it can’t be anyone else.  She knows it’s him and flashes a quick smile and says “Happy Birthday” to him rapidly, before turning back as she doesn’t believe in lots of inter-pew chat before a service.   There is a rustle from them, a slight ripple of consternation.  They are whispering to each other; Lucy catches the words “incredible” and “she”.  

Lucy sits there, wanting to do or say something, and doing nothing.  The first thought, it isn’t a conscious thought, just a vast sensation that takes her over, which could be loosely expressed in these words

“I love you – what went wrong in 1973?”

Suddenly she has the disloyal wish that Phillip wasn’t with her and that she and Leo could go away and talk about things together.  She knows she will be talking to him later, almost certainly, but she wants this to happen at once. Her heart is beating fast enough to make her feel sick.  She is excited by his proximity and much too proud to turn around and smile at him again – although she wants to, I want to be sure he’s really there.

She could not pay 100 per cent rapt attention to the wedding, but was grateful that it gave her a chance to calm down a bit. Afterwards everyone drifted out into the churchyard, to hang around while the photos were taken.  There were a lot of people to say hello to as they milled about the graveyard (In the midst of life we are in death) chatting and greeting; she wasn’t avoiding Leo, but had to avoid making an eejit of herself.  The risk of it becoming apparent that all she really wanted to do was talk to him and be close to him, was too great.  There were other cousins there for Beata and Leo to talk to, they didn’t have to talk to Lucy.  She divided her attentions between an old family friend and bar mitzvah dancing partner, some friends of her parents whom she barely knew, and the world's most rugged merchant banker, an ex-colleague and a friend of Charles, her latest brother-in-law, before they set off for the reception.

There had once been a mansion on the site, but now there were only some ruined walls and a grassy terrace where a huge marquee stood, looking down on a formal garden with a beautiful ancient pond.  The children were ushered off into a separate tent with entertainers and a shock troop of hired nannies, leaving Lucy unusually free from responsibilities.  There was no seating plan, so Lucy and Phillip sat down at a large, empty damask covered table and waited to see who would join them.  They were only alone for a moment before Beata and Leo came over and she said almost tentatively “Can we join you?”  

Post librum, omne animal triste est

Yes, there's definitely a post-librum collapse in spirits.  Last night I felt so liberated and happy - I really felt TRF was IT - that nothing significant could be added, and this morning I cheerfully sent it off to The Agent - the sun was shining and I felt full of oojah-cum-spiff... Now, an hour or so later, it is raining, I feel a bit glum - despite some innocent fun on Facebook.

Why?  Well, I suppose there is something of bereavement about it.  Also, unlike sex (the original quote is post coitum...) there is no shared pleasure.  No one to turn to share the rapture with.  Oh yes, there is a husband, but he is not a naturally rapturous person, and rejoicing with me isn't one of his virtues.   So I have lost the thing I loved, am alone in the world, with only the prospect of writing another novel to sustain me.   I would love to think the Agent will give herself a shake and decide to read it this weekend, but it seems most unlikely.  I expect I will have to wait until October (3 months) before I can politely suggest I she's had it long enough and perhaps it is time someone else had a look at it.

I forced Anna to hear brief synopses of my 3 half-written works, and choose: she opted for 17 years - but said I must do a lot of chopping between the two alternative lives... I also like the idea that the sections are named after the men and only very small sections are Izzy's own life.  I think I may take a few days off, there is stuff to do for the Arts festival and so on, and I have to write and picture research my talk on "Naked men wrestling in sand: The Ancient Olympics".

Meanwhile, I shall put another page or two from TRF on the blog - as a way of farewell.

The Romantic Feminist page 25

This is an extract, chosen at random, from what I hope will be my first published novel - are you looking Johnny Geller!?  It's 1972, Lucy and Leo are second cousins aged 15 and 16 - this is the first time they've seen each other for 4 months, since the (for Lucy at least) momentous occasion of their first kiss.  The book is written largely, but not exclusively, from Lucy's point of view.

 “I hope you don’t mind sleeping in the boxroom, like you did last time,” Beata says. 

Last time Lucy stayed they all did things together en famille.  Bike rides around Waterlow Park and trips to see the latest Disney film are not going to be on the agenda now.

“Take Lucy’s bag up Leo.”

He grunts, grips it and says “Come on.”

She follows him up the stairs and he dumps the bag on the floor in the boxroom, a narrow room that looks over the front garden, which is a mass of entangled shrubs, seldom pruned, never controlled.

“How was Africa?”

“Big!”

“Ha-ha!  Oh – you know what I mean...” 

“Sorry – it was amazing.  I took loads of photos.  Do you want to see them?”

In his suspiciously tidy room there are books and collages of photos across the wall showing dusty expanses of bush and the herds of antelope familiar from wildlife documentaries.

“Those are gemsbok – they’re endangered – only a few thousand left.”

“Here – impalas – common as muck.”

 She giggles.

“Here’s one of Mark and me with Aunt Jo.”

She sees them in their hats and shorts.  Why couldn’t I have gone with him?  They are leaning on his table, close and companionable – but not quite close enough to touch. He could touch me, put his arm around me, why doesn’t he?

“This is fantastic,” she says, pointing at a long strip of photos pasted together to form a panoramic landscape.

“Couldn’t get it all in one shot.”

She hasn’t seen this done before and is genuinely impressed; Leo is pleased, because he only got the photos back that morning, and he spent ages lining them up and arranging them to display them to her.

So they while away an hour or so: he tells her about the trip, about the Okavango swamps, about the game parks, about zebra and wildebeest and hippos.  It sounds fantastic, she is envious and wishes she had been asked to go.   The photos are great too.  He obviously knows about photography, as well as drawing and writing and politics and science.  There has been no awkwardness, just the flow of ideas and impressions and opinions, although she is impressed by his talents and cleverness, she doesn’t feel in any way unequal to him.

Then it’s time for tea and chocolate cake and general conversation.

Editing

At the beginning of last week I suddenly got the urge to insert some more things into TRF - there were scenes I hadn't felt able to handle when I wrote it originally... and I needed more of Leo's POV... a bit anyway. I have now more or less completed this to my satisfaction, and I thought - well, why not, instead of ranting about the novel all the time, put some up on the blog. So the next entry is going to be a short extract chosen more or less at random - for you to enjoy, and if you have any editorial comments please feel free to leave them.

All my friends are in my computer

This isn't true - but was the message of a recent cartoon someone posted on Facebook.  The social media give one the impression that friendships are live - and indeed the people one responds to certainly are.  But in the case of writing, it's rather more odd.   When one is writing something that is intensely peopled, then one's "friends" are in one's laptop.   When you finish something, the computer - and one's life seems empty.

What has happened is that the computer no longer contains the "love object" whether a real person, a fiction, a collection of characters, and I drift hopelessly from site to site, hoping for something to engage me, when what I ought to be doing is getting down to the real world - reading a book, doing some gardening, phoning a friend - or something.  At the moment, as I correct TRF I feel similarly at a loss when I'm not doing it.   I have definitely morphed into "a writer" in the last 6 months - and I'm not totally sure the results are entirely pleasing - perhaps I'll feel better when I get some financial results.

Roget and the slow writing method!

Today, having decided that my best bet was to improve the glorious text of The Romantic Feminist, I worked carefully, as I have done since Monday, to improve the last 100 pages or so.   In the process of this, I've added about 12 pages, done more work from Leo's POV and added a rather delicate sex scene.   I spent a great deal of time over the latter - and I've seen "how it's done" - the trick is, I think, that everyone knows what the bits are called, and somehow using their proper names makes it sound a bit calculated.  Therefore one has to make it clear what the objective is and then carefully describe what is being done with it and the characters' responses.  If people find it erotic, fine, but that isn't the intention.  I find it quite erotic, but that's because I'm writing about the kind of sex I like.

It is all too easy to use cliched words like plunge and thrust - and I stopped myself before I even typed them, but - how to do it instead?

I kept finding my mind filled with words like "thrilled" and "sensitised" which are either toodated/romantic or too scientific for the effect I wanted.  So I grasped my trusty Roget's Thesaurus (which I almost never use for first drafts!) and looked for synonyms... at one point I wanted to say that an act of penetration was very quick and intense,,, but spent a long time trying to think of a noun that would describe an act of penetration that wasn't one of the usual ones... I was looking for synonyms for "visit" - but flipping through the pages glanced down and saw "voyage" - which gave me a nice little metaphor... not too extended which perfectly described (in my view) the half-satisfied/over-satisfied state one sometimes completes coitus in...

I must say, I really ought to use R'sT more often, just flipping through it at random one comes upon quaint phrases (my edition is very old fashioned - not updated at all).  It is a delight.  I do have a fairly good vocabulary - and when an English word don't (sic) come along, a foreign one is sometimes even better... or an Americanism.  However, I think a trawl through Roget might give even more precision to my choice of words, as well as widening it.

Back to the Book

I haven't written for a few days - so confused, at first so delighted with the first free-flowing 11,000 words of Islanders  and thinking "this is it!"  I've always wanted to write a dystopia - this isn't the first attempt - but at last I had a concept - and all my projections and extrapolations came out clear and bright... I was happy.   Then I began to fret "what's actually going to happen in this book?  What's it about?  How can I describe it?"      Then I found a book on Saturday that was perfect research for Conscience and began to fret that I ought to go back to that... and so on.   So this morning I did two things: first I gave the Agent a gentle prod - and then I went back to have a look at TRF.  I had actually been editing/updating and there were two issues I felt needed to be better dealt with.  So I re-wrote and added a great deal to the scene when Leo and Lucy meet in the restaurant...it's now much better.  I told the Agent that I regarded the version I sent her as up for discussion and alteration, but I hadn't wanted to change much in case she had another idea which made everything I did unecessary.  However, after waiting two months for her judgement, I felt I really needed to improve the work any way.

In some ways I am finding it easier to write certain things than I would have 3 or 4 months ago - something about distance of some kind I think - whether this means I will be further nourishing the sex scenes (in the light of the success of that book) perhaps to resolve the oral sex issue.  I still slightly shrink from that - not from writing it, but the prospect of the former LO reading it.  Or perhaps his wife won't let him read another novel by me in a hurry!

Islanders!

I really think I am going nuts.  Today I forced myself to blog because I wasn't writing.   Not only have I got sick of Seth and Osric, but I have written 10,000 words of a dystopia set on the Isle of Thanet in 30 years time when the water has risen sufficiently to make it an island again.

I was gasping at the inventiveness that was coming out, it was so utterly exciting - and then I slowed down, didn't write over the weekend, or Monday (I couldn't type because of deep cut requiring huge bandage).  I have this feeling with the book that I should trust it - a plot will develop... there is a rough idea - a fugitive from London taking shelter in independent Thanet and the problems that arise... but we shall see, there are already a number of promising threads of plot.  Or maybe I'll just start yet another project.   I wonder if awaiting the Agent's response is driving me crazy...

50 Shades of Grey

Can one have a view on a book one hasn't read?  Have the extracts I've seen and the commentary I've read give me enough info?  There was an interesting discussion about it this morning - on Woman's Hour.  The argument for was that the woman didn't comply with the man, she was actually a stronger character than him, and so on.  Against: would you want your teenage daughter to read this book - a woman abasing herself, everything we've fought against as feminists, "I didn't burn my bra for this!" (A joke I think).    I am pretty convinced that I am against it - and I won't read it, not even to inform my opinion on it.  

I knew that The Da Vinci Code was rubbish - but read it to understand what kind of rubbish.  It was a waste of time, that I could have spent reading something much better.  I know what sort of rubbish 50 Shades is - so I'm not bothering.  Why enrich this mindless ex-marketing woman who has written something so cynical?

But the trouble with these books is, when everyone is reading them, people talk about them a lot.  I have already got into some sticky topics from this book...and a lot of people feel they must read them because they aren't strong minded enough to see that they don't really matter, except perhaps to sociologists.

I suppose...

I will get more readers when I actually publish something - but it's odd that quite a few people read Quotidiana - but virtually no one reads this one - perhaps people are less interested in writers and the dreary process we undertake than they say.   Perhaps it's become a minority activity - or perhaps everyone's just reading 50 Shades of Grey.

A frenzy of inactivity

I could be writing, but actually I am not.  I feel slightly sick about it all at present.  Now think the Seth and Osric idea is stupid - feel that what I have written so far is trite, and that I am not capable of dealing with the psychological issues.  Perhaps TRF is the only thing I could manage - we all have a book in us and maybe that was it.

Adam Phillips said this morning "sometimes you want something for such a long time that when you get it, you don't want it any more."  Perhaps that is the direction I am heading too.  Long-desired objects are sickening and failing before my eyes.  What is wrong with me?  I can't change direction again - I need to persist.  I wonder whether I should go back to writing Conscience?  It had certain benefits - a detachment, a lack of sex scenes. Again, it requires research - but that shouldn't be a problem.  Arrrgh, I haven't felt this uncertain or unsettled about writing for ages.   Maybe I should console myself by looking at TRF again.

Seth & Osric

Over the week I've been researching Osiris and Isis and seeing that there is a theme here I could use - it will make the book different, the main character, Izzy very different.  Less intellectual, less selfish - but more nurturing, more of an earth mother - hippy trippy - she can be into astrology and tarot and the I-Ching without any shame... I am having lots of thoughts and working on it.   Have looked at beginning of 17Y and adapted it a bit.

I am quite excited to be doing something so different - there was a risk that this book might be too much of a trawl around the TRF themes (when will that agent ring me!) - now I think if I have a really different main character it will be liberating - who knows, I may even become more nurturing in my private life.  The idea now is more about reconciling sibling rivalry rather than playing into it.

A free man in Paris

Actually, this song is about about missing being on holiday or a more leisurely time in life – but it’s curiously tied up with my revelation that the way I’ve been for the last 3 years is about becoming a writer, not really about being in love with someone else.  When I was younger I thought a lot about being a writer – and I concluded that to be any kind of artist was to live a very selfish, solipsistic sort of life.  At that time, in my 20s, I was really too busy having fun to write.   Later, I had a rather lonely time between marriages, and because I couldn’t or didn’t write much then, I concluded that what I liked about writing was my perception of the lifestyle – the sort of lifestyle that’s described in Free Man in Paris – wandering about, meeting friends, drinking, having lunch together – a nice time.  I didn’t, or couldn’t then, cope with the hard work...I was writing – I have several thousand words on 3 different works, but I couldn’t finish anything, couldn’t engage or commit myself.  I wanted to get married and have children.

 It’s only now, in the last 3 years I have coped with the effort/commitment of writing.  Completed a novel, heaved around, written, re-written, started new works, thought about things, worn out a laptop keyboard and an adaptor... I write all right.    The last few weeks have been weird – I’m “on holiday” from writing, but I realise one is never on holiday – there are always things one can see that feed idea – the ideas about Seth and Osiris that will enter 17Y in some shape or form that came from a museum trip on Saturday in Boulogne (am I surprised that my nearest decent museum is in France?).  If I sneak a look at TRF version 6 I can find lots to change, edit – even phrases that have been there since 2009!  Writing properly isn’t at all like A Free Man in Paris – I can’t quite settle to doing anything significant at the moment.  When I hear from the Agent I will either have to do some more editing/re-writing – or start sending TRF off again (sigh!).  So until I hear something, I can’t quite convince myself to write 17Y or edit TRF significantly.

What next?

Desperately wanted to have some time sitting in the sun and thinking - first I thought I'd do it after the shopping and before going to see Muriel - but there wasn't time - then I thought I'd only spend an hour with Muriel and then steal an hour,  but I was having a good chat - and she is so sweet - so, I didn't get my time, but I was talking about the 17Y plan - and actually it helped me clarify how I might structure it - it's quite simple really - two strands 1st Life and Second Life - and then somehow manage to have a final chapter which suits both strands.  This will give the book group members who hate tricksy structures a chance to read it one version at a time - if they want (if it's ever written, if it's ever published! - I'm just saying that in an apotropaic way - I hope it will be published.)

Anyway, I managed the structure problem without stopping for a pause.   Tomorrow is going to be horrible again - but I do have some time to wander around and think - so I might do that.   I am beginning to have a desperate need for a "third space" - going out somehow gives me space to think.

Tomorrow I shall be at the library - and out and about, while my computer is being fixed...so I should have time to think and write and so on....hurray.   And borrow some books on personal relationships/love/sibling rivalry from it.

Writing for free

This is what I am doing most of the time - and I am about to start blogging for the festival for the summer - I am also doing a "blog" for the Thanet Gazette - 200 words a week about what's happening now... and I am doing a bit of writing in exchange for theatre tickets!   This was well worth it, since I saw a fantastic storytelling show on Friday - at the Tom Thumb Theatre in Margate.  As well as Robert Poulter's "The Mummy's Purse" there was a story by Ben Haggerty which was extraordinary....but I have to write about that elsewhere, so won't waste my energy on it now.

Author publishing

This is the new "respectable" title for self-publishing.  People are doing it more and more now - we had a talk on it a few months ago at a Society of Authors meeting.  I am not convinced by it, because I still feel a great deal of this writing "isn't very good".  There is plenty of stuff that is published that "isn't very good" but this suggests that the self-published stuff is probably worse.  The two people I know who are thinking about it are OK writers, but don't write the sort of stuff I'd like to read.

I remember years ago I got paid for editing someone's book: it was a novel based on the experiences of a jobbing actress.  It had a number of interesting anecdotes - but not enough, and the rest of it felt a bit thin.  You can disguise thin material if you write beautifully - but if you don't it's just thin, and people can see it. Had the author felt strongly enough about it, she would have self-published, nowadays she might well take the digital route.  The Guardian published a whole feature on this phenomenon last week.   Would I self-publish?  No, because I feel my writing is better than a lot of stuff that gets published, and ought to be published and will eventually be published.  Also, I want to write - not spend all my time marketing my books.

As a result of my months on the Authonomy website I have read an enormous amount of bad writing - it's not "bad writing" in the sense that it's appalling - it's just that it's not very good.  The people who would enjoy this sort of writing are probably not the book-buying public - hence the reason publishers don't publish it - since schools and libraries are unlikely to want to stock it either.  So I am pinning my faith on the usual process, and not punting on becoming a digital publishing millionaire.

Now a major motion picture....

no, of course it's not.  We were joking (M and the boys and I) about this in the garden the other day.  Doing the casting.  We thought perhaps Alec Baldwin for Leo - until the boys suggested Brian Blessed (bastards!).  There was some difficulty casting Phillip - I can't remember who was finally suggested.   No one could suggest who to play Lucy - Dawn French firmly rejected, and definitely not one of those pretty skinny actresses like Rosamund Pike - trouble is, nowadays there's not much of a size range between Kiera Knightly and Marianne Sagebrecht... where are the plump interesting actresses.   The only one I could think of was the one who played Sharon in Birds of Feather and I don't think she'd be right... perhaps Juliet Stevens or Emma Thompson in a fat suit?

What a dream!

Last night I dreamed I had gone to New York with some other writers to pitch our books to some agents.  We were all pitching to a group of agents, and one by one the other writers were rejected, until there were only two of us left.  I had only one agent left to pitch to, but she seemed elusive. Eventually she read the book and said - with provisos - that she would take me on.  I felt so happy - even though there was more work to do.

A different agent entirely!

A couple of years ago I met an agent at a party - she seemed quite interested in my book... but in the end, although I'd heard, through a 3rd party that she was going to take me on, she didn't.

I've seen her since, and felt a bit spikey towards her.  I saw her on Saturday night and was delighted to see her again, and very good to chat a bit professionally with her...as well as talking about other things.  I really like her - as my 3rd party friend said, she's a bit hard work at firsts, but now I felt really comfortable with her and was able to talk about where the book was at etc. from a position of strength.   She generously said The Agent was "a very good agent" - which is nice...but I knew that anyway.  She says there's no way of telling if she will take it on, it's "all about passion" - but not to worry, I can send it around again... Oh if only she knew what a tiresome thought that was.  But I am nearly there, I'm sure and even if the Agent does turn it down I will be able to cope somehow.

We talked about the defamation issue: she suggested I made Leo gay - a possibility!   Then I'd have him suing me not her! and I couldn't use the fertility sub-plot.  This is something I need to talk about with Agent... when and if.  Or to "Leo".  Maybe he should not be my cousin - son of old friends etc.  get rid of all the genetic stuff... or make the heroine less similar to me... the whole point is ridiculous.  Melissa is not in any way based on the person who is threatening to sue me.  I feel I should just argue that.  In fact the character is more like someone else I know - but don't want her suing me either.  Perhaps if I make her blonde and ravishingly beautiful... then she couldn't possibly relate it to herself.  I don't think I should make any major changes until I know whether it's been taken on.  But it was good talking to Jane - she's a good person to have on one's side.

Meditative silence?

Nothing has happened, I have stopped writing 17Y because I realise I can't wing this book - I need to do some research into sibling rivalry and into different types of love... otherwise I'll just end up re-treading the same issues as in TRF.

I've done a little editing on that, I still have small ideas to put into it.  I highlight them in red in case anyone needs to see the changes.  I am feeling guilty about Conscience - it may be some time before I pick it up again.  Oh dear, I was just begin to see how to deal with the wedding night scene - but again, a bit more research into social mores necessary I suspect.

I dread getting a "thanks but no thanks" email from the Agent - but I don't think that will happen.  I am trying not to think about it, and trying to get myself fit and healthy again - at the moment I can barely walk to the postbox without feeling knackered.

Update

The Agent has come back from her holiday (or was it work).  She sent me an email saying she was looking forward to reading it - but it would be about a month because of all the other work.   I am getting on with 17Y - although I am not because I am ill with this stupid arthritic virus...but I am thinking about it a lot.

Post-hangover

I was rather hoping to spring up like a young lamb and feel revived, but actually, physically I feel crap!   On the other hand, mentally fine - I have just written 2,700 words on 17Y so I feel I've done a day's work and I am now going to get into bed (it's nearly 2pm) and read/doze for a couple of hours until supper cooking time.

17 Years - It's official!

Yes, I am now back writing 17 Years - hereinafter to be known as 17Y - this morning I woke up with an idea, and then sat down to write a bit - this expanded into spontaneous dialogue about things I hadn't thought about writing at all - and suddenly I had another 3,500 words.   I was a bit disappointed to find I'd only had 18,000 words approx when I went back to it yesterday - but that really doesn't matter.  I mentioned the idea of having two alternate stories intertwining - but am not sure how it will work... at the moment I am writing one version of the story - and think I'll stick to that - then go back to write the alternative version - then finally try to tie it all together in a chapter of redemption at the end.  I might have to kill off one of the men (Lucas probably).  But that's to be decided.  A long way away.   I think this is going to be a bit of a slog.... a year perhaps, but maybe not.  

Not writing

Actually, just because I sent off the MS doesn't mean I'm not writing - I've been feeling a bit gloomy, a sort of giant post-coital melancholy... so I have been thinking about it, once or twice I've been back to look at it - to check I made a certain point in a conversation... and today to insert a paragraph that I thought up in the garden.  I also checked that I hadn't used the word evanescent too often - only twice actually, so perhaps I could have got away with a third outing for it, but no matter.

Today I began to think about 17 Years - I have this feeling that if I were to be offered a two-book deal that this is the kind of thing that would be more of a companion to TRF - so I started to have a look at it again.  I want to write a very complex structure... almost like a game,,, but putting it together will be like playing chess with myself.

This is not to say I'm abandoning Conscience - just need more time to reflect.

Finished!

I have been racing to complete the re-write, and today I decided it was complete - so I whipped up a synopsis and sent it to the Agent.  A few minutes later I got an out of Office Reply - she's on holiday until 16th May.   So no chance of hearing any good news in the short term.  Meanwhile, I shall console myself by reading my extremely good horoscope for May.

I am pleased  I have finished, but now wondering what to do.  I think I will devote next week to house cleaning, and perhaps a spot of painting.  Then I will finish writing my dramatisation of Dickens "The Tuggses of Ramsgate" to be performed at the Summer Squall.  Perhaps in a couple of weeks time I will get my act together to go up to London to do some research on the RAMC - before half term. I must find something to do, rather than just biting my nails!  Perhaps get some swimming exercise?

Nearly there....

Have written the great discussion - now just want to tighten up the ending, but it's so close.  I suppose I will have to write a new blurb/synopsis which is a bore... hope I feel confident enough to send it.  Well, I have to, there is no alternative.  Is the plot strong enough?  It's certainly stronger than the original.

Sempre avanti!

Fantastic day today - first dealt with tax and credit problems (3 of them) and then turned to the book.   The thing is growing (102,000 words), I have found some passages that don't need much editing (hurray!) and other bits with lacunae.    I have a bit of stuff to be inserted - including the climatic discussion about Feminism... and I am beginning to feel nervous.   It seems likely that the end will arrive in about 3 days - and then I'll have to send it to her... Fear and trembling... it seems so terrifying.  Part of me believes all will be well - has stopped doubting, but then I think "she might not want it"...   There's nothing I can do.   And if she doesn't, someone else will.

Into the final stretch....

have been editing slowly but surely last week - on Friday I took the printed copy to look at the last section and annotate a bit.... still not convinced I haven't repeated things too much.  Told rather than shown - oh horreur!
I sat in the pub at Pegwell Bay (there are two, but this is the nice one) and annoted in the sun, but indoors because of raging wind.

Today have been writing up some more - got to 99,000 words, so will definitely be longer than the original... still haven't quite answered the question of what love means to a feminist... well, actually, the book does on the whole... the answer is probably that Love is too mysterious to explain in those terms.   Anyway, I have another 50 pp to edit, add to, re-write.... and then I probably need to add a big dialogue - and then it will be finished.  Then what?

I will then probably need to be absolutely happy that it will be respectable enough for the Agent to at least read it.  It does work, I read it last week, I liked it, I just .... what?  Oh, it's mine, so it all seems so obvious to me, I can't believe anyone will read it in a different way, will be surprised or interested by it.  I expect I'll get over it - I have plot twists... I even thought of a blurb...The longer I labour over it, the more I worry that it needs to be more.... anything/something.... but really, it's fine.

Heave ho!

This is what it felt like today - a lot of good solid housework and finance this morning, then spent the afternoon forcing myself to edit some of the new sections of the book (I am fed up with changing 1st to 3rd person and vice versa, and have now finally decided to go with 3rd - and now have to swap a lot it back.... after tramping through the dismal swampland for an hour so after supper I managed to edit a magnificent 18 pages.  Oh Lord, that's simply not good enough... tomorrow is another day.  I am still feeling encouraged though - Anna was really nice and enthusiastic and supportive on Saturday, so I am generally feeling like an absolute genius, until I come down to brass tacks and find myself eyeballing my work.   

Happy!

Shockingly I did not work yesterday - basking in the discovery that the first draft wasn't as bad as I'd thought.  This morning I woke up and lay in bed - half-dozing and began to think about the Romanticism-Feminism-Evolutionary Biology argument... so leaped up and wrote it - not quite finished, it's ticklish, but I think it will fulfill The Agent's brief.  Need to put more affair in the book - and perhaps conversations with him about male-female behaviour - higher brain etc.  The sort of thing he would talk about.

Not so bad...

Yesterday I was getting very bogged down in the structure - and felt I had lost things that needed to be said, or hadn't yet said things I wanted to deal with.   So I did what I've been meaning to do - got the hard copy and read the book.... it was really exciting reading scenes that I hadn't read since I wrote them a few weeks ago, and seeing how well it seemed to go.  I remember feeling a bit excited when I first finished the first draft and like God "saw that it was good"... so now I feel incredibly positive and hopeful.  I think I can get in what I need to say - and make more room if necessary.

The structure thing is like a jigsaw - or rather a game of chess - if you move one section, you'll have to see how that impacts on all the other pieces - and what new shape you'll make.  No antagonist though - but just a conflict between how you want it to be, and how it's going to actually work!  

Today I am so happy that I'm going to do gardening and shopping before I work!

Getting back on the bike

Is what it feels like - it's not as though I'd fallen off - but getting back into it is difficult.  It is partly because a lot of it is editing and I feel if I edit the first 4-5 chapters ever again it will only be with a gun at my head.  They now feel as flat as ink... but perhaps I should say "very smoothly written" and be nice about my writing.

This afternoon I was delighted to discover that having cut a whole darling chapter (the sojourn in France) it was necessary to create a miniaturised flashback version to get in the Amsterdam Sex Olympics and the somewhat sexist Jim Haynes (who is not mentioned by name) - he of the open dinner party fame... to illustrate how Lucy's ideas about open Brave New People fell a bit flat.  So that cheered me up.   Then Finn came home and we had long amicable discussions about homework, detentions, social class, his new English teacher etc.  I am a bit worried since Finn is behaving more responsibly etc. at home, but I fear he hasn't quite got his act together at school.  He does have a new friend who is "even more of a grammar fascist than me".   I was shocked at the this: Finn was notable for his "whatever" attitude to grammar a few months ago, I remember explaining the difference between There are and there is to him... he said I was being ridiculous and that no one cared about it.   I said that people might not care, but in the end if people didn't use proper grammar then no one would be able to understand each other - that there were already people I'd met who couldn't understand me because I spoke more accurate English and I couldn't really understand them because their language wasn't specific enough and contained too many possible meanings.  Obviously this discussion has gone in, and now he is priding himself on this.

This is of course the wrong blog for these observations, but I suppose it's language - it's part of my demesne, and obviously both Ned and Finn have benefited from having literate parents.  Finn is also becoming fascinated with the nuances of social class - interestingly has made a new friend (the grammar fascist) who he says is the most middle class boy in school...it's hard to tell really, so many of them talk down so as not to be noticed.  But I am delighted he has a new friend.

Literature:  I actually wrote a bit first thing this morning - because when I woke up I found I had an idea about Conscience which was so useful.  I realised that John Ames, the protagonist in Gilead was roughly a contemporary of my character David... although MR has wisely avoided giving him any antiquated ideas.  Obviously David is a very different person, and younger, more volatile... but for whatever reason I started writing the fateful bedroom scene from Conscience - and found more ideas as I went along, so clearly leaving David and Kitty on the compost heap for a bit has softened them and they are now metamorphosing nicely.  

Not my best day...

Slow old business: first there was the important decision about the opening chapter(s) - have finally made the radical decision to more or less keep it the same - only I cut the quince tree out!  Darlings are lying slaughtered around me as I speak - not just darling words and phrases - whole great darling scenes have been killed.  Now have a newish bit of stuff - about life - might re-instate the quince tree somewhere secretly...Then it was on to the sorry affair of editing down the teenage affair chapters - removing any last shreds of self-pity, any ludicrous asides any "aren't I clever!" bits - and making sure that I had the right tenses and the right persons.   It was boring, and I lost the will to live frequently and switched over to Twitter and Google research for alleviation of boredom.  

I did some interesting research into a couple of my acquaintance to see whether they appear in public anywhere - this yielded one result on Google - searching for her on her own, I discovered she had written an article on her industry which had rather offended an intelligent critic of her industry, so had the rare pleasure of seeing a critique of her piece and feeling all lovely and warm and Schadenfreudisch!  I also discovered something about her that I feel is a bit discreditable - which added to my picture of her as a person of only relative integrity.  But I daresay her husband doesn't care about that sort of thing much.

This isn't perhaps the blog to write this in perhaps, but it did occur to me that Mark and I are sadly lacking in the sort of vanity and self-esteem which leads people to trumpet themselves up and advertise themselves.  Or perhaps we just lack the commercial nous other people have.  Perhaps M's blog would be better if we had loads of videos of him in action on it, talking about his work and how fab he is... and perhaps as a result we would have a great deal more work and, by extension, money.   Heigh-ho!

Back to work

I am quite excited about going back to work on the book.  Last night I dreamed about it a lot, and woke up and had thoughts about it.  

Last night and this morning I was reading bits of The Female Eunuch to prime the pump - it's interesting to see how much of the book is actually (like Kate Millett) literary criticism - it isn't a socialist feminist handbook - it isn't a "right answer" book.  Is there/was there some sort of feminist handbook - a what's in/what's out?  I doubt whether such a book would be desirable - anyway, I'm not meant to be writing a "correct" book that is based on someone else's work and ideas, this book is meant to be answering the question of feminists falling in love - is it right?  Can one be a Romantic and a Feminist?  And it is I, or rather my character who has to answer that question.

Getting antsy

Yes, really feeling I can't wait to get on with the re-write now - very happy making feeling.   Had a long chat with Lorna today - a bit about the book - but just talking about family life, love, feminism etc. trying to answer some of the book's questions...wrote a few notes towards it while I was waiting.  Lorna encouraged me to keep the teenage stuff... people really relate to it... so one big teenage flashback - the whole thing? And then get dragged into the present - then have the revelation of the end of the relationship flashback a little later.   Then she gets the idea for the book?  Dunno.

Lorna was telling me about a friend of hers whose novel sales have really taken off since she worked harder on her plots.   It's all about plot... and a build up of suspense towards the end.... hence no doubt the popularity of detective fiction/thrillers... the fact I can live without them is neither here nor there.  Anyway, this writer's agent retired from agenting and wrote a detective novel and told her "It's all about plot".  I don't think I'd go that far for my own tastes - but if I want to sell - so maybe I need to tighten up things a bit, give more suspense in places.  More things to think about!

Book of the Month

This month's reading group book was Marilynne Robinson's Gilead, which I am re-reading.  It is a wonderful book - and very funny in places.  I think I am enjoying it more second time around because I am not waiting for "something to happen" but enjoying the texture more.

I am also reading Bernal Diaz's The Conquest of New Spain a book I've had for ages, and was prompted to read by reading B Kingsolver's The Lacuna - it's interesting and readable translation (somewhat abridged to take care of his moaning about stuff).   Another book - the current handbag book - is Smollett's Journey through France and Italy which is amusing.  We were in Dover yesterday and found in the Museum a quote on Smollett's comments about Dover's innkeepers.  It's brisk, brusque and funny.  Because I am reading three books I am getting on very slowly.

My father has lent me a Christian/archaeology book - which claims to shed light on the old testament.  In particular the day Joshua asked the sun to stand still... 21st July 1400BC apparently.  I happen to have access to an ephemeris chart that goes back to that year... it's not shown.  The author, Victor Pearce, cites ancient authorities who record this event, but doesn't give notes as to where one could find this and how.  Time for a trip to Google I guess.

You may wonder what the Penguins are doing here: my policy of adding more pictures to my blogs is now in progress, and if I can't find a suitable picture (God stopping the sun? An 18thC Dover innkeeper) I will darn well include any picture I please: these are I think Macaroni penguins in Torquay.

Writing anxiety

I didn't realise there was such a problem until I found something about it on Twitter - I realise I have been suffering from it, and that my frenzied writing a few weeks ago was the best way of dealing with it.  I also realise that I needed time off to get perspective... so I think that's beginning to work, I'm beginning to think about some of the things Leo and Lucy need to say to each other.  And write little bits, but I'm clearly going to have a longer holiday than I intended since Easter will get in the way... but perhaps in another week or so's time I'll be back on the coalface...I really want to go back now, because I'm so glad I'm thinking about things again, but I don't think more time off will help.

I heard Anne Enwright today talking about The Gathering - how she re-structured it and then threw half of it out, and eventually ended with a stump of what she'd originally thought of writing... Still, she got the Booker prize.  I don't think my offering is quite up to The Gathering.  But it does show how long it can take to get something really right.  

Blarney Castle

A few years ago, Mark Samuel and I published a book about Blarney Castle in Ireland, home of the Blarney Stone.  It is an unusual book in that it is the only book about the castle: it covers the history of the castle and its role in Irish history - it also provides a detailed guide to the building itself, and analyses the building's development.   The historical section contains a number of really fascinating stories about the people who lived in and owned the castle - any of which could provide the basis of an historical novel.

Despite it being the only real book in existence about the castle - there are a couple of colourful guide books - and a really silly booklet full of stories told by someone in the pub - the owner doesn't stock the book in the castle gift shop - no room apparently!   I wonder why.  There is stuff in Ireland that's gone on for years, it's not corruption exactly, it's a sort of droit de seigneur - people in Irish cities may be free of it, but in the countryside it's still possible to be under the aegis of an Anglo-Irish landlord.  You do wonder why he apparently wants to suppress the book.  Is it because we mentioned that the Blarney Stone was not always in the same place?  Was it the anecdote about a woman being fined 20s during the famine by one of his ancestors for stealing a turnip?  Was it the fact that we pointed out it was in fact an Irish castle - with a history that was separate from and preceded his family's ownership... we don't really know.  I think he has a very strong sense of ownership - and doesn't want anyone else to engage with it, except on his terms

In the compost heap

I am hoping that a couple of days off will mean that everything will rot away nicely and when I start writing again on Monday that the compost will be nice and hot and fresh....

The trouble is the timeline/structure - I have started trying to get it together on excel sheets, but I find myself going nuts.... I need to break away completely from some of the material I've recycled, it's making me stick to a timeline that doesn't quite work... I want the revelation about the break up - but I think I need to deal with it in some other way...  I want to keep my "bravura opening" - but I realise I'll probably have to sacrifice it... or put it somewhere else....

Should it be a chronological story - or can we do flashbacks?  I think if I just start with the teenage romance it could be a bit boring/flat... but -   I need to make more happen in the adult relationship - fling in a funeral perhaps...