Tag: novel

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fiction Stories Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 1

(a snippet of)

Chapter 1 Mary

Tuesday 19th February 2019

I’ve returned to this awful place, but I must remember the magic I just experienced. Focus on the good things, the positives in every situation. That is what I must do because that is what Doctor Knoll always said. I must think about the smells, the warmth, the stretching, the zen. A total contrast to where I find myself now: the same four walls, the dreaded magnolia, the clinical scent because I deep cleaned yesterday before I ran out of bleach – alone. I am always alone. At least I always feel it and even when I am in company I feel as if I am all alone.

I must consider all her coping techniques whenever I feel stressed or lonely or sad. The simple breathing exercises that I have always relied upon. The experience of the moment and the act of simply being. The noticing of details that bring me into this space of living right now. Of living as me. As a perfectly fine specimen. That’s right, I am me and that is fine. I AM FINE.

These methods are very similar to what my teacher was attempting in the yoga class. I have never allowed my mind to go fully into meditation before. At least I tried to get into it, into the zone, like completely with my mind and my soul, but always failed and ended up failing to see the point or benefits of the practice. Yet today it seems to have helped somewhat, for now anyway, and on exiting the class I felt the same sense of calm as everyone else, for once.

I have tried many meditation applications on my mobile phone and none have worked, yet this time I focussed and reaped the benefits, within the moment at least. Maybe a lack of being able to focus has always been my problem, but today I managed it. I think being on my bed with my thoughts was never going to work when sitting in a class surrounded by others took my focus off my terrifying thoughts and allowed me to meditate properly for the first time. It felt so good.

The drive home wasn’t so calming mind you. This was largely down to the rain slamming onto the windscreen of our car and my aunt, who has never been a confident driver, trying to cope with the weather conditions. We drove along and swerved through the bollards, near missing every single one and hitting numerous curbs. We even mounted some along the way occasionally which added to the terror of the journey. I wanted so desperately to take the wheel and bring an element of sanity to the despair coming from the front two seats, but then I remembered that I can’t and may never be able to drive again. I was petrified, though I know how I can exaggerate sometimes. Oh, I have been told.

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Stories Writing

In a crazy world where good things happen.

12.

Ever tried to write two novels at one time? I think I may have just taken on the challenge.

Initially I struggled to find the time to read during lock down, let alone write. Work has been so busy and my breaks were mostly spent coming to terms with what just happened. As if I’d been hit by something very hard and my whole perception knocked right out of whack.

Eventually I gave up trying to understand everything going on in the world and instead dedicated most of my time in my breaks to reading. That way my brain can shut off completely. It’s a great escape, particularly when the books I am reading are brilliant.

I finished Marian Keyes’ latest novel Grown Ups at the weekend and loved every page. Now I have started The Butterfly Room by Lucinda Riley and I am really enjoying it. It’s set locally to me in Southwold, Suffolk, so I can relate to the place (somewhere I’d love to be right now) and I can also relate to some of the characters as well.

While reading just now I came up with an idea for another novel. A total light bulb moment and a very cliche way to say my novel began if ever I am interviewed about my work.

I tried to find a way to entwine it into the novel I’m half way into writing, but it simply wouldn’t work. They are too different. So, I started a note page on my phone and when I next find time (difficult, but I will make it happen) I’m going to attempt to juggle writing two novels at once.

Lock down is doing wonders for my inspiration! Watch this space . . .

For links to all of my writing related stuff, my link tree is below. You can also find published work in my portfolio. My debut novel, Dear Brannagh, is available on Amazon along with the sequel Don’t Tell Jack. If you enjoy what you’re seeing here and are interested in following me on my writing journey, then please subscribe to my newsletter by dropping your name and email. There will be plenty of giveaways, news hot off the press and an honest insight into life as an author. Thank you x

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Categories
fiction Stories Writing

Descriptive fiction

Thankfully the sun was shining, already brightening my mood for the day and I had just started a new book on recommendation by Eileen who I can always rely on when it comes to good reads. It was one that she had found in a charity shop which is where she finds a lot of her suggestions if they don’t come from the book club that she irregularly attends and it was by an author that she loves which is usually how she picks out the good ones. She is a very loyal reader and once she finds an author that she likes she reads every book written by them until the list has been completely exhausted.

This one was complex from the start and had me gripped instantly. I love books that have that effect and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to put it down until my eyes began to droop with tiredness later that evening. The protagonist had experienced a death of someone close to her, a relative I felt, though it wasn’t clear who had died. She was sorting through the will while trying to sort out the house with a useless brother and intrusive friends to make matters worse. Three chapters in, she had discovered so much about her life that she never knew, and each chapter ended on a cliff-hanger forcing my addiction to the story line to continue.

I was so engrossed in the novel that I hadn’t noticed Jack set up his chair beside me with his iPad and headphones in. He must be playing a game, I thought to myself, but didn’t start to ask him because we were both content in our own worlds but sharing a happy space in our garden, together.

The sky looked like one in a perfect world, clear blue with just a few fluffy white clouds dotted about, perfectly shaped. The breeze came at intervals that provided just enough cool air but never too much that we had to get jackets on, and the warmth continued to make our skin smile. The birds seemed to be enjoying themselves with subtle sounds coming from the trees but apart from that everything was still.

The first smells of freshly mowed lawn came over the fence as our neighbours started to perform their initial garden tidy up of the year and the sounds of the lawnmower and laughter from their children hinted strongly that summer was well on its way. As I started to think that the length of the last warm period on my skin was considerably longer than the last, I looked up to see that most of the clouds had vanished and the sun shone down on its own.

‘Here, you two. Put some cream on,’ Eileen shouted from the kitchen, a tea towel in her hand and clearly emptying the dishwasher while listening to Randy Travis on the stereo.

I had attempted to introduce her into the world of Spotify, claiming that it would save her a lot of money, time and space on her shelves, but she disregarded my efforts and instead wanted to keep her old habits alive.

I lay in silence beside my brother reading my book and my attention only became slightly interrupted when passers by walking their dogs and their children were in loud conversation that interested my brain. The topics were never that interesting at all and they were talking about people I didn’t know but I felt it was natural for a girls brain to focus on any form of gossip, whether it involved me or not.

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fiction Stories Writing

Chapter 3, Erin

Of course, I worried a little initially about the horror stories I had heard. The trolls, the glamorous accounts of false lives to make me feel awful about my own, the mass of uneducated opinions, the dangerously fast addiction and everything else in between, but I never thought much about it all after a while. Besides being sixteen in 2019 meant that I had a firm grasp of what lay before me and felt strong enough to cope with life on social media.

At the beginning I tried to remain strong anyway. It was more to prove a point to my mum but a fraction of it was fear of the inevitable. I could feel instantly the addiction looming. After two days of having access to the virtual social world, my phone was the first thing I went to pick up in the morning and the last thing that I put down at night. I spent hours scrolling and still do, but I don’t know why because after doing so I have never gained anything more or lost anything – my life remains exactly as it was.

On days when I feel bad about my own image, Instagram strengthens this sad emotion when I witness the accounts not of celebrities but of my own friends looking like celebrities. Their accounts fill my newsfeed with perfection and no flaws. The perfect brunch, the most exotic holiday venues, the prettiest new haircuts that look better than I looked that time when I had my hair and all my makeup done by a professional for a family wedding back in Ireland.

At the weekend I see friends and acquaintances out having fun. I always think to myself how they are doing the things that I should be doing when I am visiting Mummy or at work. Friends who have gone to places without even asking me so of course I feel totally left out and forgotten. Acquaintances who I don’t even care about doing things that make my Saturday night look so boring and suddenly I am deeply involved with care for the comparison.

On a more distant level, I see opinions all the time that I completely disagree with or that make me so angry that I can feel my face going red. I see people being horrible openly in their statuses or indirect Tweets and I laugh a little inside in agreement, but never would I say it to their face. I don’t wish to be involved with that kind of negative behaviour, but it is too easy to get sucked in.

When it all began though, I didn’t and still don’t feel I got too involved. I always stayed back and never posted much on my own accounts. The last picture I posted on Instagram which I also posted onto my Facebook account was wishing Jack a Happy Birthday in May. I made a collage of photos of the two of us from when we were very little up until our holiday in Ireland last year.

I am finding it very hard to see how my involvement affected anything. I guess you never know what is happening behind somebody’s eyes. Their thoughts and feelings are totally invisible which is the danger when they don’t discuss anything going on inside their head. I have been over all our accounts since finding out, even hers which is hurtful to do, and nothing seems too awful, but it must have seemed awful to her.

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fiction Writing

Chapter 2, February 1994

While the thoughts had been flowing around Mary’s head she realised that the silence had continued for the duration of their first drinks and that they had been sitting and enjoying the moment, gazing into each other’s eyes like a love scene from a film. Quickly snapping back into reality, Mary went to the toilet to check her makeup situation and to slightly lower her top to entice James to some drunken action later, or perhaps just a kiss. James went to the bar for another round.

‘She really likes you,’ uttered the barman with more experience in years than James had. ‘You can tell from the way she holds herself around you. I’ve been watching the pair of you, not to sound creepy like, but it’s cute.’

The barman was Geordie and had the strongest accent that James had heard since moving up north to university. He was short and bald so James wrongly judged and thought what does he know, but he remained polite despite his inner judgement.

‘I’m glad it looks that way,’ he replied and swiftly moved on to the ordering of more drinks. There was an offer on spirits and mixers meaning Mary had been getting two drinks each time, so James made sure that he had two as well so not to feel left out. He remained on pints and didn’t feel overly drunk yet, so he knew he couldn’t get the blame for taking advantage of her or not acting in a gentlemanly manner and forgetting to walk her home, thoughts coming from experience.

He sat back at the table feeling smug with their beverage layout as well as hearing the comments from the barman proving that he was doing a good job. He’d never been so nervous on a date before but so far he felt that his nerves were well hidden and the attraction between the two of them was there.

After chatting a while more and opening up with the alcohol kicking in, they realised that they had more in common than they had initially thought. Even though Mary was the least sporty person and James had no interest for English Literature and writing, they found lots of topics which meant something to them both and spent a good while comparing travel notes which was full of laughter.

Once they’d finished the round and stood up ready to move on, Mary built up the courage to lean in for a kiss. She had never thought that she would let her guard down enough to do that on a first date before, but her feelings and mild intoxication made it happen. It was a comfortable moment as she leant into James’ strong body. He held her hair back with one hand and grabbed her waist with the other, pinching it gently and affectionately tickling her on the ribs. She giggled and after that moment they decided against the pub crawl and bought beverages to consume back at his flat.

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fiction Writing

Chapter 25, Dublin 2018 (an excerpt)

‘To us getting the outcome that we need tomorrow,’ I say, keeping my fingers crossed and wincing a little hoping that my suggestion goes down well.

Granted I am feeling a little tipsy, so I have built the confidence to say more than I would have at the beginning of our dinner, however these are things that need to be addressed so I am glad to be the one that is doing so.

‘Cheers.’ Comes my thankful response and I am both relieved and happy that I dedicated this glass to the event.

‘You know, it’s going to be seriously difficult to see his face again. I always thought him a lovely lad but now, obviously, my opinions have changed entirely and I just want to rip him apart. I never thought I could kill, but now I know that I could.’

It is after Sheila has finished her miniature rant that I realise she too is probably feeling a little drunk and that is why the truth is all coming out. Being so reserved at first I thought this dinner was going to exhaust me but now the conversation, and the correct conversation at that, is coming so smoothly.

‘Did you know anything about the way he treated Brannagh?’ I ask her, genuinely shocked at Brannagh not asking her mother for help but rather coming to a total stranger in a different country – me.

‘Nothing,’ she pauses, and something appears to be on her mind. ‘I suppose occasionally she seemed a little distressed after seeing him or she would shut me off and just retreat to her room, but I always assumed that was down to her being on her period or that they had had an argument. It was never clear that something was actually wrong.’

‘That’s so sad that she couldn’t speak to any of us. I mean, she tried to tell me and I guess it’s easier telling an almost stranger than your mother but even then I am convinced she wasn’t telling me truly how bad it was.’

The service in the restaurant is great and I glance at my watch to check the time once we finish our mains. I can’t believe it is only half past nine, it feels as though we have been here much longer than that. I suppose the intensity of the conversation has prolonged time but still, I would have expected it to be at least an hour later than it is. However, we’re all tired and with a big day tomorrow we decide to take ourselves off to our separate beds, despite Eileen offering Sheila a glass back at her house.

I am glad Sheila declined this offer because I am tired but also wanted to debrief with my aunt on my own before tomorrow. We both feel that our meeting with Sheila went as well as it could have gone and that we covered many bases of difficult conversational topics. As a reward to us both for getting through it and to temporarily lessen our dread for tomorrow, we open a bottle of Champagne, a staple ingredient to the contents of Eileen’s fridge.

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Writing

Excerpt from Chapter 6, London 1988

She could see signs everywhere and arrows and exits. There were members of staff stood around not doing much at all and others who looked rushed off their feet, so she wondered why they didn’t get better at sharing the workload. The first bag came around the corner and a very happy couple grabbed it finding it hilarious that they didn’t have to wait and could beat the traffic queues. Mary hoped that the smug couple’s car battery had run down like it had on her mum’s car when they were due to go to her gran’s once or that they couldn’t find their keys. Then she silently had a word with herself for being so cynical as they were probably lovely people, she was just bored of walking then waiting then walking so much.

Once they had grabbed their bags and Séan had figured out taxi numbers and prices with the very helpful lady in the tourist information centre, they headed to the rank for another waiting episode during which Mary observed maturely the goings on around her. She often did this and anybody who she openly spoke to about what she perceived would tell her that she had an old head. She never knew what they meant by this expression but nodded and continued her inspections.

The taxi driver was very nice, but he too had that funny accent the same as the man on the passport desk. The taxi was also something new and one thing about England that she had seen photographed – the black cab. She couldn’t remember where she had seen it and gathered that tourist shops in Ireland wouldn’t be promoting very English memorabilia, but she had definitely seen a picture of the famous British feature. She thought it was surreal to be witnessing the reality of these vehicles and cooler still to be travelling inside one.

Mary had always felt that the traffic was bad in Dublin but London trumped Dublin’s busiest times. For the entire journey all Mary heard was the beeping of horns from angry drivers. She found it funny to watch the anger show all over their faces and in the dramatic hand gestures which were sometimes quite rude. What all the fuss was about she didn’t know, nor could she understand why people thought that making this commotion inside your car would help the traffic move more smoothly.

Luckily the two of them were in no rush so the traffic was ok. It will be different when her dad begins work, she noted. This train of thought entering her head made her wonder what her dad was planning to do for work over in London and whether he had sold McDintons or kept it in case they decided to move back home.

All of these questions she stored away for a later date because she felt it too soon to be bombarding her dad with them. Besides, for all she knew he could be feeling quite nervous too.

She couldn’t believe how absorbed in the goings on back home she had been not to notice conversations about the pub or her dad’s work. She was used to listening in on her parent’s conversations always wanting to know absolutely everything but without her mum she figured that no conversation was interesting enough for her to care about anymore.

The chat between her dad and the taxi driver was pretty boring in Mary’s opinion which was why her mind was focussed on other topics. She hadn’t been in many taxis in her lifetime because mostly they spent their free time in the city; if they had gone away it would have been with an auntie or her parents, so they would have taken the car. She did remember in the few taxi rides she’d had there were similarly dull discussions during them though. It was full of what she understood as being small talk. She’d never wanted to travel far if she was with her mother because she worried it would get awkward as her mum often ran out of things to say. Séan on the other hand never had this problem and was the king of this small talk which he was demonstrating in the current situation.

As they got closer to their destination which was unknown to Mary, the houses became larger and less cramped together. The tacky looking newsagents which were cropping up every other building before had vanished and the dirty streets had become much cleaner. Some of the fronts of the buildings looked more like palaces than people’s homes and Mary wondered which one the queen lived in. Perhaps it was one of those. Perhaps they were to be staying with a member of the royal family. She swiftly stopped those thoughts knowing with certainty that the Queen lived at Buckingham Palace and hoped that her dad would take her there quite soon.

Even though it had been drilled into her from a young age that she had Irish blood and the English were very much a separate entity, one thing she had always loved about England from the little that she knew was the royal family. She had watched Princess Diana and Prince Charles’ wedding on her auntie’s television during the summer holidays. She sat there for the whole day being fed ice cream and fruit but not moving her eyes from the box. Her aunt was having a party which most certainly was not in aid of the wedding, but Mary removed herself from this and was utterly absorbed by Dianna’s beauty and the sheer Britishness of it all. She realised that this was going against all morals that her parents had taught her but, in that moment, she didn’t care at all.

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Writing

These were all their words, he was all mine

Katie Melua’s cover of What a Wonderful World came out strongly from the speakers because James always saw the goodness in everything and everyone. I was overtaken by past memories that left out the horror of the final years. I was remembering the happy times when our family was one and the times before we had a family at all when we loved every aspect that life threw our way. I could hear Sally crying next to Jack who didn’t know how to react in the situation he was in. His first funeral and it was for his dad. How cruel life was sometimes.

Readings came from the reverend who reeled off all of our blurbs put together mixed in with religious connotations of what he felt that death was to him. Abide with Me was the chosen hymn but my voice box failed me due to my weakness and my tears, so I enjoyed the sound of the organ playing a favourite of mine. The committal was spoken, and the curtains closed giving us all closure to a long-suffering horrendous incident. The brain is such a powerful organ. At least our James suffers no more.

As we exited the building for the part of a funeral that any family member dreads, I took Erin and Jack by the hands to the bouquet that some minutes before lay rested where their father was.

‘Take a daisy each,’ I urged to them, both looking fearful at ruining a beautiful display of flowers. ‘Go on, you’re allowed to.’ They each took their favourite coloured bud and cautiously held it in their small hands. ‘Now whenever you’re missing Daddy, press on this for comfort. He is always going to be with you.’ Erin smiled and Jack remained looking confused as we edged our way to stand and be sent many condolences from everybody who loved James.

A true character. A lovely soul. Kind and thoughtful, always giving his everything. Wonderful. Brilliant. Charming. These were all their words, he was all mine.

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Writing

Chapter 1, Dublin 2018

I had forgotten how magical this place had once made me feel until now, experiencing the magic all over again. I didn’t for one minute think that this would be the case, but I suddenly feel in control and at home. It’s almost as if I’ve forgotten my motive for the trip altogether and for a moment which feels longer than I imagine it is, I am enjoying this pleasant sensation and am at peace.

I have returned at a crucial time which becomes clearer to me as I see the abortion campaigns plastering the streets. I would have thought thirty years ago that this would have passed by 2018 and that the women of Ireland would have the freedom to choose, but instead the ‘No’ campaigners are not giving up their fight, attacking women across Ireland into feeling guilty for having a choice.

‘At 22 weeks I have fingernails, don’t repel me,’ reads one sign from the angry campaigners, desperately clinging onto the past and not accepting the different circumstances that women find themselves in. ‘A woman you love might need your yes,’ reads a board from the opposing side. I’m with the latter, giving women a choice and stopping hundreds who flee to England to safely abort a child that may not survive or abandon the memory of horrific and unwanted intercourse. There are individual stories and this needs to be addressed, but then that is only my opinion after all.

I ponder the debate for a while in blissful silence which is a miracle considering the company I am in. Erin has just bought new headphones so whilst ignoring the hardworking driver’s commentary, she’s listening to her Spotify playlist entitled ‘Musicals’, while Jack innocently attempts to grasp every word that the cheerful and witty commentator utters, adult jokes going straight over his head which I am thankful for.

I can’t believe how much this place has changed and how much my life has changed since I was here. Mammy instantly returns to my memory and though she doesn’t cross it much these days, it is comforting to feel. I don’t really know why I have returned anymore. At least in this current moment I haven’t a clue.

A tear drops from the corner of my eye and this as well as the rare Dublin sunshine forces me to put my sunglasses on. It’s a tear of happiness, of sheer contentment which I haven’t felt much at all for as long as I can remember. This place represents the start of everything for me and though I’m not as good as Jack and I’m ignoring every word that the driver is saying due to my mind wandering elsewhere, I think to myself how different things could have been.

‘Stop number twenty-two,’ the driver calls out. ‘The Guinness Storehouse.’ I’ve never been and right now I could demolish a pint of the black stuff like Daddy would if he were here with us but with two young children, I think I’ll pass. Most couples leave the top deck and prepare to stand in the long queue having missed the memo about pre-booking to avoid it. I look up to the top and dream about sitting alone in the Gravity bar staring out mindlessly onto the Wicklow Mountains in the distance. Then I’m suddenly back in reality when Jack claims he’s desperate for a wee. I guess we’ll be getting off at stop number twenty-three then.

Categories
Writing

The Diary of my novel writing process: A First Attempt (section 2)

Keeping diary during my novel writing process was initially an idea that I thought would be interesting to read later down the line but after producing what follows I realise it was a necessity.

Here is my novel writing diary four months in until the end…

30/09/2018 12:23pm

My ‘Novel Ideas’ document which contains my chapter plan is now half complete, the chapters highlighted in green. I have always found so much satisfaction in ticking off lists and figured that in the digital world highlighting brings the same sense of achievement. The fact that the green is covering more than half pleases me no end and gives me the motivation to get to that place – the end.

Once I have a full first draft of my manuscript I am not only going to feel relieved and accomplished having completed an entire novel, I’ll be extremely proud to have stuck it out. Some chapters are much harder to write than others there’s no doubt. One’s with research or a special event from a slightly different culture like the Irish wedding are ones that I’m not overly comfortable with and won’t be until enough people who know have read it.

Writing about an Irish girl and Irish rituals, I have made sure that a close Irish Catholic friend of mine has been the first to read large chunks of my manuscript at a time. I am so grateful for her throughout this process as she is one who would tell me straight firstly about what she thinks of the idea and how it reads but also if I made mistakes within the Irishness.

I am grateful for every reader who willingly reads my work. All the feedback is great and I realise that most are biased being friends and family but it’s still feedback nonetheless.

48,602 words down, around 27,000 to go and hopefully a lifetime of success, launch parties and happiness. Perhaps I’m getting a little ahead of myself. We’ll see…

Sunday 14th October 2018

Thinking today about writing and its solitary ways. It may be the dreary weather outdoors or the three tequila shots that I consumed last night but I’m struggling today. The content I am writing is pretty sad too but I can usually handle this and move myself away from the story. Today, however, I’m finding it hard. The juggling of different projects. The not yet getting anywhere. The fact that time is ticking and I’m working relentlessly to make this work and the thought that it could all be for nothing and I’d be back to square one.

I’m never usually this down about it but today I’m feeling a splurge of the difficulties that, I am sure, all writers face. You sit at your desk creating these extra worlds and people to worry about. You write things that perhaps are for a commission or a course and don’t particularly interest you but it has to be done.

In fact, as is always the case, writing this down has lifted the heavy weight off of my shoulders and I am sat with a fresh coffee ready to keep on going, because after all that is what you have to do, keep going until you get somewhere.

29/11/2018

Final chapter. Flapjack on desk for energy. Coffee for more energy. Window open to let final motivation in. George’s birthday so feeling good. Up early, presents, write. Write. Write. Write.

27/01/2019

The feedback. Feeling thrilled (and shocked) still to have finished my first novel and thoroughly grateful already for the support from friends and family. I have handed it out in hard copy and PDF form to a number of people but with Christmas and New Year it has taken a while to receive feedback.

It’s always good when people support you in something that you love and that is exactly what is happening so far. My mum is the first to have finished and discussing my novel, my characters and my plot line over our bangers and mash this evening has been somewhat surreal. I even read aloud the final two chapters to my sister who liked what she heard and isn’t a reader herself. I must admit I was rather proud of what I had written, words that I had forgotten about entirely. Exciting times ahead, I hope, exciting times indeed.