Tag: writer

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Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Writing

An introduction to my newsletter…

I’ve been writing this post since January, I’m ashamed to say it’s my first newsletter of the year and somehow it still hugely applies. I’ve been writing a newsletter monthly (sometimes more often) for a while now where I speak of my writing achievements, my goals, writing tips, book recommendations and, as you can see below, plenty of other stuff!

Most of the words you read my subscriber’s received in their inbox a few months ago in my non-regular but hoping to be much more frequent newsletter. If you enjoy and want more then you can sign up to get exclusive news and extra blog content here. Or by following the link at the bottom of the page, OR by heading to my sign up page on this website!

New Year, No Motivation…

I read recently on Dawn O’Porter’s Patreon how she too was struggling with writing motivation. She made a really good point in that: How can you write meaningful, authentic stuff when you aren’t living? Nothing is happening in life. Yes, we are more free and there have been less rules and restrictions lately but I know so many, myself included, who are still reluctant to venture out. Home feels safe. The virus is EVERYWHERE. Even when out it isn’t how it was. You’re always on edge. Feeling guilty. 

Merely by going for a walk the other day I sparked up some ideas and motivation to write. That was just a walk on my own by the sea. Imagine what a whole day or weekend out and about would do. 

I’m very lucky with my place of work as that alone provides so much life from all different parts of it. Reading also does this but has anyone else struggled to chill out and read?!

I have and it took me the whole in between bit between Christmas and New Year to get back into the practice of it. Recently I’ve hardly read at all. I really think we are all just COVID/ doom and gloom news consumed and burnt out. Here’s to 2022, third time lucky!! And look how that’s going already……

The moment…

My sister and I had a really good conversation the other day and, as this is my newsletter, I will relate it to writing. She is very different to me in that her choice of read is usually non-fiction over fiction. She’s currently reading a book about the moon. While I haven’t read the book, my understanding of the particular part my sister was explaining was living in a cyclical pattern and the benefits it has. Living like the moon. There are times in the month to be productive, to reflect, to get busy and to unwind.

I liken this to living in the moment. Of course, planning to a certain extent is useful, but getting bogged down with it is unproductive. Take writing for example. If I get het up on the fact that I’ve not written as much of my third book and haven’t nearly been as disciplined of late then I will just continue in a downward spiral. If instead I put that on the long finger and focus on what I have achieved and seize the day then that is far more helpful in achieving my goals. Live in the moment like today and take advantage of opportunities like being on a walk and ideas flowing, having the motivation to go back and write, and feeling good at the end of the day with a big fat glass of wine. YES.

Time

A line on a friend’s Facebook page struck me the other day: ‘The thing is, we always think we have time…’ Maybe we do, maybe we don’t but one thing that is certain is that nobody knows how long we’ve got or what is going to change suddenly. I refer to above… live in the moment. 

Be happy. See the good in the little things in life. Speak to the trees, smile at the birds, take photos of a particularly pretty sky. Don’t dwell but embrace. That is what is going to get me to my writing goals this year. I plan to produce a lot more varied content for you while also working on novel number three. Watch this space…

Has anyone else had really weird dreams?

You heard it here first, unless some scientist has already written a paper on it, there is going to be a whole lot that makes more sense as more studies go into how much COVID/ the news is taking up our brain time.

I’ve heard so many people not sleeping who have never had problems before. I’m sure it’s because our brains unknowingly are on override. For that reason I’m cutting myself a bit of slack for not putting much time aside to write.

Then there’s the content…

There is none.

While I always bang on about the fact that my novels are NOT autobiographical in ANY SENSE of the word, obviously to write about things, I have to experience or observe things. I have to live. That proves rather tricky when frequently I go weeks on end without leaving my village.

Shall I just write about my walk on the beach?

On that note, this walk has ignited my writing motivation. It took longer than usual as with everything since March 2020, but eventually ideas started to flow as I silently plodded along the beautiful Suffolk coastline. I came up with the notion for this post, for example, and actually wanted to write it. I was enthusiastic. My next newsletter has also been written in this sitting. In this one sitting?! That hasn’t happened for ages.

What I am trying to say is for all you writers out there, for artists in any form, for people working on things for years who have felt that lately the mojo has vanished – I hear you! You are not alone. Go easy on yourself. What we are living through is HUGE.

I think we are all a bit burnt out. Take care xoxo

A note…

Book 2, Don’t Tell Jack is out. Order your copies now on Amazon!

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 filling in the form at the bottom of any page of my website. There will be plenty of giveaways, news hot off the press and an honest insight into life as an author. Thank you x

linktr.ee/HJMWriting

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Stories Writing

How my subconscious influences my writing

So far I have been receiving great feedback after my debut novel, Dear Brannagh, was released. In fact, so many who I least expected to enjoy it have phoned me with glowing reviews. Men and women of all ages have become gripped into the life of Mary Carter. This is everything that a writer asks for.

One particular piece of feedback that is cropping up on loop is how I have written about so many different life experiences. Ones that I’m not meant to know about aged twenty-five.

“If you were fifty,” one man said, “then fair enough. You might have been through events that you describe or know of someone close to you who has. The fact that you are only twenty-five years old makes it so much more remarkable.”

I think I just absorb. I’m a huge listener. Much like my dad. If we’re sitting at a bar we would much prefer to be listening to those telling stories rather than the spotlight being on us telling them.

Until dad gets drunk and starts with the wide mouth frog joke!

It might sound odd because I write for a living (almost) but I really do listen to everyone in all walks of life. My day job involves conversing with so many different people every day. On my travels and during university I met all sorts of people from all sorts of backgrounds. My subconscious, as with everyone, is alive and I find it fascinating how much of this comes out when writing a novel.

Of course, I interviewed people and literally asked their experience but I think that a lot of it comes from the conversations I have had in the past unknowingly being stored within my subconscious brain.

Amazing.

So often I am reading back over my work and I can pinpoint where certain phrases or analagies come from. For example, I can remember giving my fingers a break once while writing about Mary struggling over the loss of her mum. She twiddles her ring on her finger as I did but for a very different reason.

It is very fascinating indeed.

All blog posts can be found at https://www.harrietmills.co.uk/ and to read my published work visit my portfolio. My debut novel, Dear Brannagh, is out now.

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Adulthood Non-fiction Special moments Writing

My Publishing Journey: My book in my hands!!

Publishing is a strange process. It begins with hours of work, a never ending task of finishing the book. Sometimes it’s enjoyable, sometimes painful.

Then editing begins and it honestly feels like that takes decades to complete. There are a lot of very quiet periods spent waiting on the next draft to come through, followed by extremely busy and excitable periods in looking over said draft to send back.

I’m like a kid with it all – so excited and restless!

Each time I recieve an email my heart races. Even during this initial marketing stage, I have found myself replying so fast to each email almost choking on my words to get my questions sent off before the person on the other end has read back over what they have sent.

Yesterday was a brilliant day!

As the world is in a dire state of affairs with the global pandemic and the US election and while all you hear about is doom and gloom, I was glad to receive good news. Is that selfish? I shared my joy with others and it boosted spirits at work so I guess not.

My Mum sent me a picture and while I was working and trying to make out what the picture was I held in a scream when I realised it was quite possibly most probably the first prints of my first novel!!!!!!!

I rang her knowing I was expecting two books for a separate reason. I also condsidered the fact that it could be the promo material and the books would follow. The conversation went something like:

‘HOW BIG IS THE BOX?!’

‘Er, about a foot wide and…’

‘Mum, does it look like 25 books or 2 books?’

‘Definitely 25.’

‘BRING IT DOWN!’

I couldn’t open the package faster if I tried. I ripped it open and pulled out the first copy of my novel in my hand. It felt so good. It SMELT so good.

Immediately I started glancing through looking for mistakes. Then I swiftly stopped!

AM I DREAMING?

All blog posts can be found at https://www.harrietmills.co.uk/ and to read my published work visit my portfolio.

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations

Some things I’ve learnt in the pandemic…

This year is so strange, isn’t it? When it all began I was so sure it’d be over by now. Instead, I’m chilling with my dog, listening to it all over the news and not allowed into my bedroom because my sister is working from home. This virtual existence is odd. A new job and she’s hardly met any of her colleagues…so so odd.

Trying my best to cling tightly onto the good bits, here are some lessons I’ve learnt during the pandemic.

1. How to complain

And I’m getting so good at it. Back when things were normal I was the worlds worst at complaints. I would cower and crumble within seconds and then retract my complaint and allow companies to walk all over me.

Fast forward to the ‘new normal’ and I’m shit hot at complaining. Everyone just blames COVID-19 and while I sympathise to a certain extent, there HAS to be a line. Poor service is poor service and I’m rocking the complaints!

2. How lucky I am

This is always a good thing to remember but this pandemic has highlighted it hugely for me. My life has been busy, work takes over my days and my dreams at night, I’m tired, haven’t done much at all and don’t wish to for fear I’d have to self isolate for 2 weeks which just isn’t feasible. However walking home the other day from an hour at my friends drinking wine and watching the dogs play, i just reminded myself of how truly lucky I am. It was raining. Pouring. But still I felt so so lucky.

3. I’m a sucker for sales

Let’s face it, I’m not spending money on anything else. I was the first to blow £50 with ease at the pub on my way home from another expense. This has stopped. At the beginning I was frequently bulk buying wine. This is still the case but I’m finding myself receiving parcels in the post and then a light switch goes off in my head and I vaguely remember ordering another thing I don’t need online (blame the wine).

4. Healthy life style living in countryside

I have 100% gained COVID pounds and the scales are becoming less liked daily. I don’t get it. At Christmas each year I work stupid hours at a rate of knots, still drink gallons of alcohol and always, ALWAYS lose half a stone or more. This year is different.

In attempt to help the situation I’m doing little things in walking a longer way to work to get the steps in, always making sure I exercise more on my day off and trying to (mostly) eat better. While I’m still drinking too much wine which is something I’m not yet ready to sacrifice, I do feel healthier for these tiny efforts. Each time I walk I feel thankful for the health benefits of living in the countryside and I take in that extra clean country air.

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Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Writing

Thoughts and feels

For the past two days I’ve been dragging myself along, frankly pissed off about how quickly the weekend went by. Did we even have one?!

I frequently long for a week off, a long weekend or even just a day to get away from this madness…and then I watched the news. BIG mistake.

It’s all such doom and gloom, so terrifying. Despite keeping going for the duration so far, yesterday it got to me a bit.

Yet today is a new one and this morning it’s those little things that have got me going. The sunshine, an hour longer in bed, a proper shower with time to pluck my eyebrows and take time with my make up – am I on holiday?!

I have work in just over an hour but wanted to share this snippet with you. It’s hard at the moment to feel good all the time. However, there is so much to feel good about! It’s always the littlest things that make you realise this. I think so anyway.

🙂 H x

All blog posts can be found at https://www.harrietmills.co.uk/ and to read my published work visit my portfolio.

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fiction Stories Writing

a lock down novel: 7

(a snippet of)

Chapter 7, Mary

Days have merged into weeks when I have felt permanently exhausted, entirely drained. I have felt fidgety as if I want to get outside and do things but the thought of physically acting upon that drives me crazier still, so I have mostly remained here in my room.

The shaking sensation in my hands have been beyond my control and I can hardly hold the pen that I am writing with now which is nothing on what they have been some days.

My skin is itchy and I have a huge rash over my face and arms which has always been a sign of a breakdown. I have blotchy patches all over and scabs from where I have picked in a panic or worry until blood drips onto the off-white carpet. At least that’s the cleaner’s problem. It is a silly colour choice for a place of this sort anyway.

My hair is beginning to fall out too which is what happened last year when all of this started, well, sort of when it started.

My legs ache. My clothes are hanging off me because I haven’t eaten for what must be days if not a whole week now. I can’t remember. My memory is going too which is scary because a lot of the time that is all I have to hold on to. Memories. How precious they are.

I spent some time earlier (I think it was today) looking through old photos that they allowed me to have in here. Some were of Erin and Jack so young I could cup them in my hands, like tiny puppies not ready to leave their mum yet. Some were of them only a few months back which makes me so proud to look at. To look at how they have grown into such fantastic humans with little help from me. Though I have a bit of pride to take for it I guess, I wasn’t always completely absent.

The children have hardly wanted to visit. I think the few times that they have appeared has been out of forceful bribery by Eileen. Perhaps a promise of McDonalds on the way home or a trip to the cinema to see the latest release.

What a good aunt she still is. No matter what we throw at her she keeps a strong frame within herself to hold everything together and keep those children onto a path of success and independence for which I will always be grateful.

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fiction Stories Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 6

(a snippet of)

Chapter 6, Erin

Orange. The entire room had a glowing tint of orange and when we walked in, I hadn’t ever thought of orange as a particularly warming colour, but my mind was more focussed upon mum’s behaviour in a public setting so most of my attention was on that. Saying that though, the orange wasn’t a bright and garish tone of orange like that of my hideously decorated bedroom from the age of seven to ten years old, but rather that of a golden glow just like the sun makes on a summers evening. Golden hour. The incense sticks in each corner of the small and cosy space added to the calming feeling as did the instructor asking us politely to remove our outdoor footwear and place them in the closet before entering the room. It made it feel like home.

I had never met the lady who was going to take our class before, but Eileen assured me that she was lovely and a very good yoga teacher because she used to take Eileen’s classes when she first moved here until Eileen stopped attending due to stress. In fact, the whole idea to go was down to Eileen, I usually avoided taking mum out in public nowadays and preferred to restrict our time together to when we were alone. Outside of her room but still alone. I like it that way and I can relax properly to enjoy the time that we had instead of constantly being on edge due to not knowing when she would lash out or do something crazy.

With our socks, shoes and bags safely stored in the closet we entered the room and each chose a mat next to one another – I was in the middle. Beside my mum were another two people and that made up our class which pleased me. I was nervous about doing yoga for the first time, so I was happy with it being a class of five.

We all sat cross legged on our mats which each had a block and a sort of miniature bean bag placed at one end and a human sized elastic band type piece of equipment next to them which I was very curious and slightly worried about being the least flexible person ever. However, I had promised Eileen that I would keep an open mind about it all, so I just went with it, ready to participate in all that the instructor told us to do.

Mum wasn’t making eye contact with the yoga teacher which made me realise that she hadn’t made eye contact with neither me nor Eileen since we picked her up. That wasn’t so unusual to us, it may be to the other people in the class though. Instead she looked awkwardly at the floor and picked at her hand which was a gesture she did when nervous. It was a gesture I didn’t mind though as I had to accept that she would be nervous when in public for a while and she wasn’t acting too crazy so to me it was ok for her to be that way.

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Stories Writing

Lock down – an update

Week 10, 11, 12? I don’t really know to be honest. This week I left the house for the first time since Boris announced we stayed home on March 23rd. It was stranger than I had imagined.

I only left to get my MOT!

Having waited patiently in an empty reception at the garage, nothing seemed too different to before. Besides, my life hasn’t changed much during this in terms of routine. Of course, it is busier than ever and I am more tired than ever, but in terms of my daily schedule it is much the same. Wake up, go to work, drink too much wine, fall asleep and do it all over again.

I’ve seen people. I’ve witnessed social distancing but not to the level of supermarkets and hour long queues to get into a bank. I don’t intent to experience that either. No thank you.

So, having enjoyed an hour to myself reading my book while waiting to see if my car was broken or not, I upped and left. My car wasn’t broken. Hoorah!

I decided to make a trip of it and fill up with petrol too (I know how to live) so I pulled up into the garage next door. Well, I didn’t expect to find it so bizarre entering the first building that wasn’t my work in ten weeks. I felt like I was in an apocalyptic film, the only person left on earth, trying to survive. An essential purchase of a packet of Jammie Dodger biscuits, my petrol and I left.

Writing during lock down…

In terms of writing during lock down I am having mixed experiences. Last weekend was a bank holiday weekend. It was also the first weekend which I didn’t have to go to work for any amount of time so I made the most of it. I wrote two chapters of my second novel and was very chuffed with them.

This morning I have organised myself a bit in terms of my blog and general laptoppy admin duties so I feel good about that. This week I finished a great book (Lucinda Riley is now a favorite author of mine).

However, there are many many times when I get overwhelmed by the little amount of time I have during Corona-life in which to write. There have been some weeks where I’ve hardly written at all. There have been weeks where I couldn’t remember the last time I sat down to read. It really gets me stressed.

Trying to juggle is a skill I am usually good at but have not yet mastered and giving myself a break from the pressure is something I mostly fail at. Yet I am understanding that it is only me who feels stressed after a week of no writing. Also, writing is a long process and one that often produces many drafts before quality work so bad days can certainly be accepted.

My blog and lock down…

I am going to change the arrangement of my blog slightly for now and aim for two posts per week. I was bogging myself down with content and figured that good content is better than lots of it.

Therefore, I will provide you good people with one post much like this one per week. An update, a personal experience, a ditty, a good story – whatever it may be. And I will then post a fictional snippet of things I am working on. A bit of lighter reading at the weekend. A short story for competition, a section of my novel, a random piece of prose for inspiration.

Thank you…

As always I thank you all for your time in visiting my blog. I really hope my work leaves you with a smile on your face.

H x

Categories
fiction Stories Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 4

(a snippet of)

Chapter 4 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. Besides being sixteen in 2019 meant that I had a firm grasp of what lay before me and I 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 behavior, but it is too easy to get sucked in.

Categories
fiction Writing

A LOCK DOWN NOVEL: 5

(a snippet of)

Chapter 5 Jack

In the bathroom I have a stool to stand on to brush my teeth properly and wash my face thoroughly. I needed it to reach the sink when I was younger, but now I have grown a bit and only use it so that I have that extra bit of height because our bathroom sink is quite deep and higher up than a normal one.

Mummy bought me an electric toothbrush for my tenth birthday because she said that once you reach double digits you are old enough to have one and this made me very excited. I now brush my teeth better than I ever did before, but it means that now they know I am awake because they can hear me in the bathroom.

‘Oh hello Jack. I didn’t see you sneak in here! Did you sleep ok?’ Eileen says to me while putting her arms around me and squeezing me tight. I nod in reply.

My tooth brush buzzes three times quickly and that’s when I know it’s time to stop. Cleaning is finished for another morning. Now it’s time to wash my face with my new wash that Eileen got me. She said it will stop big spots coming early so that I will never get bullied when I become a teenager. I didn’t understand what she meant but I don’t ever want to get bullied, so I always use it to wash my face.

Finally, the screaming has stopped and I think Erin is ready to leave the house. I just have to put my clothes on but that won’t take very long at all because Eileen and I laid them out all neat last night before I went to bed. As I am getting dressed I hear the car doors open outside on the driveway and this makes me happy because it means that there will be no more waiting around before leaving the house for whatever it is we have to do and wherever it is we are going.

I get in the car and wait a few moments while Eileen locks up and makes sure that Flo is happy and won’t destroy the kitchen cupboards like she has done occasionally when she got anxious with us being away for a long time. Flo is my favourite.

As we drive out of our close along the busy road into York city centre, I think about all the happy times that I have had with Flo. I’m not allowed to walk her on my own yet, but I still enjoy walks with her because even if I am with Eileen or Erin or even Mummy sometimes then I still can feel like I’m all on my own.

Our drive keeps stopping and starting because of lots of traffic lights but I’m not taking too much notice because I am thinking about Flo and all the good times we’ve had. Suddenly our drive stops completely and I realise that we are here. The car park is busy and the signs suggest we are at a police station or a station where policemen go but I don’t know why this would be or why Erin would need to come here on a Saturday when she’s not at school.