Month: February 2020

Categories
Non-fiction Observations Writing

For a moment I forgot I am a writer…

For a moment I forgot that I am a writer and that writing is, in a sense, work as well.

Each day I find time to write in between working busy shifts and I thoroughly enjoy to do so. Whether it is at five o’clock in the morning before I start work. It might be at half past one in the day time when I am on my break from work. Or occasionally I write in the evenings if I have chosen not to have a glass of wine. This is very occasional.

It’s therapy. It’s freedom. It’s time to myself. It’s development. It is all of those things but it is also jolly hard work.

A novel contains a huge amount of words and those words take a lot of time to edit. Getting them down in the first place is a job well done but that is also only the beginning. I didn’t realise myself how many times I would go over my manuscript before it went to print. I certainly didn’t realise how many other eyes would read and scrutinise it as well. It is a big task.

In fact, it wasn’t until the other day when I was driving with a friend on the way to a coastal retreat for the weekend in order to get more work done when I noticed that I have forgotten to consider writing as hard work for a while.

I have neglected to notice that it makes me tired. I have failed to count it as my working hours. I have disregarded the time and effort needed to make my work as good as it can be.

We were working out rotas and my friend said how she fully realises that my breaks are not always breaks and I use that time ‘off’ to write. I returned from the coast and felt worryingly tired considering I’d spent the weekend away at my happy place, a place of relaxation and recharge. Then another friend pointed out that I had in fact been WORKING and that reading and editing is tiring.

Suddenly I felt something needs to change. I’ll never stop loving writing and I’ll always see it as a fun, enjoyable, soul strengthening thing to do but I need to start seeing it as work and to stop beating my twenty-four-year-old self up for being too tired for a youngster because a writer is a job title.

Creative work is work. Reading and editing makes you tired. Painting, drawing, sketching, whatever it is your talent is in, it is still worthy to be called work. People buy it for a reason. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Hear it from me.

Categories
Non-fiction Observations Writing

My Publishing Journey: The Proof

It has been a week and a half since I received the exciting email containing the professionally edited proof of my debut novel.

At a first glance, all I felt was excitement. Giddy excitement to see my baby, still on a Word Document, but looking as it will look on the pages of an actual book. The layout just looked fabulous and having my name as the author and on copyright was pretty cool.

My words flowing, words I had written, characters I’d come up with in a world entirely created by moi – it still seems surreal. Scrolling briefly before reading any, I was happy to see that it hadn’t been completely covered in editor comments and changes, and felt quite proud that an amount of my time studying English had been worthwhile.

My publishers explained to me in detail how they have edited my manuscript and advised precisely how I go about agreeing with their changes or, indeed, disagreeing.

I realise I am no professional. I am fully aware that I am brand new to this game. However, I felt it would be useful to share with you all my tips so far on THE PROOF and what I have found helpful when reading through my entire manuscript once again.

  • READ ALOUD: it makes for clearer reading and easier to spot little mistakes
  • TAKE YOUR TIME: while time is of the essence, this book is going out into the world, do not rush, be careful to get it right
  • PLAN, BUT NOT TOO MUCH: I have planned to read a chapter a day. If I achieve more, then I am very happy but if that is all I manage then equally, I have done well. I work full time and sometimes after a busy shift my eyes need to be away from screens.
  • KEEP A CLEAR HEAD: there is no point attempting to effectively read through and edit when your brain is frazzled. I find it takes a few moments to get into the right head space in which to work properly. This weekend I am off to the beach. I have a great friend who makes this happen but also, the beach is where my mind instantly clears and I know I will get a lot of quality work done while there.
  • BE PROUD: don’t underestimate your achievement and be proud to look at your book in a professionally edited form. As much as you feel you’re boring those around you, it is VERY VERY exciting!
Categories
Uncategorised

Delay (part 3)

I was surprised that she had only tried ringing one time. She had a reputation of intense persistence. She was outside. Something told me that this was bad news and was going to bring my mood right down. At least friends are that bit distanced and can just offer their sympathy but family, family could judge, give opinions and it was almost as if you had to listen. Thankfully the song was over.

 “Hi doll.” Sandy said in a monotone voice and barged straight into the house. “I’ve just been with Mum.”

“Oh yeah, how is she?”

“Same old. Worried about you.”

“Would you all stop! I’m fine! Seriously, I’m fine.” I shocked myself with my response nearing my first mental breakdown. “I’ll start not being fine though if everyone keeps on at me.”

“We just think you’re taking too much on. The deal with Mum is huge and hard for us all to handle but we don’t have everything else on top of it like you, we can just focus. Hear your big sister, take a break. I’m worried about you too.”

“Look, Sand. I know you genuinely care but your concern is beginning to stress me out more. Please.”

“Our mother has cancer. It’s kind of a big deal.”

“I know that. I’m sorry.”

“We also don’t need to be worrying about you on top of it all, but there is this thing called family. We love you. We want you to take care of yourself.”

“Where are the boys?”

“Stop changing the subject. They’re with Graham. I’ve got to meet them in fifteen minutes, but I needed to check in on you first.”

“Thank you. But honestly, focus on your own life. I am fine.”

“If you say so. Please call me later though.”

Sandy left as sharply as she had entered, signing out with an emphatic irritable sigh to show me once again that her concern was real. I allowed for the fact that my sister had a whole family to look after so her life was very different, but I wished she would let go of some pride and be a bit warmer occasionally. Sandy was just like our mother which made my longing for our father’s return so much stronger.

Once the door closed, I slid down the back of it, placed my head in my knees and frequently wiped the heavy tears from my face while sobbing into my damp jeans. I wasn’t wishing for any of the morning’s conversations to have gone any differently I simply wished that they hadn’t happened, so I wasn’t forced to be as broken as I was. Sunday’s were for rest, Sunday’s were for wine and Sunday’s, in my perfect world, were for being alone content in my own misery, without visitors. This Sunday was full of them.

Usually a period of continuous sobbing would snap me out of the sadness, yet this time it hadn’t worked and instead made me feel far worse. I grabbed my coat and without locking any doors decided to go out for a walk.

I exited via the back-garden gate which I left swinging open behind me for any intruder to enter my home, taking with them whatever they wished, and headed for the field. Ignoring all public footpaths, I walked, and walked, and walked. I walked through Mr Ingham’s sheep field, the posh ones that he shipped over from Europe. I trudged through the cow pat which came from the highland cows and waded through the overgrown woodland at the back.

Unaware as to where I was going, I followed the sun and soaked in the sense of freedom that was upon me. I headed for the road.

THE END

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations

Things adulthood forces you to do:

Adulthood. A whirlwind. While we’re all tirelessly trying to get by with the notion of an alcoholic beverage at the end of each day, I thought I’d cheer everybody up by showing that you’re not alone. Here are things that adulthood forces us all to do (I’m sure of it). I really hope I’m not the only one.

Set an alarm for a fifteen minute nap

Moan about being tired

Procrastinate by doing chores to avoid other adult responsibilities

Want to go to bed earlier

Moan about being tired

Cancel on social events

Celebrate when a friend cancels on social events

Drink too much

Work so hard your eyes turn blurry

Moan about being tired

Enjoy the little things more

Appreciate the outdoors

Talk to people who bore you

Talk to pets like they are human

Do anything to shut off the mind

Keep on learning every day

Moan about being tired

Worry about the future when there’s nothing you can do about it

Feel fully satisfied after ticking three things off the to do list

Stay at the pub for “just one more”

Realise that health, happiness and love are everything

Moan about being tired

Treat half a day off as a fortnight away in paradise

Embrace those long road trips

Embrace time to yourself

Listen more

Moan about being tired

Notice the beauty of the world around us

Find yourself “just being polite” frequently

Give up on looks and focus on fun

Scream at the moon and at the waves

Enjoy life

Moan about being tired

Adulthood might be hard, tiring and testing, but it also makes up the majority of the time that most of us are lucky enough to spend on earth and it is great!

Categories
fiction Stories Writing

Delay (part 2)

“Hey darling!” I said as I greeted Sam, masking all my thoughts and feelings.

“Hello, love,” he replied with his sexy voice that I always wished I didn’t adore.

An awkward pause occurred when I racked my brain for an excuse as to why Sam absolutely could not enter my home on this occasion. My home that he was always most welcomed into and usually would walk in without the politeness of a knock first. Sam. My best friend. Nothing was happening inside my head, so I had to back down.

 “Can I come in?” Sam said, confused as to why he was still outside waiting in the cool October air, luckily it wasn’t raining.

“Hi er. Sorry. Sorry.” I couldn’t think quickly enough with a plausible excuse. “I – er – now really isn’t a good time. Sorry mate.” The look on his face broke off a piece of my heart but I held up the strength for long enough to shut the door behind him before letting out some more unexpected tears.

Pausing a moment, I instantly felt guilty for lying to my friend. I immediately started to tackle chores in a frantic manner so that technically my small fib became more truthful. Now wasn’t a good time, I was busy.

I poured a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc noticing that it was only ten past twelve, so I felt very naughty and set it aside while I began pottering about my kitchen. I realised quite quickly that as I looked like a woman with it all together, I certainly was not. In fact, I was acting crazy in the way that each dish was being washed within an inch of its life and mugs were almost breaking as I placed them forcefully into the dishwasher.

The dog came up close to me sensing my instability and I decided to stop a moment and take another large glug of my wine.

I love how dogs know instantly when you’re feeling down or anxious. When things get too much, I can always rely on her to be by my side. Mum taught me that. Mum taught me how to love animals so much. Mum taught me a lot actually.

She taught me how to walk, talk, eat, be polite. She was with me when I first rode a bike, first got on a horse, first drove a car. She was there at my school exam results day, my leavers do, my graduation. She held me through my first break ups, my friendship battles, when things got too much in general.

It didn’t take long before the tissue I was holding was sodden with the tears that I was unaware of. I was finding this harder than I expected, harder than I cared to admit. Swiftly I binned that tissue and wiped the remaining tears from my face with the back of my hand, slapping it gently as if to tell myself to get it together.

A happy song broke up the various chat shows on the radio, so I turned it up and shimmied around the kitchen while polishing some wine glasses in case another visitor came along and judged me. I was loving the feeling that I was experiencing and knew quite firmly that for four and a half minutes at least I could enjoy myself, my life. I was so happy that I even got the antibacterial spray out and began wiping the surfaces, the hob and even parts of the cooker that hadn’t been touched in months, my stubbornness refusing to except the idea of getting a cleaner into my thoughts. When I moved my phone, which was charging on the kitchen side to wipe around it, I noticed a missed call – Sandy.

Categories
Adulthood fiction Stories Writing

Delay (part 1)

“Don’t you think, you know, you should maybe consider taking some time off.”

“Mmm,” Melanie grunted disapprovingly.

“I don’t think you realise how much you take on all of the time and this is just huge for you to cope with. Mel, you look tired. Seriously. We are all so concerned for you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Just ask at work, they are going to understand completely. They will. And you will feel so much better for it.”

“I just hate letting people down.”

“For God’s sake you aren’t letting anyone down!”

“I just think I’ll worry that I am though.”

“Mel.”

I knew as Cassie was speaking with that same affirmative tone that I’d heard so many times before she meant what she said. It was like being spoken to by a teacher at school, a decision-making boss, or, worse, my mother. As irritating as it made me, I also realised that such seriousness in Cassie’s voice meant that the care was so genuine and that my situation was probably more serious than I treated it.

I knew I buried most issues under the carpet. I knew it was a trait that I would always possess. Yet I struggled to see quite how this proved to be such an issue to so many people around me. An interest almost. I failed to see that my getting annoyed at their care was wrong and how I was extremely lucky to have so many people looking out for me, irritating me daily when all I wanted to be was alone.  

“Here you go, another cup of the good stuff will sort you out.” Cassie passed me a perfect cup of tea, just how I liked it.

Cassie always knew to leave me when I fell into one of my unique zone out moments, but she always knew how to welcome me back into the world with such warmth.

“Thanks.”

“Here, I’ll stay for another one of these then grab a bottle on my way back, shall I?”

“Sure.”

After consuming our warm brews, Cassie left for the long list of chores that her Sunday had in store for her, but she was sure to be back by six o’clock, prompt as ever. Her hugs were so tight and true that it left me wiping the tears that I didn’t know existed away from my face. I had finally broken a little and began to feel ashamed for it when the doorbell rang, again.

“One moment!” I shouted, straightening myself up and powdering my nose as fast as I could so the guest wouldn’t notice my sadness.

I hoped it would be the postman but then remembered it was a Sunday. Then I prayed for a delivery man, the milkman working extra, a supermarket van driver for an order that I had sent for while drunk and had then forgotten about. I hoped it would be anybody except for who I knew that it would be. Somebody else offering their deep concern for my wellbeing and somebody else wishing to sit for hours telling me that I needed to take some time out, to rest, to look after myself for once in my life.