Tag: writer

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations

Social Media

Social Media is really strange.

It is an information overload, there is so much to take in. All the time. A constant feed of news and stories. Peoples thoughts and feelings. Other peoples thoughts about those thoughts and feelings. It never stops. Ever. Time differences make this happen. And insomnia.

This morning I planned to spend an extra hour sleeping but I have used half an hour of that hour up already staring at my screen. Scrolling. Catching up on everything that I missed while I was asleep for eight hours. EIGHT HOURS. I’ve only touched the surface. In half an hour. So much information.

There are, of course, really good bits. There are lovely photos of people doing lovely things. Inspirational posts about records of achievement or important life events that people are really happy about and wish to share with the world.

They also want to share what they had for dinner. What they are doing each moment in time. What they are thinking. Their view both politically and of a field near their house. Bizarre. We all do it though.

There is so much love on people’s birthdays. Couples anniversaries. Births of new born babies. Deaths.

When selling items or tracking down dogs or posting a job vacancy in a small business or notifying of a community event, it is a brilliant brilliant tool. There are few better places to promote than on the social.

It never stops. This fricking world never stops spinning. Sometimes you want it to. So bad. For just a minute. Sixty seconds.

Letter writing is almost extinct. Visiting a friend’s Facebook page allows you into their life, what they are doing, where they are living, whether they are married, have any children. A like is deemed contact. A love is even more. A virtual wave, a handshake, a thumbs up. You’re doing great.

Memories daily reminding you of the past and reminders to tell you about the events in the future. Making you realise how, maybe, you should be living. How you used to be. The moment just whizzes by.

It is good. It is bad. It is a voice, a platform, loving, dangerous, cruel, unkind, kind, helpful, useful, boring, odd.

Social Media is a really strange thing.

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
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
Non-fiction Recommendations Review Writing

Writing Magazine: a review

For over a year now I have been a proud subscriber of Writing Magazine.

Each month another issue arrives through my letter box and I indulge in its variety of useful and interesting content. Every issue is packed full and thicker than your average magazine so I admit that sometimes a pile builds up beside my bed of those that are still to be properly read.

I initially skim through, perhaps picking out articles that particularly stand out and read them there and then. I then put it away for a day or two until I find time where I will read through properly and enjoy every minute of doing so.

From competition entries to writing news, author stories and everything else in between, Writing Magazine offers a superb selection of opinions, information and ideas to develop your writing technique.

Since subscribing I have undertaken a writing course, appeared on the letters to editors page, entered numerous competitions, taken on board book recommendations, discovered new writing exercises to spark up ideas and learnt so much about this weird and wonderful industry.

Encouraging, inspiring, informative, interesting, entertaining, witty, realistic and fabulous. That is how I would describe this brilliant and useful magazine. Long will I subscribe and if you’re interesting in writing and reading then you should consider subscribing too!

Categories
Adulthood Non-fiction Observations Seasonal

How’s your January?

Bleak, dismal, grey, tiring, sad, long, monotonous, cold, dark. These are a few words that people use to describe the month of January. How is yours going?

The period after Christmas is always strange. The new year brings a lot of excitement and anticipation initially, but a week in and everyone is scared of the change, worn out by the darkness and fed up with the cold.

I am a firm believer of the condition S.A.D which stands for seasonal affective disorder that many people suffer during the darker winter months.

I’m not afraid to admit that some days during this difficult month I have cried for no reason. I have panicked about the future unnecessarily. I have felt tired and exhausted wondering where I am going wrong in life and then I look outside and realise that it is pitch black and only 3pm.

I wake up in darkness, walk to work in darkness and leave work in darkness. My toes and fingers have threatened to fall off due to being freezing cold. I am running out of warm jumpers because they are all in the wash. My motivation is lacking most days. I feel overwhelmed with my year’s to-do list!

The memes fill social media describing the ninety fifth day of January. The weather reporters bring news of more rain, grey skies and the big freeze. Outside looks bare and spring seems miles away.

However, while running on an extremely bright and beautiful morning this week I discovered some perks to this godawful first month of the year and decided that there are ways to appreciate January as much as any other month:

  • the hope of spring is around the corner
  • there is still beautiful sunshine
  • glistening frost
  • wood burners
  • appreciation of a thick coat
  • there are buds on the trees
  • the first signs of daffodils start to appear
  • dogs look really cute in coats

So there we have it. January. A depressing yet hopeful, beautiful month.

Categories
fiction Stories Writing

The Divide

Jamie stood shivering as he awaited her arrival.

“The train from Manchester Piccadilly is delayed. It is expected to arrive in twenty three minutes on platform 7B. We are very sorry for any inconvenience caused.”

His nerves seemed to wobble more at this announcement which was given in such a mundane and unapologetic manner. The usual excitement was also present but currently nerves took over.

He tried to notice things to sway his focus from the bitterly cold air but his teeth continued to chatter. A couple to his left greeted one another with a simple peck on the cheek and an unenthusiastic hello which indicated to him that they had been married far too long.

Some children were running to get a train, fretting in their own chaos. They had probably never been left to their own devices until now, he thought. Bless them.

Two guards were stood chatting to the side, not doing much signalling. One had a litter picker in his right hand but he was more using it for the gestures that accompanied his story rather than picking up rubbish.

As he glanced around he saw many happy couples together, perhaps travelling to relatives, travelling home, heading into work or possibly out for the day, but they would all have their own story. None would be as private as his. He was sure of it.

Fifteen minutes had passed when he saw the lights of the approaching carriages, hoping that it would be the one and looking to his fingertips to see if they had begun to turn blue.

The train edged towards the platform until it came to a halt and he tried very hard not to cheer. Finally.

Among a mass of people exiting the doors, it was hard to spot her. Most looked disheveled from obviously a stressful journey south. Some looked furious and he wondered why they had stuck at it and not given up.

Butterflies began to outdo the nerves as he waited while racking his brains for a decent bar to start their time together. He always lover their time together though it wasn’t very often these days.

A couple barged him out of the way rushing to catch their connection that they would have had masses of time to catch if it wasn’t for the delay.

“Sorry mate,” the man said in a friendly manner, while the wife dragged him in the right direction huffing as they went by.

He looked to his side and caught eyes with an elderly man, obviously waiting for somebody as well and waiting more patiently than most people on the platform. He smiled at him and the man smiled warmly back.

As his eyes returned to the focus of the door he saw her. There she was in her neat blonde glory, stood with her bag in one hand and her opened purse in the other, the photograph of her children almost falling out with a photo of her husband tucked behind it.

Categories
Adulthood fiction Stories Writing

Follow Me

“Don’t look back, stop being stupid,” Alana whispered to herself as if that would make the moment more reassuring. Except she was terrified. Utterly terrified.

Her steps were speeding up as were those of the tall, slim figure behind. She broke into an almost run and so did the silhouette following her.

“He’s not following me, it is just a coincidence,” she repeated aloud.

She knew that he was. She knew that this was not a moment of chance. Her gut was telling her so and since leaving her friend’s house, she had been watching the streets very closely.

He must have known she left at the same time each night. He must have researched her, worked out how regimental she was to routine. He must have waited for the clocks to go back before beginning his mission, whatever that was. To scare her? He was doing a good job of that. What did he want? How did she know that he was male?

She didn’t.

She edged her neck around realising that it would have looked less obvious if her movement had been faster, but she was too afraid for subtlety. The figure was still following her and speeding up accordingly to match her pace.

Her heart was racing and her legs felt numb. The cold air was biting the ends of her fingers and toes, but the rest of her body was overheating in fear. She wished she had taken her friend up on that drink she offered her. Maybe it would have relaxed her a bit, calmed her nerves.

Each time she reached a streetlight, which wasn’t often, she felt a bit safer. The figure vanished momentarily every time. She didn’t know where. Then, in the darkness, it reappeared as if it wasn’t actually there.

She knew that the alleyway would mark a long period of low glowing light so she hoped that the figure would change direction. Just before leaving the darkness it was so close to her that she could almost hear the breath. She picked up pace. She reached the light.

Scared to turn back she looked forward and ran. She ran until she reached the group of houses before hers. Feeling surrounded by safety, she built up some courage to turn. There it was. At the top of the road, standing. Still. Staring down at her, panting hard.

What was his intention. What did he want from her? If he really wanted to catch her then surely, he could have, she isn’t the fastest runner.

She turned her gaze forward again and stopped a moment to catch her breath. She didn’t want her mother to ask questions.

Feeling ready to resume her journey home she caught sight of the door to her house.

‘Hello, Katie. It’s been too long.’

The figure that had been so frightening behind her was terrifyingly in front.

She froze unable to consider what to do next.

Categories
Non-fiction Special moments Writing

My Publishing Journey: the first stages

There I was signed up, no going back and eager for all that the future held. I was thrilled at how my future was developing.

I sent off my manuscript ready for it to undergo the first stages of publishing. I had read a lot about it before but it was very exciting to see it done for myself and for my debut novel.

I have to say so far the communication between myself and my publishers has been sound. I couldn’t fault it. They are very quick to respond and thorough in their responses.

Firstly, I had to fill in a questionnaire which included lots of details about my novel as well as a cover design idea. I can’t draw nor am I very artistic in that sense at all so I had an image inside my mind and desperately tried to explain it as well as I could in words.

Two weeks later I was emailed what they had come up with and it is perfect.

Now awaiting the first proofs the pending excitement continues.

Good things to come… stay tuned xoxo

Categories
Non-fiction Writing

20 writing goals for 2020

  1. Enter 10 writing competitions
  2. Finish book 2
  3. Publish my debut novel
  4. Work hard
  5. Encourage others
  6. Finish my Writers Bureau Writing Course
  7. Attempt writing for radio
  8. Write more in different settings
  9. Write some happier fiction
  10. Keep it up with my blog (at least 2 posts a week)
  11. Earn some money from my writing(!)
  12. Attend literary events
  13. Embrace conversations when people are upbeat about my writing
  14. Read more brilliant work of others
  15. Read more around topics like social media, blogging and self-promo
  16. Take myself off to places to gain inspo and ideas
  17. Start another novel???????????????
  18. Read my writing magazine WHEN it shows up
  19. Stay positive and enthusiastic
  20. Keep going