Oyez! Oyez!

The first full week of 2014 is over. It’s time to take stock, reassess, readjust, and all that other stuff. It’s time to take a long, hard look at my beloved ‘Clockwatching…’ and see just what we can do to make it a better place to hang out, for everyone who makes use of it.

Image: smallbusinessbc.ca

Writing this blog is one of my very favourite things in life, but the start of a new year is a good time to think about whether it’s become too stale and/or boring for those kind people – i.e. you – who like to drop in here from time to time. Out of all the blogs in all the world, I’m honoured that you’d wander into mine; of course, I’d also like to entice you to stay, by offering you all manner of wonders and making this online journal of mine a fun, interesting and enjoyable place to be. To that end, I would very much like to ask for the assistance of my kind, generous and wonderful readers (hi, Mum!) in order to determine the future direction of this ‘ere blog. Can you spare a few moments to give a girl a helping hand?

Mainly, I’m worried that blogging every day, as I have done (with the exception of Sundays, ‘Acts of God’, illness, and holiday periods) since August of 2012 is a bit much. Not for me – words are at the core of my being – but for you, gentle reader. For everyone who enjoys reading these little excursions into the deepest recesses of my brain every day, I’m sure there are ten who roll their eyes and say: ‘Not again. Doesn’t that woman have anything better to do?‘ when another blog-notification pings into their inbox. (Answer: Not really.)

So.

Question One: Should I continue to update ‘Clockwatching…’ on a daily basis? If yes, wonderful. If not, how often would you prefer me to post?

a) thrice weekly

b) twice weekly

c) weekly

d) never

Image: blogs.edweek.org

The second thing that keeps your intrepid correspondent awake at night – and goodness knows, I need my beauty sleep – has to do with the content of my posts. As anyone who drops in regularly here will be aware, I like to read, and I like to write. I like to (sometimes) get on soapboxes about such things as women’s issues, feminism, equality, politics (albeit rarely), environmentalism, consumerism, and a whole lot of other ‘isms’. Mostly, though, I write about the written word, my journey as an aspiring author, and the love I have for books – both reading and writing them.

Is this the kind of thing you want to read, though?

Nobody wants to write a blog which doesn’t engage its readers. Nobody wants to feel like a reader is bored, because – essentially – that means the reader is entirely within their rights to click away, toward something which interests them. I’d like to think that I’m giving my readers something worth reading, as well as something they enjoy, and would like to see more of. But if I am not, I would very much like to know.

Question Two: Are you, as a reader of ‘Clockwatching…’, happy with the blog’s content?

a) Yes

b) No

c) Artichokes?

d) Sometimes

If you have any suggestions for future topics – the only caveat being that they are suitable for a general readership, in terms of age-appropriateness – I’d certainly be interested to hear ’em. If you’ve always wanted to know my take on the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow, or why exactly God gave rock and roll to us, or why everyone keeps using the word ‘inconceivable’, now’s your chance to let me know. I’d really love to know the issues that interest the readers of this wee blog. If y’all would rather I wittered on about the nocturnal habits of the aardvark, do let me know. I’ll do my best to accommodate any reasonable request, and even some of the unreasonable ones.

I also have a certain ‘rhythm’ going in terms of the type of post I put up; every Wednesday is a Write-In, every Saturday is a book review, most Mondays are a disjointed babble because my brain isn’t quite switched on yet, certain Fridays are devoted to flash fiction, and so on – does that suit everyone? I, personally, enjoy my Book Review Saturdays, but if they make everyone else grind their teeth in frustration then – of course – I’d like to know. If you’d prefer me not to post my Wednesday Write-In stories to the blog, I’d like to know, too.

Question Three: Should I keep Wednesday Write-In and Book Review Saturday?

a) Yes to Wednesday, No to Saturday

b) No to Wednesday, Yes to Saturday

c) Yes to both

d) No to both

e) Where did I leave my dentures?

I have no idea what’s going on here.
Image: theweek.co.uk

Right.

I think that’s about all the pressing issues I have with relation to the blog. I’d like to take another opportunity to thank all those who do read and comment regularly, and who give me vital feedback – whether it’s in person, over the phone, via my personal Facebook page, or via the blog, here – on how I’m doing. I hope you won’t mind my asking for a little extra help in my effort to make this blog the best it can be.

I’m looking forward to hearing your ideas, and to diving into 2014 with no small amount of enthusiasm.

And the appropriate water safety equipment, of course.

Please feel free to comment! All feedback very, very gratefully received.

 

2013 In Review (Well, *My* 2013, at least)

So, apparently this is a thing.

Every New Year, WordPress compiles a report of how your blog fared during the previous twelve months, and it allows you to make it public if you so desire. Last year, my blog was only barely toddling about on wobbly, dimpled little legs and so there was nothing interesting to read in its ‘annual’ (read: ‘three-month’) report; this year, however, things are a little cooler.

So, I’ve made it public, and you can find it below.

It may interest nobody but me, but no matter. Here it is. Happy New Year to anyone whose eyes have glanced – even if only by accident – upon the slightly unhinged pages of this blog, and my sincerest wish for you all is that 2014 turns out to be a wonderful year, in every imaginable way.

Happy New Year, and thank you for helping me make this blog so much fun.

Image: eatwatchrun.com

“The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 12,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it…”

Click here to see the complete report.

My First Blogiversary

Today is my blog’s first birthday!

Happy blogiversary to me!
Image: fiftieswedding.com

My first blog post was only a couple of sentences long, and I remember how terrified I was as I wrote and posted it. It felt like my head had become a theme park and I was offering free entry, with popcorn and super-sized sugary drinks on demand. As it turned out, of course, nobody but the WordPress bot actually ever read my first post, but my feelings didn’t care about that.

I can’t believe I’ve been writing my blog for a year. In one way, it’s become such a part of my everyday routine that it feels like I’ve been blogging forever, but in another way I’m mystified as to where the last year has gone.

So, what have I learned in a year?

Writing a daily blog is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I love it, and it gets me going in the morning like no cup of coffee ever could (particularly since I’m doing my best to give up caffeine, for real this time), but I’m not going to lie. Several times during the past year I’ve been reduced to tears at the thought of writing a new post, and I’ve had to really draw on all my reserves of strength, inspiration and improvisation to deliver the goods – but then, that’s a good thing. Isn’t it?

Conquering fear is fantastic. I really was afraid of writing a blog. I would have started one years ago, except I was terrified to do it. Starting this one felt a lot like jumping into the void and – against all expectation – learning how to fly, very quickly. It has given me so much satisfaction to look back over my year’s worth of blog posts, remembering how scared I was when I started out, and how I’ve overcome that fear.

I’m a lot less weird than I always thought I was. It’s great to know that other people think the same way I do about things as varied as books and mental health issues, or authors and writing techniques, or family and life. Having said that, it’s slightly bittersweet to think that perhaps all your little quirks aren’t as unique as you’d like to think. So it goes.

People are wonderful. If I’d thought I’d ‘meet’ so many wonderful folks through the medium of this blog, I really would have started to write it years ago. I’ve been buoyed up by positivity, support, friendship and fellow-feeling more times than I can remember over the past year, and I am so grateful to all my wonderful followers for that. It has been incredible to make contact with so many other bloggers, writers, thinkers, artists, and fellow human beings over the past twelve months. I started this blog thinking that (perhaps) my mother would read it once in a while, when she had nothing better to do; now I have over 200 followers and nearly 14,000 hits. My mind still can’t process that, really.

I really, really love writing. It would have been a bit of a ‘whoops’ moment if I hadn’t discovered this during the course of writing the blog, wouldn’t it? Luckily, though, that’s exactly what I found. Writing brings me more satisfaction than anything else I’ve ever done, and I’m privileged to live in a world where I have the opportunity to ‘publish’ my words in this way. Being completely honest, I had hoped to have achieved more, in terms of writing, over the past year than I actually have. However I think, all in all, I haven’t done too badly.

And the best part about having a blog? I can relive every moment of my journey, in ‘real time.’

Writing ‘Clockwatching…’ has been the best thing I could’ve done for my writing. This blog has compelled me to be disciplined, and strict with my routine. It has given me a sharp appreciation for deadlines. It has allowed me to see that I can provide ‘copy’ at short notice, not only once but repeatedly. It has shown me that I am capable of wringing inspiration out of my brain even when it feels drier than a camel’s backside. It has allowed me to take part in competitions and writing groups which have been a huge source of inspiration and feedback. It has opened my eyes to the sheer amount of writing blogs in existence, and I have benefited from every blog I’ve read and followed. It has made me realise, so clearly, that writers are all struggling toward the same goal and that we are all pulling for the same team, and that the success of one writer brings the rest of us up, just a fraction.

Go Team Go!
Image: zazzle.com

This past year has, in so many ways, been the most satisfying and successful one of my life. I am hopeful, as I enter my second year of blogging, that this feeling of accomplishment will travel with me, and that I’ll soon have something concrete – in terms of my writing career – to show for all the work I’ve put in. No matter what the future holds, I wanted to say something to all of you who’ve been following my blog and who’ve told me that reading it has become part of your daily life: Thank You.

To all my wonderful friends, both ‘real life’ and ‘virtual’, who have supported me every step of the way, I am so grateful for your help and encouragement. To everyone who has read this blog, thank you. To everyone who has taken the time to comment and critique and help me on my way, thank you. To everyone who has contacted me to let me know how much they enjoy reading this blog, thank you. To my family (particularly my husband), thank you, and I love you.

Here’s to a second glorious year!

 

Image: bizetiquettes.com

 

While the Sun Shines

And so, just in time for July, I’m back from a busy weekend spent at the inaugural Hay Festival Kells. Happy new week, happy new month, and hope you’ve missed me a little – but not too much. How’ve you all been? It’s great to be back.

Thank GOODNESS you’re back!
Image: ourpeacepath.com

You know, I used to think that being surrounded by books would be the best thing ever. I mean, ever. Better than being surrounded by piles of money or rivers of gold or whatever else you might want to think of. Lakes of beer, possibly. Anyway, now, I know it’s true. From Friday morning to yesterday evening, that’s pretty much exactly the situation I found myself in. Except it was even better than I’d imagined, because my husband was there, which always makes a fun thing even more fun. Also, as well as all the books, we had plenty of historical-stroke-archaeological things to look at, too, on account of Kells being well over a thousand years old, all told.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get any more amazing, do you know what the most exciting and wonderful bit, out of all the exciting and wonderful bits this weekend held, was? We got to see this lady here:

Lesser intellects (i.e. everybody!) cower before her!
Image: guardian.co.uk

I still can’t quite believe I managed to find myself in the same room as Jeanette Winterson, for it is she in the wonderful image above. But it happened. And all for the rock-bottom bargain sum of €8.00. How cool is that?

Jeanette Winterson gave a talk on Friday evening, one of the definite highlights of the festival overall, where she spoke about her writing life and her childhood and read some sections from her recent novel ‘Why Be Happy When you Could Be Normal?’; my husband, who has never read a word of her work, was pretty much won over by the charming warmth of her presence and the power of her prose (well, at least he was on Friday evening – I’m not sure how long the effect lasted.) I think he may even read one of her books, but whisper it in case he gets spooked. He doesn’t generally ‘do’ fiction, so I’ve tried to sell ‘Why Be Happy…’ to him on the grounds that it’s pretty much an autobiography, and largely non-fiction. I’ll wear him down, never fear.

After the dizzy heights of a Jeanette Winterson reading, then, the weekend had a lot to live up to – it managed admirably, of course. Saturday was spent going from pop-up bookshop to pop-up bookshop, wherein several gems were unearthed; most of the bookshops were selling second-hand books, however, which you may remember me spouting off about only the other day here on the blog. I managed to keep my purchases to a minimum – for me, at least – and I did my best to buy sensibly and with conscience, bearing in mind that all the money raised through second-hand book sales was going to some form of charity. I hope I managed to strike the appropriate balance, most of the time.

Hay Festival Kells also showed me an important truth about my marriage, believe it or not. I’ve never really had cause to wonder whether my husband and I are a good match, but just in case there was any chance that a hint of doubt could ever start to grow in my mind, this weekend put paid to it. We are, of course, two peas in one pod. Nothing tests a union more than spending hours doing something that other people would probably find deathly boring, and not only enjoying it, but completely losing track of time while enjoying it – and not even caring. We spent hours trawling through books, completely happy to beaver away – he in the non-fiction sections, I up to my eyes in the children’s, usually – and topped all that off with trips to each of the town’s historical sites. Kells was founded by monks in the eighth or ninth century, so it has plenty of those. We spent time in the house of St Colmcille, rebuilt in the eleventh century (and absolutely amazing to look at – the stonework is mindblowing), and we gazed upon the huge Market Cross, a Celtic cross probably made in the tenth century and re-erected in the seventeenth by no less a figure than Dean Jonathan Swift. I didn’t learn until after I’d visited it that it was used as a gallows during the 1798 Rebellion; on reflection, I’m glad I didn’t know that at the time.

I may never have mentioned this before, but I’m addicted to cemeteries – not in a ghoulish way, but in a historical-enthusiast way. My husband isn’t always as intrigued as I am, but he’s usually happy to let me have my fix. This weekend he showed great forbearance and patience, for Kells is full of historical burial grounds; he didn’t once complain, but just dived in and joined me in my explorations (further proof that he is the man for me, I think.) I love looking at old tombstones, admiring the workmanship of the lettering, marvelling at the age of the burial, wondering about the people who’ve passed away and what their lives were like. I do, admittedly, tend to get quite emotional at times, particularly when I encounter graves wherein entire families are interred, and/or a list of children’s ages are spelled out on the headstone. Sadly, this is not uncommon, particularly during times of plague or famine, to which Ireland is no stranger. One of the sites we visited was a Famine graveyard – I’m using the capitalised form because I’m talking about the Great Famine of the 1840s here – and it was, pretty much, a blank field with a stone cross memorial in it. No markers exist for individual burials, no gravestones, no names. I admit I wept, and I prayed for the souls of those who’d died.

It’s amazing to think the Famine happened something like 170 years ago, but the pain of it still sears across the heart of Ireland. Anyway.

So, we trudged home yesterday evening with our books and our thoughts in tow, and now we’re facing into another week. My husband has a few more days holiday from work, and I’m trying to spend as much time with him as possible while still thinking about everything that’s on my schedule for this week and this month – more competitions, more entries, more agency submissions, more ideas to sketch out, more dreams to form and shape and plan for – more amazing things ahead, I hope.

I hope you’re looking forward to July, and that you’re planning holidays or thinking of taking some time out. I recommend going to a book festival, you know, just in case you’re looking for something to do…

Image: rte.ie

Yes, But is it Art?

I’m listening to a radio interview as I write; it’s not the most restful or helpful thing to do when trying to write a blog post, but I’m working on improving my multi-tasking skills. So, let’s give it a go.

Image: i-am-a-workathomemom.blogspot.com

A bestselling author is being interviewed on the radio right now, a person whose works have been turned into huge blockbuster movies, and who has sold more books than I can even imagine. This particular author is not one of whom I am a fan; I’m not going to name any names, because that’s not fair. All I’ll say is: it’s not Dan Brown.

However, like the aforementioned Mr Brown, this author has a formula. The books this author produces differ only in the characters’ names, perhaps the time-period in which they’re set, and the degree of whiteness of all the people who appear on the jackets. This author writes books the same way a child would complete a paint-by-numbers drawing. Yet, right now, on the radio, this person is talking about the difficulty of constructing the plot and creating the voice of the novels; a discussion is going on about the complexities of creating characters and the exciting challenge of sitting down at the blank page, wondering where this (apparently) new and fresh plot is going to go.

Well, let me guess. It’s going to go the same way as every other book this person has ever written. The books may as well be churned out by a machine. I’m put in mind of Roald Dahl’s ‘Great Automatic Grammatizator’, and that makes me shudder.

If you produce the same story, over and over again, just changing the names each time, is it art? Or is the author just laughing all the way to the bank? Not that I mind a person making money from their art – that’s not the point. I’m talking about how a person can believe, truly, that they’re an artist or a creative person when they know that all their books are the same, and they’ve just been lucky enough to hit on the sort of story that people like to read. Or, is art defined by its audience? If you have an audience who loves your work and thinks every word you write is golden, does that make your work ‘art’? As I listen to this particular author talking about the creative process, and the challenges of creating art, I can’t help but think – this person is laughing at their audience. This person knows they’re not creative. Perhaps they can write – clearly, they can – but they don’t have ideas. They just follow the formula, and churn out the books.

I don’t believe this sort of writing is art. Something in me just balks at the thought. But then, I read books by authors whose work I passionately love, like John Connolly for instance, who writes supernatural-tinged murder mysteries. His books all follow a similar arc; they follow on from one another in a series; his main character (Charlie Parker) doesn’t change a whole lot from one book to the next. Yet, I love Parker as a character, I love the books, and I relish each new publication. You could almost say that John Connolly does the same thing as the other author – he has a formula, and he sticks to it. But, I think there’s a significant difference. Connolly has a framework upon which he builds his story, but the details differ from book to book. Each book builds upon the previous story, enriching it and deepening the mystery surrounding the recurring characters. The other author writes books which do not differ hugely from one another. It’s the same escapist, romantic fantasy time and time again. This author has had one idea, and is flogging it for all it’s worth.

Am I just being a snob? Perhaps I am. I feel very mean-spirited, even writing this blog post! I’m not trying to knock the successful author, or suggest that their success is undeserved. No doubt, this author has worked hard to get where they are, and I salute them. Successful authors mean more people reading, which is always a good thing. But I do feel uneasy with listening to them talk about their creative challenges when I don’t believe they really understand what ‘creativity’ means.

But then, who am I to judge? Perhaps the question of whether or not a piece of writing is ‘art’ is less important than ‘do people enjoy it? Does it bring happiness to an audience?’ I just hope there’s room for all types of writing, and readers enough to go around.

Enough of my negativity. Have a wonderful weekend, all! Go do some reading.

Image: en.wikipedia.org

 

 

Too Much?

I’ve just read an interesting blog post which gave some advice to aspiring authors. The first thing the blogger recommends is not to post any of your writing on the internet, including in a regular blog. This is because, the blogger says, most of what people write on their blogs is not really ready for public consumption. I suppose she (the blogger) sees incomplete or poorly written blog posts as millstones around an aspiring author’s neck.

Perhaps she’s right.

I put a lot of effort into my blog posts, and I take my time over them every morning. Even so, of course, errors creep in and badly phrased sentences pop up here and there, or I write something in a way I’m not completely happy with. In an age when a person can go from having a very long Word document on their computer to having a published book via Kindle Direct Publishing in under 24 hours, and when it takes only seconds to publish work to a blog, I think I can see the wisdom of this blogger’s point of view. It’s always better to take your time, not give away too much of your writing too soon (and for too little, perhaps), and to make sure your writing is of the highest possible standard before you release it into the world. It doesn’t pay to be hasty, perhaps, when the written word is on the line; one-click publishing means that all those errors made in the enthusiastic rush of writing a book don’t get a chance to be fixed, and instead end up in your shiny new e-book, tormenting readers and destroying their faith in literature, and in you as a writer. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to ensure quality across the board, even with something like writing – after all, it’s a product like any other. But, somehow, I feel a little bit sad about thinking this way.

I like to blog, you see.

I usually like to kick-start my writing day by posting here on ‘Clockwatching…’ before I get stuck into the meat of my WiP. That’s not to say that my blog is merely a dumping ground for any old nonsense, just to get me in gear for my ‘real’ work – the writing I do here is entirely different from the work I’m doing on my current project, and it’s good to write in different styles. It’s like stretching different muscles, surely? That, to me, is the value of a blog. I think writing here has improved my style, and it certainly helps me to think. When you know you have to come up with enough material to fill a blog post on a regular basis, your brain gets used to looking for inspiration everywhere and coming up with ideas.

So, those are the reasons I blog. As well as all that, I enjoy connecting with the people who read and comment regularly on my blog – it’s wonderful to feel you’re reaching people via the medium of words.

What do you think about this advice? Do you think aspiring authors should not blog, or (if they simply must) that they only blog once in a while, when they have a perfectly crafted jewel of a post? What do you think the benefits (and, perhaps, drawbacks) of blogging are?

Thanks for reading – happy Friday, and have a wonderful weekend.

Well, we can all dream! Have a relaxing time, whatever you do.

What Sort of Writer Am I?

My body clock is all out of whack this week. I’m up late again, buzzing with energy at completely the wrong time of day/night, and I’ve no idea why. It could be something to do with stress, maybe – the results of the writing competition (which I keep going on about) are due to be released soon, and I’m pretty wound up about it. I have zero expectation of being shortlisted, of course, but I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t a bit nervous about the outcome. It’s natural to be curious and excited about it, even if you’re pretty sure it’ll have nothing to do with you. I’m looking forward to seeing who does succeed in being shortlisted, and how things work out for all those who entered. It’s wonderful to think that this one competition has resulted in hundreds of people, all over the country (and possibly the world) knuckling down and finally writing the novel they’ve always wanted to write. Just the thought of it is enough to make me feel like I’m crackling with static electricity! It’ll be great once the shortlist is announced, because I’ll be able to move on with my life – I’ll get some chapters of the WiP up on my blog, perhaps, and get some feedback on it. I’ll also start submitting it to agents and publishers, and start working on my next project. I’m anticipating all that with happy excitement, and it’s wonderful to feel that way. I don’t always feel that way, so when these moments of euphoria come around, I tend to make the most of ’em.

I’ve been thinking over the past day or two about my next project. I finished my edits on the WiP today (including rewriting that scene I talked about yesterday, the one between Maraika and her father – it works so much better than before!), and I’m planning to start outlining my next idea tomorrow. I’ve already described how I’ve realised the story I plan to write next would work much better as a book for younger readers (i.e. 8 years old and up) than for a Young Adult audience, and I’ve been evaluating myself as a writer ever since I had this realisation.

Several years ago, when I began work on the new project (let’s call it ‘Jeff’, for ease of reference!) I had it in mind as a Young Adult novel, just because I saw myself as an aspiring Young Adult writer. It seemed like a natural assumption. I wrote nearly 34,000 words on it before abandoning the idea, but something about it always stayed with me. I liked the characters I’d created, and I liked the narrative style I’d used, which was not only different from anything I’d ever used before, but also different from anything I’d ever read before. It’s languished on my computer ever since, but I always intended to revisit it. I read the whole thing through the other day for the first time in years, and – putting aside the awful writing – it was nice to be back in that world again. Reading it again made me see that its failure was partly a result of the fact that I was trying to shoehorn it into a genre that it wasn’t really comfortable being in. (Partly, it’s to do with my failure to plot it out fully – but that’s another blog post!) Jeff, the protagonist, is only twelve (turning thirteen) in the book – he’s barely into secondary school. He’s young. The voice I was giving him was just too old, and too knowing. He’s a funny, warm and adorable creature, but he speaks with the mind of an 19-year-old, and it just… clanged. It’s discordant. I’m looking forward to resurrecting Jeff and giving him his proper voice, and maybe his story will flow a bit easier.

Do you identify with a particular ‘genre’ of writing, if you’re a writer? Looking over my list of Works-in-Progress and fragments of ideas, I get the impression that I’m actually a writer of children’s books masquerading as a YA writer. Most of my ideas would be happier between the covers of a book aimed at 8/9 year old readers, I think, even though I love to read both types of book. I read David Walliams’ ‘The Boy in the  Dress’ the other night; it’s aimed at young readers, but I found it profoundly moving and utterly lovely. That’s a skill I’d love to have – the skill of making a story which is definitively for children, but which can touch the hearts and minds of adults, too. I think children’s and YA writing do go hand in hand, but there are significant differences between them which need to be respected; I certainly don’t think it’s impossible to write across both genres, and I hope that I’ll be able to spend the rest of my life doing just that. I feel like my mind has been opened a little wider, though, just by reading over an old Work-in-Progress, and that more room for ideas has been created inside it – but, as Terry Pratchett once warned, ‘be careful not to open your mind too much, in case your brain falls out.’ I hope I’m not in danger of that! But it does feel strange – liberating, exciting, and wonderful, too – to have a conclusion like ‘there is more than one way in which you can write!’ strike your brain.

Do you identify with a genre, as a reader or a writer? Do you think you could change? Or, am I talking total hogwash, and is all writing more or less the same? I’d love to hear from you.

A Thought for Saturday

I used to worry, a lot, about the balance between the amount of readers in the world and the amount of writers. I used to worry that the former would outstrip the latter, and that readers would eventually stop reading because writers would run out of stories. I used to fear that writers would, in their desperation, start recycling too much material which had already been told, from every possible angle. The thought that nothing was left to say – nothing original, nothing new – used to keep me from trying to create something, or even thinking about stories. This fear was exacerbated in the last short while, when I really jumped into this writing/reading world with both feet; I realised, for instance, just how many blogs and Facebook pages and Twitter feeds are out there concerning themselves with reading and books. (FYI: There are lots). Everywhere I looked I seemed to see more and more and more readers, desperate for newness, unwilling to accept sub-standard stories, passionate about reading but highly critical of the material they were being expected to read.

Then, the fear began to set in. I looked at my WiP, and wondered if it was derivative, boring, clichéd, nondescript, unreadable. I wondered if there was anything new in it, anything worth reading, anything worth spending a little money (and a little time) on. I’m still not sure what the answers to all those questions are, but I have come to one further realisation.

My story is mine – nobody else has ever written it. That gives it value. I don’t think it’s similar to anything else I’ve ever read – but I’m a long way from having read everything in the world! There are people out there who read so much, and are so knowledgeable about books and trends and fashions, that they leave me in the shade. And, to be honest, if my story ever finds its way into the hands of a person who has read their way to a level of expertise I can never hope to emulate, I’ll consider that a compliment in itself, no matter what their opinion of the story might be.

I’m also realising that for every story that gets told, there are thousands that don’t get told. Everything you do, and everyone you meet, tells a story; what’s more interesting is the story told by everything that’s left undone, and all the people who never meet. So, I’ve decided to stop being nervous that the world is going to run out of stories – and I’m hopeful that I’ll never run out of stories, either. Where there’s life, there’s hope – and where there’s life, there are stories.

Every second is an opportunity to create something, and your next good idea is only a thought away. I hope you have a creative and fulfilling weekend!

Happiness is a Dusty Book

Good morning, good evening or good night – whenever it is where you are, I hope these words find you well.  Today’s blog post is going to concern itself largely with books – those vaguely rectangular things, between two pieces of card or boards, with a picture on the front, and absolutely no buttons.  Remember those?  I hope you do.

As I write, unexpected sunshine streaming through the window, I’m constantly having to fight to keep my concentration on the computer.  This is due to the large and extremely attractive pile of books sitting on the table beside me.  They’re calling to me, begging to be loved and cherished and demanding all my attention (they’re probably a little needy, because I picked them up yesterday at a second-hand/antiquarian bookshop, so we can forgive them that – but it’s still a distraction!)  I think there are a few gems in here, and so I’ll tell you about them.

The first one to draw my eye when I entered the shop was ‘Wulf’, by Kevin Crossley-Holland.  No matter what condition this book was in, no matter what it was about, I knew as soon as my eye fell on it that it was coming home with me. I would happily read Kevin Crossley-Holland’s shopping list and no doubt derive enjoyment therefrom, because I’ve relished everything else I’ve ever read by him, but also I knew the book would have an Anglo-Saxon aspect just by its title, which is right up my street, too.  I bought some Philip Reeve, some Catherine Fisher (of course), some Margaret Mahy – who I’ve always wanted to read – some Terry Jones, who writes the most fantastic absurd tales for children, some Kate Thompson, some Siobhan Parkinson, and one by Frances Hardinge.  I bought a book called ‘Wolf’, partly because of the pleasing symmetry with ‘Wulf’, but also because the storyline sounded amazing – I had never heard of the author (Gillian Cross), but I’m looking forward to finding out more about her.  This particular bookshop was the first place I ever came across the work of Catherine Fisher, and I’ve since become a devoted fan, so I know the stock is chosen with a discerning and careful eye, and I never fail to find wonderful nuggets of pure bookish joy there.

The jewel in my crown, though – the Queen in my pack of cards – is the book which was by far the most expensive, but by far the easiest one to buy.  It’s a first edition of ‘The Wizard of Earthsea’, by Ursula K. Le Guin.  It’s a hardback.  It’s from 1971.  Despite the fact that it’s an ex-library copy, the only evidence of this is the stamps on the front flyleaf – the interior of the book is a model of readerly restraint, and there are no markings or scribblings or tea-stains or anything of that nature.  I, of course, already own this story – I’ve loved my ‘Earthsea Quartet’ for many years, and I’ve read a significant fraction of Ursula Le Guin’s prolific output – but I had to have this wonderful book.  It gave me a feeling of light-headedness as I handled it, and I just knew that if I left it behind, I’d never have a second’s peace – I’d be tormenting myself until I found another one.  It was at once a connection with the past, and also a link with my future – I’ll treasure this book for ever.

And so, to the real point of this post.  Books, especially old ones, are such a feast for the senses, in my opinion.  I hope I’m not alone in sticking, much in the manner of a barnacle, to my convictions regarding books and reading.  Sometimes I feel like the only paper enthusiast in a sea of screens, and it can be very disheartening.  I used to work as a bookseller, and I’m used to seeing the many ways in which e-books are killing bookshops – a tragedy, in my eyes – but I think, even if I hadn’t had this background, I’d still be a ‘real’ book reader, as opposed to an e-book reader.  Recently, my husband and I were in a large computer shop – he was looking for some piece of magical computer-witchery, don’t ask me what – and I tried out a model e-reader which the shop had on display.  It did nothing for me.  Not only did the ‘turning’ of the ‘page’ hold no mystery, there was no tactile feedback, like I’m used to with a book.  After a few minutes of messing about with the first example, I moved onto the next model, which was hopelessly frozen – none of its buttons worked, and it just had to sit there, awkward and apologetic, tethered to its display case with absolutely no purpose.  This experience cemented me as a paper-lover, once and for all.

Books are works of art, in every respect, not just in their contents, but in the designs on their covers, and even in the skill needed to bind them.  How can you feel a magical connection with a book you can delete at the touch of a button?  I feel like I’m entering a fairytale cave full of treasures every time I enter a bookshop – I don’t think the same feeling is had from browsing a list of books to download.  You don’t have any emotional investment in that sort of book-buying; you miss out on the thrill of the scent of a book, the feeling of its pages, the comforting way in which the spine just settles into the palm of your hand.  Plus, if you drop a paperback, you don’t need to worry about breaking it beyond repair, and – unless some miscreant rips pages out – you don’t need to worry about it getting ‘frozen’ and refusing to work.

Am I alone?  Are there any other paper-lovers out there?  Care to share an opinion?

 

Appreciation

I don’t have a lot of time to write today, either – and it’s possible this will be my last blog of the week.  Where I’m going (i.e. the deepest, darkest countryside!), they don’t have a reliable internet connection…

I wanted to devote this short note to saying ‘thank you’ to everyone who has taken the time over the past month or so to check in here and keep me company.  Last night, this blog ticked over into the 2,000s – in other words, more than 2,000 people have looked at it since I set it up just about five weeks ago.  I can see that a lot of my readers come from Australia and Canada, several in the United States, India, Pakistan, Korea – even Hong Kong! I’ve had people reading me in Switzerland, Belgium and – of course – my ‘home islands’, the United Kingdom, and my own beloved Ireland.  When I started this venture, I thought maybe my mother and my mother-in-law, along with some of my stalwart friends, would occasionally take a look at this blog, but that for the most part I’d be talking into a void.  Instead, I’ve ‘met’ wonderful people from all over the globe, and I’ve had the privilege of taking a peek into their lives and journeys via their own blogs, and it has been an exhilarating experience.

 
I don’t ordinarily count myself among those who think that technology is an indispensable part of modern life – usually, I fear we’ve lost something intimate and kind in this digital, screened age in which we live.  It makes me sad to see people preferring to look at their tablet than the real world, and it really makes me sad to see people texting, or otherwise using their ‘smart’phones, instead of engaging with another person.  In relation to this blog, however, I’m willing to admit my initial misgivings were far wide of the mark – you might remember one of my earliest blogs discussed my fears and insecurities around blogging.  I now know that writing here, gaining regular readers, commenters and friends, has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever been able to do.  Some of the kindest and most supportive feedback I’ve had on this blog has come from people who don’t know me, in the traditional sense, and for whom I’m just a collection of blobs on a website.  I truly couldn’t have imagined that so many people would want to read what I have to say, and I hope that my posts here will continue to be interesting.  I hope that, over the next few months, I’ll have lots to blog about, and it would be brilliant to have you all along for the journey.

Thank you all, most sincerely.  I’m just an ordinary gal, trying to do her best, and it’s so good to know I’m not the only one out there.  Have some flowers, and Happy Thursday!