A write old challenge

Uh oh. Two of my writing buddies and I have made a pact to have submitted our work to agents by the end of this year. Eek. 

Since my novel is currently undergoing it's third rewrite, I know it should be ready but I keep rewriting the first chapter in a bid to make it as good as possible. It needs to be perfect. It needs to be engaging and captivating and enticing enough to make a very busy agent want to read the second page. Which, obviously, 

needs to be even better than the first page so that the hugely busy agent reads another page. And so on. 

It's a terrifying prospect. But although the fear of rejection is one reason I am procrastinating so much, the thing I most dread is the endless waiting for a reply. I know it might be weeks and months before an envelope lands on the floor, probably A4 sized and heavy with the returned first three chapters of my novel. I also know that that won't stop me from impatiently waiting for the mailman all day every day (sometimes we don't get our post until half three in the afternoon - that's a lot of staring at the door for one day). 

However, I think it is time. Time to start sending out chapters, time to start a new novel and definitely time to start pinning those rejections on the wall so that I can proudly say that I am trying to get published rather than hiding behind my laptop making just one more adjustment to page one and, oh, just adding one more line of dialogue on page five and changing that last sentence of chapter two.

Incidentally, Lady M is pushing me to read less and write more too. She emptied out my wallet at the old people's house the other day and my library card got left behind. So, there is no teetering pile of library books demanding to be read in three weeks time. Of course, there are at least twenty bought books waiting to be opened but the majority of those have been waiting about three years so another month or so won't hurt. 

One more reading by aforementioned writing buddies and the three chapters are being sent. It's been decided. End of this month. Four submissions. New novel started. Done (in the words of Gordon Ramsay.)

Muddy boots, aching back and Brian May!

So, I went to Reading Festival over the weekend courtesy of the high street chain Warehouse. And it's all thanks to Lady M. You see, if it wasn't for her christening, I wouldn't have bought a dress from Warehouse and got a store card (paid off in full btw, I'm not silly) and been sent emails from them. One of which was about a competition to win tickets to one of the summer festivals. I chose Reading and then forgot all about it UNTIL I received a phone call to tell me I had won tickets. I very rarely win anything, not even bars of Dairy Milk on village fete tombolas so I didn't fully believe it until they scanned the tickets on Friday and let me and the Rock through.

We couldn't go on the Saturday (no babysitters - doting Grandparents were off at a family wedding) but we did manage to go on the Sunday as well as the Friday which was worth it just to see Tim Minchin who is a Musical Comedy genius. I heart him. We did stay to see Muse but, to be perfectly honest, we got a bit bored. As did lots of people judging from the rapidly thinning crowd. I am a huge fan of live music but I do like to know the words to at least the choruses of some of the songs so, sadly, a rendition of the entire 'Origin of Symmetry' 2001 album wasn't for me and I did think they were being slightly self indulgent.

Friday was genuinely epic though (see, spending the weekend with school leavers has broadened my knowledge of contemporary slang) - 30stm, Patrick Wolf, Deftones, A Genuine Freakshow and, of course, My Chemical Romance. Awesomeness rose to a new level when Brian May came back onstage with MCR and they covered 'We Will Rock You' followed by 'Welcome to the Black Parade.' I was a very happy, tired, muddy competition winner (even the scantily dressed children couldn't ruin my festival buzz on Friday.) One thing though, Lady M is NOT camping at a festival ever. She can go but she will be collected every night by me or the Rock. As much as I want to be a relaxed mum, there is no way she will be camping overnight. Walking through one if the campsites and looking around at all the teenagers in various states of inebriation and (un)dress, I thought this is the ninth circle of hell for any mother whose teenager is here. No, no, no. Unless I can fit Lady M with a teeny tiny camera so that I know what she's doing every second, just no. 

So, now to the other end of the lifestyle spectrum, a weekend at the Olds sans the Rock who is currently cycling around Scotland in the rain. Crazy. Lady M will be subjected to endless rounds of Pat-a-cake whilst I try to rein in my relief of being allowed to be 'off-duty' for a few days. Because, you know, it is amazing to have someone else change the nappies and cook the meals and clean the floor three times a day and entertain a tiny person for a while. Lady M is amazing and funny and gorgeous but sometimes it all gets a little bit tedious and, whisper this next word, dull. So, a long weekend away can be just the right thing to alleviate that feeling and then, next week, we start back at all the classes and playgroups, etc. I'll be aiming for one a weekday and I've already got Tuesdays and Fridays sorted out...

The latest book I've had to read for my book group is 'The Young Romantics: ' by Daisy Hay. As usual, I had to read it in a desperate hurry because I was also reading David Brooks' 'The Social Animal' which had to be returned to the library by Monday as it was reserved by someone else. So, I basically had to read it in two days - that's not a challenge for a novel but for non-fiction? I'm pretty impressed with myself for reading it (and not skim reading - impossible, I would have been so confused within three pages) in the allotted time. Granted, I had to read the very last page sitting in my chair at the actual meeting but I did finish it before the meeting actually began. Not bad going when you factor in a fast crawling baby who sleeps sporadically during the day AND a visiting mother-in-law. Thankfully, my m-in-l was very understanding and happy to read her own book in the blistering heat, nodding off for occasional cat naps. 

Anyway, I really enjoyed it. I thought it was well written, although sometimes overly dense, but the way she interwove the lives of the Shelleys, Byron, Hunt and assorted family members and friends was engaging and page turning. Their lives were fascinating - travelling all over Europe, the tragedies, the suicides, the affairs and illegitimate children. I didn't have an awful lot of good feeling towards any of the characters apart from Mary Shelley and I'm not sure if my sympathy for her stems from a bit of a girl crush on her since studying and loving 'Frankenstein' for English A' level.

The women of that time were treated pretty awfully - children were considered the property of their fathers and it was difficult (but not impossible) to be a woman of independent means. But they seemed to treat each other badly too, having affairs with their sisters' husbands or blackening reputations to gain social status amongst other things

But the men. The men were appallingly behaved. They were completely self absorbed and in love with their self-perceived genius. So impressed with their 'radical' thinking and non-conventional ways of living that they didn't once seem to consider the effect on their female counterparts. Shelley's obsession with his sister-in-law seems to, in part, have been the cause of two of his own children's deaths. Hunt's ego and frivolous ways caused no end of turmoil to his brother and Shelley, almost destroying the friendship between Byron and Shelley. Byron, to spite Claire Clairmont and against her express wishes, sent their four year old daughter to a convent which, as Claire prophesied, caused an illness so damaging, she died aged five. Too many incidents to mention here but I can highly recommend this - it isn't a light read by any means, but neither is it relentlessly heavy with research and the insight into this group of creative heavyweights is intriguing and accessible. 

I liked 'The Social Animal' but I think David Brooks assumed that his readership would have some kind of psychology or sociology background. It was interesting but didn't quite live up to it's promise of telling a story of how to be successful through the lives of two people. It felt like an awful lot of theorising backed up with studies and research and referencing of 'famous' experiments.To be honest, I was a bit disappointed. 

After the last writing group meeting, I haven't actually done editing at all. So, for all my bluster about liking a challenge, I guess the feedback hit me a bit harder than I thought. Still, with the books read that I had to read, there are no excuses other than to watch everything on the Sky+ box before it gets switched off on Saturday...

Confidence Booster in times of need

Oh dear. Last night's writing group was a disaster. For me, anyway. Everyone else who read out received 'pretty to very' favourable feedback. Not so much for me.

After a very long period of not reading anything out to the group because I haven't written for so long, I dashed off a brand new first chapter for my book. So, okay, it is a first draft but still. They did not like it. Did not like it at all. Nobody actually said as much but the lack of dialogue (incidentally, something there is too much of in the first four pages of the chapter) following the reading was pretty damning. Add that in to this short conversation:

Member: 'How much of this have you written?'

Me: 'All of it.'

Member: 'Oh.'

Hmmm. So, in order to make myself feel better, I dug out my RNA New Writer's Scheme detailed critique and soothed my battered feelings with a hot chocolate and comments such as this:

'I really enjoyed this story and you write very well.'

or:

'Your dialogue is great and sounded realistic.'

and

'It kept my interest throughout and I wanted to keep turning the pages to find out what happened next. The hero is delicious and the heroine is likeable and has had a hard time of it which means you root for her. The cast of supporting characters are good too and give the story added depth.'

Of course, it wasn't all glowing but this is coming from a published writer in the genre of romantic fiction so she should, hopefully, know what she's talking about!Not that I am maligning the members present at my reading. Different genres and writing styles and not many people there probably didn't much help.

Admittedly, what was read out wasn't my best work and it is, as I said, a first draft. I've always said that I think our group is helpful in their honesty and we are there to make people's work better not to dish out love and adoration. I appreciate the comments people make and realise that it can be difficult when you don't know the genre. I'm sure my writing may seem pretty asinine to some – it certainly isn't literary fiction.

And that's okay. I've never wanted to write something 'worthy' of the Man Booker prize – I readily admit that I find that kind of writing somewhat pretentious and, dare I say it, yes I do – boring. Endless lyrical descriptions and clever artsy referencing. Tedious.

Still, it's pretty tough when nobody likes what you've written and with a first chapter being so incredibly important, it's a real blow to the confidence. Hence the need to remind myself that a published contemporary romantic novelist liked it. And I do feel better now so it's back to the writing sofa for a brutal edit of the dreaded first chapter. 

I do like a challenge so I'll be back reading to the group again next month, fully prepared for another verbal beat down. RNA critique will be at the ready for when I get home!!

like posting a blog entry...

And I am making a promise to myself that I will.

I really, really will.

I promise.

I promise, promise. 

but I'm not

So, having a baby takes up a lot of time. Much more than I had anticipated, I'll admit. I honestly thought that babies slept a lot. Which they do, just not for long stretches of time. I hadn't figured on a baby who thinks afternoons are for cat napping and crying. Or that I would spend an inordinate amount of time rinsing out nappies, soaking nappies, rinsing them out again and washing them and, finally, finally washing them. For the first few weeks, we had toasties or take away fish and chips many times. Even though I had made and frozen a huge lasagne and various other meals, we still ended up eating pasta made with whatever needed using up in the fridge. It was a very odd dinner but strangely gratifying in that we rid ourselves of several jars clogging up the fridge and still produced something edible.

Anyway, now that we are more settled, I have time to do things like reading my book group books or catching up on The Mentalist (new tv find - I am sort of a tiny bit obsessed). I even have time to shower every day and sometimes, I eat breakfast. A proper breakfast, not just a granola bar and an apple stuffed down on my way to the doctors or health visitor clinic.

Lady M is pretty amazing though. She smiles and makes funny faces and amuses and charms everyone she comes into contact with. That's the magic of all babies. They really are just incredible little things. I never appreciated this until we made one of our own. I was never a baby person but now... now I think all babies are gorgeous in their own ways and I find myself drawn to them, reaching out to stroke tiny hands and make faces at them in order to coax a whisper of a smile. I understand it now. That pull that babies exert over people (mostly other mothers, granted!). 

But Lady M. Lady M is special of course. She is advanced for her age. She's a perfect Johnson's baby. Everything about her is fascinating right down to how her bowel movements have changed since she was first born. I asked my sister to tell me when I was being one of 'those mothers' who goes on and on about poo colour and frequency - she's given up! I realise that all parents think their child is amazing - it's biologically sound. Why would you continue to raise a child you thought was going to be hopeless in later life? Obviously I mean that at a very primitive, basic consciousness. But still, she really is a beautiful and advanced baby...

If I Stay - Gayle Forman

Gayle Forman tells the story of seventeen-year old Cello prodigy Mia, who survives a car crash in which the rest of her family is killed. The premise of the book is that, sometimes when we are hovering between life and death, we can chose whether we stay or go. 

I did enjoy this book and it made me cry, but that’s really not unusual. At the best of times, I can be overly emotionally susceptible to films and books, so pregnancy hormones are probably making me twice as bad. I thought the writing was good, well paced and the flashback scenes tied in well with Mia’s current situation of finding herself in limbo, watching over her battered body and grieving relatives and friends and deciding whether or not she can bear to live without her immediate family.

However, a few things irked me about Mia’s relationships. Her parents seemed just that bit too cool and perfect. Mia is a teenager and yet not one flashback recalls a tense moment between her and her parents. Whilst I understand that the purpose of the flashbacks is to highlight how much she has lost, it sometimes felt unrealistic to me. There was no teenage angst, no rebellion, no mention of her finding her parents embarrassing at any time (even though her dad dresses exclusively in 50s suits and bowties and her mum is extremely opinionated and hot headed). She gets on perfectly with her much younger brother and, to be perfectly honest, I found their interactions cloyingly sweet at times.

Crucially, I never quite brought into Adam and Mia as a couple. Their ‘tough times’ are what any teenage couple might go through – one going to this university, the other going to another. What happens when we go our separate ways? Will our love transcend distance and the novelty of uni? Nothing new here. Interestingly, Adam was the one that seemed most affected by this thought, not Mia. Whilst I do think teenagers are often underestimated in their capacity for treating love with respect and wisdom, Mia and Adam just didn’t gel for me.

In fact, Mia was sometimes quite detached from what was happening in her life. I would have liked to have read more about her grief at losing her family – I didn’t feel like Forman emphasised this enough. Mia never wonders about whether she will still even be able to play the cello should she decide to stay. I kept expecting her to overhear one of the doctors speculating over whether this would be a possibility for her, or even for one of her visitors to bring this issue up. As music seemed to be such an integral part of her life, and indeed the book, I felt this was quite a large omission from the story. It certainly would have made her decision that much more difficult to make if it transpired that she may not be able to play the cello ever again.

I also felt that perhaps not enough of her personality came through. She is supposed to have a dry sense of humour but that was only shown a couple of times. As people often deal with extreme situations with humour, I thought perhaps Forman missed an opportunity for the reader to engage with Mia a little more. Humour could have been used to bring Kim to life too – she is supposed to be the best friend, but seemed much more of a minor character. I barely remember much about her except that she has untameable hair and is Jewish.

So, I realise that, at the beginning of this review, I did mention that I enjoyed this book and yet I seem to have spent four paragraphs eviscerating it. I really liked the theme of music that ran through the book. The idea that music bonds people and has the ability to bring people together really resonates with me. Forman could have been overly dramatic and emotionally manipulative but I thought her writing was clean and unfettered. The flashbacks of Mia’s life were well constructed and flowed pretty seamlessly with the current time line. Adam’s speech at the end of the book was pitched just right – my tears were shed here – it was an emotional moment, not unexpected but not at all overdone.

I loved Gramps – he was the character that really stood out for me. Probably quite a stereotypical Grandfather but stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason, right? I thought he was really well developed, a very likeable character who showed a tremendous amount of empathy and strength.

So, would I recommend this book? Yes, I think I would. I would class it as a light read, despite the subject matter. It’s not a long book, but it does pose an interesting question and some of the scenes are really quite powerful. Given that it’s marketed as YA, I would give it a 7/10 rating.

Next up? Not sure – hope to get another book through from Transworld soon…