It's Paperback Book Day :0)

Storytelling is blood to people like me - but it requires a teller and a listener, a reader. The way we live our lives is changing due to technology, but the vital thing is that people read - whether this is a continuation of established habits, or converting to new ones via e-readers (especially if it recruits reluctant readers and gets them turning pages, even if they are virtual ones...).

It won't surprise you to know that I am unashamedly a Paper Girl, with hundreds and hundreds (I now feel the need to count them!) of actual, real books and an aversion to technology in many of its forms (!!)...and as it is Paperback Book Day, I wanted to share this quote:

"One paperback is better than a dozen Kindles. Two paperbacks are better still."
~ Dame Stephanie Shirley

Right on, Dame Shirley! Now, please excuse me while I go and count my books and get lost in the wonderful world of paper...!

~ ttfn ~

It's All About the (Healthy) Sevens

This past week has legged it, leaving me to bring up the rear – and as I thought about what to post on this seventh day of this seventh month, I realised that it is seven years since I graduated in 2007. (Gosh. Where have those years gone?! I’m starting to feel old now...) I’d been in retail management for several years before going back to university to read English Literature with Creative Writing, and so I was twenty-seven when I graduated from Bath Spa University.

I have many good memories of university (as well as some not-so good ones...crit lit, anyone?!) and can honestly say that the Creative Writing half of my degree helped me find my Voice as a writer. One of the highlights was earning my place on a group exchange to Columbia College Chicago, where we studied, devised an anthology of student writings and solicited submissions from both universities, and eventually published it.

Inspired by a guest speaker in a poetry seminar, I’d already written Healthy, the poem that I submitted for the anthology, which was then critiqued and decided upon by the...yep, you’ve guessed it...seven other editors in our exchange group. I felt then and still feel now that Healthy is one of my best pieces; I’m proud of it and wish to share it with as many people as would like to read it.

So, being brave...er, okay, kicked-up-the-bum...I performed Healthy to an audience of about seventy people at an open-mic session during Columbia College’s Story Week (this was a big thing for me – and still would be! – as I’m not a lime-light seeker and am shy about reading to a large group, worrying that my West Country accent sounds way too Zummerzet!).

Well-chuffed was I that my poem had a good reception from this reading and then earned its place in the anthology; and well-chuffed were we with the final printed edition*...but, ironically, it is this that stops me seeing how much further this poem can go, because pretty much every competition or submission guidelines I’ve seen state that work must be unpublished...

However, on this anniversary of sevens, I can share the poem here on my blog, because I still own the copyright (and being posted on a blog also counts as being published...so in for a penny, in for a pound!).

So, here’s to Bath Spa University’s graduating class of 2007, the experience of Columbia College, Chicago, and actually creating our very own anthology: I hope we are all still as healthy as we can be.

Healthy

You –

you mass-media, advertising-junkie, money-making

rat-race culture, with your skinny white women and your

products to make beautiful more beautiful, and the rest-

of-us well, maybe, pretty. Your cosmetic surgery

creates a plastic reality. Your fashions change each

season, mid-season; if I have that look, that image, I will

be beautiful – how dare you, you image-addicted fallacy.

You –

you demand, you desire, you pimp; more more

more we prostitute style, our beauty sold. You will kill

us with the gloss of your magazines, acid that corrodes

what is truly beautiful about all of us. I want

to throw my blood at you, to make you see, make you

think; make you taste me and know what you have

created. I will be cleansed. You will be taught.

You –

you dare to presume to possess me with your

conformity. I possess me, my choices, my life, my beauty.

Take it all, take it in and know we are all beautiful,

know beauty has many faces. Yet you need to reduce

it to one – why?  Beauty is genuine, innate. Who do you

think you are – God?  Is this healthy, are you healthy?

Tell me you are and I will tell you, you are beautiful.

You –

you disgust me. I will not make it easy for you.

I will breathe, shout, love, dance, naked around

the fire under a bright full moon; my freckled skin

will glisten with sweat, and you will watch and want me,

you fucked-up 21st Century Western World. I wanted

what you want once – but now I am beautiful. 

Healthy.

*eds Corboy, Crentsil, Frogley, Henley, Hyatt, Melling, Morrison, Young; Open to Interpretation (Gateshead: Bath Spa University Press, 2008)

[There isn’t an ISBN number, and who knows if it’s even still for sale at our alumni?! Though there might be a box or two propping up a desk in an office somewhere...]

~ ttfn ~

Pick me, pick me... Please?

You remember the feeling – the group dwindling down as each team captain choose their players, your desperate hope that you’ll be next, then pushing down your panic as your name is not called... I was absolutely rubbish at sports at school, so I got used to (quite rightly!) being one of the last couple to be picked – and that was okay.

It’s been a long time but here I am again, shouting (internally if not aloud) “Pick me, pick me... Please?”

So why now? Well, it’s thanks to spotting an opportunity on Writing While the Kids Sleep – a writing blog I've been reading for several months now. Thanks to Abigail for posting - she says she saw the opportunity on a online forum, and it's also on Twitter (which I don’t do – I chirrup enough in real life, so tweeting too would be overkill!) – the WoMentoring Project. Specifically for women writers (sorry, guys!) who are in need of a bit of free mentoring, you can apply (and reapply, if you don’t get picked first time) to the mentor of your choice. There are writers of all genres, literary agents and editors, just waiting to mentor you... 

And that’s where I perhaps (most probably...!) got a bit cocky, ’cause I applied to a literary agent...and then received a very warm and encouraging rejection. Yep, you read right – a rejection that is warm and encouraging. It does exist, and in the writing biz, that kind of rejection is a win of sorts...anyhoo, I digress.

For ten minutes, I was absolutely gutted, believing that I was the worst writer the world has ever seen... And then I got a grip. I realised that there might be various reasons why I hadn’t been picked, and none of them might be because I’m rubbish at the sport of writing (or, of course, it might. But I’m ignoring that possibility and cheerleading the others...!)

Just as in her day job, the literary agent in question might only have been interested in finished novels...and mine isn’t. Oops. She may also have had other submissions that are similar in style, theme or genre – and they might be finished. Double oops. She might feel the style, theme or genre I’ve chosen has been fully represented (I hope not!) and a fresh one is needed. Or she might have already made her selection, and I’m simply too late.

I’ll never know, but that’s okay. The fact that I can consider these other reasons and not die of the conviction that I’m the world’s worst writer is a HUGE step forward for me – several years ago, it would’ve taken me months to get over this and dredge up the confidence to apply again. 

But not now – now, I’ve taken the warm and encouraging literary agent’s advice and reapplied, this time choosing an author who is newly published. Perhaps my work isn’t quite ready for a literary agent yet; perhaps I need the advice and encouragement of a fellow writer first...

My application is sent, the acknowledgement email pinging immediately into my inbox. And now the wait...

Will she pick me? Please?

I’ll let you know what happens...

~ ttfn ~   

Look Up as Much as Down

My friends laugh at my lack of technological mores... I only turned to a laptop when my bulky behemoth of a PC exploded (yes really); I got the Internet at home about five years after everyone else; and I still don’t have a smartphone (just a £12 handset that does two things: calls and texts. Because that’s all I need it to do. Really).

It took a lot of convincing to get me on Facebook, and even more to set up this here blog. I like my photos to be printed so I can flick through them, old-skool stylee, in an actual album, though I do upload them onto my laptop (but only so I can change the wallpaper when it takes my fancy!). I like my music on CDs, though when the Walkman (yes, really) packed up several years ago, I had no choice but to invest in an MP3 player, so now I download tracks...but never albums, because that’s what CDs are for. And I can play them in the car, hah! (I do know that you can attach iphones etc to car stereos...I just don’t want to.) And don’t even get me started on ebooks...! You can guess what my personal preference is – but I do accept that we can’t stop the technological evolution!

As you can see, I dip in and out of today’s technological life as and when it suits me – and earlier today I almost didn’t look up. I almost didn’t stop scrolling. Statuses spooled and spooled up the screen, my eyes scanning for the ‘why’ – the why I’ll stop and read; why I’ll give someone my time. I almost didn’t take the second to click the link to read a particular shared status. I almost didn’t listen.

But I did. I listened to and loved Look Up by Gary Turk (click to listen or scroll down to read my transcription – because I can’t be without actual text, me!).

When I heard this, I heard Gary Turk telling us to find balance. To me, he isn’t telling us to ignore the technological world, he’s telling us not to be a slave to it. He’s telling us to live a real-time, real life. Now get out there and live it. I am.

Look Up - by Gary Turk 

I have four-hundred-and-twenty-two friends, yet I am lonely. I speak to all of them every day, yet none of them really know me.

The problem I have sits in the spaces between looking into their eyes or at a name on a screen. I took a step back and opened my eyes; I looked around and realised the media we call social is anything but.

When we open our computers, and it's our doors we shut. All this technology we have it's just an illusion. Community companionship, a sense of inclusion yet, when you step away from this device of delusion, you awaken to see a world of confusion.

A world where we're slaves to the technology we mastered, where information gets sold by some rich greedy bastard. A world of self interest, self image, self promotion. Where we all share our best bits but...leave out the emotion.

We’re at our most with an experience we share, but is it the same if no one is there? Be there for your friends and they'll be there too, but no one will be if a group message will do.

We edit and exaggerate, crave adulation. We pretend not to notice the social isolation. We put our words into order and tint our lives a-glistening. We don't even know if anyone is listening!

Being alone isn't a problem, let me just emphasize: if you read a book, paint a picture, or do some exercise, you're being productive and present, not reserved and recluse. You're being awake and attentive and putting your time to good use.

So when you're in public, and you start to feel alone, put your hands behind your head, step away from the phone! You don't need to stare at your menu, or at your contact list. Just talk to one another, learn to coexist.

I can't stand to hear the silence of a busy commuter train when no one wants to talk for the fear of looking insane. We're becoming unsocial, it no longer satisfies to engage with one another, and look into someone's eyes. We're surrounded by children who, since they were born, have watched us living like robots, who think it's the norm.

It's not very likely you'll make world’s greatest dad if you can't entertain a child without using an iPad. When I was a child, I'd never be home. Be out with my friends, on our bikes we'd roam. I'd wear holes on my trainers, and graze up my knees. We'd build our own clubhouse, high up in the trees.

Now the parks are so quiet, it gives me a chill. See no children outside and the swings hanging still. There’s no skipping, no hopscotch, no church and no steeple. We're a generation of idiots, smart phones and dumb people.

So look up from your phone, shut down the display. Take in your surroundings, make the most of today. Just one real connection is all it can take, to show you the difference that being there can make.

Be there in the moment, when she gives you the look that you remember forever as 'when love overtook'. The time she first held your hand, or first kissed your lips, the time you first disagreed and still love her to bits.

The time you don't have to tell hundreds of what you've just done, because you want to share this moment with just this one. The time you sell you sell your computer, so you can buy a ring for the girl of your dreams, who is now the real thing.

The time you want to start a family, and the moment when you first hold your little girl, and get to love again. The time she keeps you up at night, and all you want is rest. And the time you wipe away the tears as your baby flees the nest.

The time your baby girl returns, with a boy for you to hold, and the time he calls you granddad and makes you feel real old. The time you've taken all you've made, just by giving life attention. And how you're glad you didn't waste it, by looking down at some invention.

The time you hold your wife's hand, sit down beside her bed, you tell her that you love her and lay a kiss upon her head. She then whispers to you quietly as her heart gives a final beat, that she's lucky she got stopped by that lost boy in the street.

But none of these times ever happened: you never had any of this. When you're too busy looking down, you don't see the chances you miss.

So look up from your phone, shut down those displays: we have a finite existence, a set number of days. Don't waste your life getting caught in the Net, because when the end comes there's nothing worse than regret. I'm guilty too of being part of this machine, this digital world, where we are here but not seen.

Where we type as we talk, and we read as we chat. Where we spend hours together without making eye-contact. So don't give into a life where you follow the hype. Give people your love, don't give them your 'like'. Disconnect from the need to be heard and defined; go out into the world leave distractions behind.

Look up from your phone. Shut down that display. Stop watching this video. Live life the real way. 

~ ttfn ~

May Daze

I'm cheating this month, and in lieu of a proper me-post*, I've taken the below from Writers Write, a fab website which I look at every day (especially the 'Creative Writing Blog', where fab literary/writing quotes are posted...) :

* Blame the month of whole-house-decorating/rush to find a handyman to fit interior doors asap/cat-search and home check...which has resulted in a new cat, yay! Problem is, she's the nervous, non-human-socialised cat I didn't intend to come home with, and has been hiding under my sofa for the last week...but I couldn't leave her at the shelter, as she'd already been there for six months and no one had shown her any interest - ahhh! Her name is Ebony and she's ten months old, and when she finally stops hiding and I can take a photo, I'll share it with you! After a busy month, I've only managed 4, 899 words of Novel Number Two, which after last month's mega wordcount of 10, 725 is a tad poor! Still, I have the next four days off work so I intend to rectify the wordcount plummet...!

~ ttfn ~

10, 725

[Oops, I'm two days late with this post - blame the migraine! Still, here we go...]


Four weeks ago, I was shocked to discover that it was the start of the 3rd month of 2014, which meant I only had 9 months left if I wanted to finish
Novel Number Two by the end of the year...!

 

With this shock, I got feisty with myself: I had to set mini-targets to be able to achieve this, and I had to stick to them. I'm a lover of quotes and adages, and one of my favourites is:

 

Doing gets it done

 

(though I pretend I've never heard of this when the housework rears its ugly head!)

 

To do it, I set myself the mini-target of writing 350 words, 5 days a week. For me, 350 words is a squashable-enough target to exceed on a good day, but still a conquerable-enough target to scratch-out on a difficult one. 5 days a week, though...I knew this was going to be harder, as I'm not that good with routine (!). But my plan for the last 18 months or so has been to start submitting Novel Number Two in January of 2015, and I can't do that if the bloody book isn't written...

Eek, here's the Maths Bit:

350 words times 5 days = 1, 750 per week

1750 x 4 weeks = 7, 000

 

So, how did I do? Well, here is my March breakdown of words:

 

	Week 1	Week 2	Week 3	Week 4
Sat				560
Sun	689	1, 392	1, 043
Mon	670			679
Tue				928
Wed
Thur	680
Fri		2, 273		577

                                

A scientist would conclude a (probably not too flattering) theory about my productivity, I'm sure (and it would back up my earlier confession that I don't do routine well!. Having said that, though, my reversing is much worse...!), but it all adds up to a total of...

 

10, 725 words.*

 

And that, for 4 weeks' work, ain't too shabby at all. Happily, it smashes the 7, 000 target...and makes me a very smiley Deb indeed.

 

Now I just need to repeat it 9 more times...or 7, ideally (!), as I need a couple of months to edit and redraft, though this doesn't leave the recommended time away from the text...oops. Ah well, I've always known I was rubbish at numbers!

*= Admittedly, this is a count of First Draft words, so some (maybe lots...?) will be deleted and many more (definitely lots!) will be rewritten - but even so, 10, 725 words? Fab-u-lous, dahling!
 

~ ttfn ~

Perusing Artists' Sketchbooks

This post is a tad retrospective, as I'm writing about an exhibition I visited last month - but it was interesting and enjoyable and I wanted to share it with you!

 

Place: Black Swan Arts Gallery, Frome

http://www.blackswan.org.uk

When: 7th February, the penultimate day of the touring exhibition

What: The SKETCH Open Sketchbook Drawing Prize Exhibition, a.k.a a chance to nose through artists' sketchbooks and see their process!

 

Being a writer, I'm all about the word-y process of building up that final, publishable draft that (hopefully!) will make a book-on-the-shelves, but often I think that we look at art and see it as just-a-picture-on-the-wall, and forget how much process has gone into getting to this frame-able, view-able point. So, for me, this exhibition was a fascinating glimpse into the process of an artist.

 

First, I must give a shout-out to how the exhibition was staged: I loved that it was simple, interactive and intimate. On the walls were small perspex shelves on which the notebooks were propped, encouraging you-the-viewer to interact; to pick them up and browse through, or leave them propped but flick through. There was even a bench seat or two if you wanted to sit and peruse, though I didn't; instead, I did my usual stand-there-with-a-notebook-and-write, ignoring any questioning glances...as I always do!

Image from:  http://www.rableydrawingcentre.com/sketch-2013.html

Admittedly, there were some sketchbooks whose language I just didn't speak or interpret, but that reminded me that art is subjective and people have varied tastes...and thank goodness for that, because it would be a boring world if we were all the same!

So, from my notebook, then:

 

• on Robert Hames' sketchbook: Pencil sketches of people at mechanical/aeronautic work - for me it comes alive when the people are doing; just like in a piece of written work, the action breathes life into the scene. The studies of just things leave me cold.

• on Samuel Lindup's sketchbook: Pen ink sketches in an A6 book. Such fine lines, fine details, such precision - how can it not be printed?! One picture, small and justified to the left like a poem, is of a house, side-on. There are windows and a door, yet the house is not grounded on anything. Out of the chimney comes the life of the house, all blown out like a big puff of smoke: TV, toaster, cooker, airer, dustpan, microwave, vase with flowers, and all the other tiny objects I couldn't make out! A little off to the the right, blown askew, is an open umbrella. Is it a metaphor for Mary Poppins/the metaphor she is; the rain of existence that we all must stand; or the shelter from this that we seek?

• on Mike Middleton's sketchbook [who was shortlisted]: Small rectangular vignettes, often with a border/frame, in a warm colour palette. Is it my love of Italy that draws me to this sketchbook, or the chalky buildings caught in an Edward Hopper-like silence, their story to be spoken by the viewer?

• on Michael Chance's sketchbook: A charcoal sketch of 'Ivan', showing a man with short, black curly hair cropped; a broad, broad nose; eyes looking down; mouth closed; Adam's Apple visible above his crew-neck sweater. One eyebrow seems slightly raised. There is a darker shadowing to the right of this eyebrow, as if melancholy or trouble awaits there. There is a pensive, resigned air to 'Ivan', as if he is preparing for the difficulty of what is coming. I am moved. On an earlier page is a seascape, with a lighthouse assailed by a frothy sea, which seems so luminous and lifted, as if it might assail me too.

Once back home, I Googled the artists whose work I liked and visited their websites/blogs. I pretty much couldn't find the pictures from the sketchbooks...but then, if they are part of the process, they probably won't be the exact finished work...

 

Still, I'll leave you to your own explorations with the links, and share with you the one pic I did find represented on a blog:

• Jeff Pigott: http://www.jeffartist.co.uk/index.html
• Mike Middleton: http://www.mikemiddletonartist.co.uk/links.html
• Samuel Lindup: http://samuellindup.wordpress.com/
• Michael Chance: http://mjfchance.tumblr.com

 

Michael Chance's 'Lighthouse', from: http://mjfchance.tumblr.com/page/7

 

~ ttfn ~