Category: WRITING

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Book Progress: Feeling hopeful (again) and two types of plot

Regarding my book-writing progress, I wasn’t feeling hopeful at all these last ten days.  I also knew I was due to write a blog post but didn’t know what to write. I tried not to panic about not knowing, as five more days went by.

Gardening is one of the things that soothes my soul (makes the world brighter) and gets me back into balance. So I decided to stop worrying about writing today and visit my allotment plot.  

(For those who don’t know, a plot is an allotted piece of land rented from the local Council.  Its purpose is to grow vegetables and fruit, and some flowers, if you wish).  

I spent several hours working on my plot and felt so much better.  I dug in the dirt, weeded, hoed, stretched every muscle, erected bamboo cane supports and planted some runner bean seeds.  The seeds were very easy to push into the fine soil.  I patted them down lovingly and watered them in.  

When I got home I had a long soak in a bubble bath.  Then I read an old diary entry from last May, where I had written an outline plot for my book and sketched out the three acts. I was surprised by (and liked) what I’d written.  

“Hey, maybe this book of mine is okay after all?”  

I had started to feel more hopeful.

Then I sat down at my desk, turned on the fairy lights and wrote this blog post.

Having felt despondent for over a week, feeling I wasn’t getting anywhere fast – either at my allotment plot, or with my book writing, I realised my despondency was just a state of mind.

Gardening had eased my troubled mind. I’m doing fine after all – and so too (I think) are both plots. 😉

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My first (autograph) book

Book One: Progress update

I’ve started transcribing my earliest diary (1972) and  I’ve also transcribed a notebook, that was really an Autograph book, from 1966 (I was six). 

I remember asking all my family, and anyone else who came to the house, to write something in my autograph book. No one wanted to write more than their name:

“It’s an Autograph book, you’re only supposed to write your name.”

“I know, but can you write something else as well?”

“But it’s an autograph book. You’re not meant to write anything else .”

“I know! Write something else. Pleeeease.”

“Like what?”

“Something else. Just write something.”

After much pleading and persuading from me, most people had a stab at writing something, other than just their name.

My Mum wrote:

By hook or by crook, I’ll be first in this book.

“Is that all?” I asked, “Can’t you write something else?”

“It’s supposed to be short. It’s a rhyme. I’m saying, I’m the first in the book. That’s it.”

“Can you write something else?”

“No, that’s it.”

It was Christmas. My Dad’s friend John Kenny was visiting us. He wrote:

May you have many more happy Christmas days.

Well, I was only six years old, so I would hope so.

My sister wrote:

Laugh and the world will laugh with you, Cry and you will cry alone.

I didn’t understand it. I asked my Mum, who explained it to me, then I did understand it. Why wasn’t anyone writing happy things in my book?

Next my Aunty Sheila:

Little Willie in the best of sashes

Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes

By and by the room grew chilly

But no one liked to poke Poor Willy.

“So, he fell in the fire? And was burnt?

Why?

Why didn’t they want to poke him?”

To me, poke meant prod. I didn’t know it meant stoking a fire. It was a sad story and I didn’t see the humour in it, at all.  I just wished someone would write something jolly in my book.

On the next page I had drawn a tower block (I lived in a block of flats). At first, it appears that the building is on fire,  with me in it – and, like a time-lapse photo, I’m in three different places.  I know it’s me, as I’ve written the words ME and drawn arrows, pointing at all three people.  I’m waving out of two of the windows and a chimney pot, with a camera in my hand.  

Looking more closely, I realise the building is not on fire.  What I thought were curling flames seems to be a winding route, or path, from ground level to chimney.  Or it could possibly be a Rapunzel-like rope.  

Far below, on a path leading from the block of flats, are people with guns in their hands, taking aim at something.  Along the paths are other people, all with one leg raised high, at right-angles to their bodies. They are either dancing, running, or goose-stepping.  

I think around this time I was watching The Man from Uncle on t.v.   I also think this was my first Story Board.

The camera might be from a spy briefcase set we had.  It was probably plastic, but the camera worked. However, from what I remember, I think I mostly took photos of drain covers and pigeons.

My Nanny wrote:

I slept and I dreamt that life was beauty.

I woke and I found that life was duty.

And that was the last time I ever asked anyone to write in my autograph book. I just wrote in it myself and drew pictures.

I’d love to hear how your projects are coming along. Simply hit reply to one of my emails, or use the contact form here.  

Happy Writing!

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The Stop Button

Too many projects?

I recently moved to Nottinghamshire, after a lifetime in London. At the same time, I’ve taken on several new projects, all at once, and am beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed. As well as the project of moving into a new house and new county, my other projects include:

  1. New Plot: rental of a plot of land from the local Council, the size of a small field, covered in couch grass and weeds, the roots of which go down several feet into the earth
  2. New Book (my First): committing to focussing on, finishing and publishing my first book. This feels like I’m putting myself under pressure, as I’ve already tried to complete this for many years, without success.
  3. New Website and Blog: a further commitment to publish my first book, through creating this new website and blogging about my book-writing journey, from draft to publication. Thereby putting myself under the cosh even more, by choosing to do all of this publicly.

My projects require a mixture of mental brainpower, together with plain old physical muscle and sweat of brow. I’m getting to grips with learning stuff I don’t know, including techy things such as the workings of WordPress and search engine optimisation – which is vital but not hugely inspiring or interesting to me if I’m honest,

Is there a way to stop the train? The Universe says Yes

I’ve been wondering to myself, have I taken on too much?  This worrying feeling showed up recently, in one of my night-time dreams:

In the dream I was on a train with various people from my past.  The train stopped and it was time for me to get off.  Suddenly, one of my friends, who had lots of luggage, needed help with some stuff she’d dropped.  Rather than get off the train, I felt I had to help her gather up her stuff. I knew this would mean the train might move off with me still on it and I was likely to miss my stop.

I said to the train driver, “Excuse me, can I ask you something?”

He nodded, so I continued, “Is there a way to completely stop the train? You know, if you should ever really need to?”  

He gave me a look that said, “You are joking?”  as he pointed to a massive red button on the train’s control panel. 

The button was huge, how could I have missed that? 

So I said, “Ah yes.  Of course.”

Then I woke up.

And yes, it was obvious. If I wanted to stop, all I had to do was push the big red button, and stop. 

The train seems to represent Where I’m Going.  I wanted to get off the train but felt duty bound to help my friend with her stuff. The friend might even represent an aspect of me. The me who’s been trying to finish writing her book all these years and is wondering if it’s worth it and maybe I should just get off the train.

Staying on the train, for whatever reason may mean I’m On Board with my projects, and that I don’t want to Stop the Train, just yet. But what if I do want to stop further down the line? Can I do that?

Asking the Train Driver, was like my asking for reassurance from the Universe: 

“Hey Universe, I know I’m committed to all these things, but, if by any chance I needed to change my mind/back out/stop – is there any way I could actually do that?

As I’ve said, the Train Driver simply pointed to the big red button.  He didn’t speak, but the look on his face seemed to say:

“You’re kidding me? Just stop.  It’s no skin off my nose.”

It’s not just about me

So why the feeling of overwhelm and even, why am I feeling a little bit scared?

Ahh.  Then I realised.  It isn’t just about me.  

It’s about readers.  It’s about the readers I’m imagining may read my blog and read my book.  

Somewhere out there (please God) are people who might read and enjoy my book.  Or who might one day read my blog and, dare I hope, feel encouraged by it.

If it was just me I could merrily write for myself, and not share it online or anywhere else. The idea to do this publicly was because I hoped it would give me that spur – when you say to others you will do something you are more likely to do it.

Yet, I’d love to think that my blog or my book will help not just me, but others too. When they read about how long it’s taken me to finish my book, it might make them feel better. It might give them a spur too, to finish their book, or start a blog, or create a website, or create a product – but most of all, to trust themselves to do it and trust they will do it well.

The thought that it isn’t just about me, is both terrifying and encouraging. Knowing someone might be interested in the next stage of the story, helps me to keep writing. If I blog about my progress consistently, I’m more likely to achieve that goal of finishing and publishing my first book.  

Thinking about it logically, I really don’t need to feel overwhelmed.  I am the one who has chosen these projects. No one is forcing me to do any of it.  

It’s early days for my blog. I have two people on my subscriber list. Two people who I would hope, have subscribed because they are interested in the topic of my blog. If I continue to blog regularly, maybe that list of two will grow.

Even two people signed up to your blog is a vote of confidence and means there is now expectation. It means you need to go on and write those blog posts and that book. And hey – I want to, I want to do this!

So on I go. I will continue to post on my blog and continue to allow myself to hope, that sharing my story might help others to share theirs.  When I think of those others, I feel more incentive to keep going. It doesn’t matter whether this blog is helpful or just interesting – but I hope it’s one or the other!

Thank you my two subscribers. I appreciate you and your support. And just to let you know that for the moment, any thoughts about pressing that big red button have faded away.

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She published her first book at age 95

There is an inspiring story about an American woman, Delana Jensen Close, who has recently indie-published her first novel, aged 95.  Her book is called The Rock House and she started writing it in 1955. Yes, sixty-three years ago.

Wow! There is hope.

Delana’s book has its own Facebook page which features an excerpt. The protagonist, Abby, is in a fair amount of pain, giving birth to her baby . . . in the presence of a priest.

In the same way as birthing a baby, Delana said about her book, “It had to come out.”

Yes, and she spent sixty-three years getting it out. 

I have no idea if Delana worked studiously, year after year writing her book, or whether it was in a dusty drawer for decades and she unearthed and reworked it. 

Whichever it was, I say, Well Done Delana!  You have given thousands of first-time book writers hope.  You have made me realise, it really is never too late and age is just a number.  

I have not read Delana’s book, but the back cover blurb suggests the story line is potentially a good one.  According to its Facebook page, The Rock House has even won a prize.  

Delana’s story is inspiring. I wonder how many more first-time authors are in their seventies, eighties and nineties?  (Maybe someone should do a survey?)

One other first-time author springs to mind: Mary Wesley, who in her seventies, wrote The Camomile Lawn. Her book was so popular it was made into a t.v. series. Yet, in an article about Mary Wesley in The Guardian, way back in 2006, Gloria Glendinning said of Mary: 

She had been writing all her life for her own pleasure, but apart from two novels in the late 1960s, which did not make a mark, had always thrown away what she wrote.

Well Mary, we differ there. I cannot throw away anything  I’ve written upon, even the back of an envelope!

By the way, Delana is currently working on her second and third books.  Yes, aged ninety-six.

So, let’s just end with a message to all aspiring first -time authors out there, including me:  

Keep going! You can do it. It really is Never Too Late.

Are you working on your first book?  How long have you been writing it?

If you’re already a published author, how long did it take you to write and publish your first book? 

Note: Just so you know, I first found Delana’s first-book-story at www.dispatch.com. Although I was able to read Google’s snippet of the story, I couldn’t access www.dispatch.com’s full webpage, presumably because I live in the UK and not the USA.   Thankfully, author Lee Martin, had also shared Delana’s story online and I got more detail about it from his blog post.