One of my closest friends rang me last night for a quick exchange of news. We talk frequently so there was nothing unusual about the phone call, but it lifted my spirits in the way that it always does when I talk to her. Our friends play such an important role in our lives, something that I am even more conscious of, now that I live so far away from them all. I do not know how I would have made the move without the benefits of modern technology. Leaving Shetland, and indeed, leaving anywhere I have ever lived (England, Wales and Scotland) was less painful because of the ability to keep in touch via phone, email and Facebook. None of these methods are quite as good as seeing people in person, but it suffices until the next time we can meet.
As a writer I am always conscious of how my friends regard my work. I ought to be writing with a view to what a publisher might think of it, but I don’t think like that. My friends, and people like them, are my target audience. I write to entertain and amuse them and it has always been that way.
I first started telling stories to the girls I shared a dormitory with at boarding school. I loved to talk and I had a brilliant memory for stories I had read, and the ability to make up my own far-fetched tales of adventure and romance. The story telling bug has stayed with me and now I am trying to develop it further, thanks to University College Falmouth. But even as I am working hard on my essays to pass my MA, I am still conscious of what my friends think about what I write.
Although everything I write is fiction, there are obvious elements of real life experience in the writing, and to a certain extent, all the characters that inhabit my stories are a coalition of real people. Therefore, I am conscious that friends might recognise themselves, or worse, think they recognise themselves in a way that was not intentional. They also know aspects of my personal life that might lead them to believe that the villain of my first novel is one of my exes, despite my protestations otherwise.
I love the feedback I get from my friends, even though I know none of them are cruel enough to deal out the painfully honest criticism my writing needs. It is for this reason I embarked upon the many creative writing courses I have completed and joined a local writers’ group. The Maynooth Writers’ Group meets every 3-4 weeks in the fabulous Carton House Hotel. The venue is commonly used for celebrity weddings and international golf tournaments. In this grandeur it is lovely to meet up and discuss the writing projects of all the members. I am not yet in a position to call any of the members “friends” yet, therefore, what I get instead is unbiased and very useful criticism. I would thoroughly recommend joining a writers group if you want to talk about your writing. Save your friends for the real joy they bring to your life.
In the meantime my fridge is nicely stocked up with Pinot Grigio, waiting to be shared with my friends able to join me in Ireland. Now taking bookings for September!
With love to all my friends xxxxx
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sex in the City
Lerwick - pretty, but not quite New York.
I finally got around to seeing Sex in the City 2 last night; a far more entertaining option that watching Brazil v Chile. The review for the film had not been brilliant so I was not sure what to expect. The reviewer seemed to think that the film was simply a flimsy vehicle for showing off shoes and clothes. The reviewer was a man! There were indeed many changes of wardrobe and footwear throughout the film, but in reality the clothes and designer accessories are nothing more than a colourful backdrop to the story, in exactly the same way as the two cities that also starred in the film – New York and Abu Dhabi.
The main themes throughout the film could have been part of a far more down to earth drama – something produced by Mike Leigh for example. Aging, infidelity, stressful jobs, bullying in the workplace, childcare, sleep deprivation and trying to keep the sparkle going in a marriage - in the world of fiction these are fairly standard storylines and something that many people can identify with. What set this film apart was the glamour and sex appeal; and the setting and clothes were merely a shorthand for all of that.
Imagine Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte living in Basingstoke and shopping for their outfits from Primark and TK Maxx and buying knock-off designer handbags from Shepherd’s Bush Market. It kind of takes the gloss away; which makes you realise that the setting for a story is absolutely crucial.
Drama happens everywhere, but what makes it readable or watchable, is the backdrop. This is the reason why Las Vegas, New York, Paris and London are such common settings. As the opening credits started in the film last night, the camera panned across the iconic sky line of New York City. It looked shiny, bright, exciting and oozed sex-appeal before the first word had been spoken. The audience knew what to expect, and weren’t disappointed.
But as I drove home, it set me thinking, how do I use the setting of the stories I have written to date? Shetland is the star in almost everything I have written, and with good reason. It has a wild, dramatic beauty and a unique culture and history. Shetlanders have a distinct voice and sense of humour, and the local music is the perfect blend of haunting melody and distinctive style. But to the outside world, that may not have experienced its delights, it might seem very strange and unappealing. There is no shorthand available for bringing the audience up to date.
Midnight on Whalsay (Midsummer 2009)
In the opening scene of my first movie (fingers crossed!) will the camera pan across the rooftops of Lerwick and rest on the perfectly groomed Sarah Jessica Parker emerging from Mackays with a few carrier bags? I think that would be a comedic step too far. And yet the type of film I would like to make would have the same themes of romance and relationships; but it will inevitably be a whole lot less glamorous. My ambition is to create the perfect rom-com that captures all of the essence of the Northern Isles without sacrificing on glossiness and sex appeal. Any ideas for the leading man and woman for the movie of Dancing with the Ferryman will be gratefully received.
Shetland has no shortage of macho Vikings!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Talk about the weather
(Lerwick Harbour - Summer 2009)
The weather forecast is on in the background, promising another hot and sunny day for the UK. Here in Ireland it is disappointingly dull by comparison. The weather is such a key factor in our daily lives. For me it is the first thing I notice when I look out of the window in the morning. I pay attention to the BBC weather forecast and look at weather online, and the only reason I had originally signed up for Twitter was to follow Dawadderman (Dave Wheeler, the Fair Isle Weather Guru).
I wonder whether my obsession with the weather is unusual, but I don’t think it is. We love to talk about the weather. It is the best conversational opening gambit or greeting, and an even better source of observational humour, to be shared with anyone from family to complete strangers. The weather, strangely enough, is one of the things I miss most about Shetland. The expression “four seasons in one day” was particularly apt for the Northern Isles. The weather was a constant source of amusement, exasperation, horror and, more often than some would expect, pleasure.
There was nothing more pleasurable than waking up in Shetland and hearing silence outside. Silence, with the exception of the noise produced by the large bird population, meant that there was no wind, and no wind meant it was a fine day. When I first moved to Shetland I used to be surprised when my new friends and neighbours would talk about what a fine day it was, when it was often rather dull. I soon learned to appreciate those fine days though. The alternative was often a wild gale and horizontal rain. But even on those foul days, we would laugh and joke about the “course weather” and there was a whole new vocabulary to learn about how to describe the day. I remember being both delighted and horrified in equal measure when I heard one very respectable elderly lady describe a storm as a “day of shite” and a “Godless whore of a day”. As a budding writer, I stored away those wonderful descriptions for future use, along with all the elements of potential drama and romance that the storms or the Northern Lights could create for me.
(Oscar Charlie on a training exercise in bad weather)
But don’t take away the impression from reading this that the weather in Shetland was often “shite.” There were so many days of glittering sunshine throughout the year, through all of the seasons, “all two of them”. Those days would make your heart sing and force you out of the house to take advantage of the fabulous day, never knowing how long it would last. An hour, a morning, a whole day, or just occasionally it would last a few weeks. I will never forget the summer of 2003 and 2009 for the seemingly endless days of sunshine that reminded me of my childhood, when I am sure it never rained then either. On a beautiful day you were inspired to go walking along the beach or around the loch at the back of the house, take the ferry across to the mainland and sit out on deck and feel as if you were on a mini-cruise. A sunny day put a smile on everyone’s face and brought out even more of the humour and joie de vivre that Shetlanders have in abundance.
(Sun and snow - the perfect combination)
People still talk about the weather here in Ireland, but with less passion and less humour. There are less extreme weather days and therefore the subject is a little more mundane. The disappointingly dull day that is happening outside my window would be considered a great day in Shetland. The temperature is 19 degrees, the windy is blowing sufficiently well to make it a “fine drying day” and there is no rain on the horizon. I am so glad I had my time in Shetland to make me appreciate a fine day for what it is, and for the colourful increase in my vocabulary.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Motivation
For once I am glad that the weather is a tad on the gloomy side. I am not in the mood to write this morning, and if the sun burst through the clouds I think I would fling down my laptop and head out to the garden with a good book. Why does creative energy dip so suddenly? Last night I was lying awake in bed thinking about my latest writing project and then I got sidetracked into thinking about my first novel which I finished last year. I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I was inspired to think about a much better second chapter and spent the next hour or so plotting that out in my head. Normally in the morning I would have been rushing to the laptop to get it all down before it evaporated from my brain. But I am torn between doing that, getting on with my first assignment for the scriptwriting module I have just started, or tidying up the house ready for the weekend. I have letters to write, bills to pay, holiday travel to arrange and job hunting to do. I guess my problem is trying to prioritise.
I have never been the type of person that suffers from writers’ block; thankfully. Faced with a blank screen or page it never takes more than a minute for me to feel inspired. What a gift! I should be grateful, and indeed I am. However, sometimes my problem is that I can’t bring myself to switch on the computer. I am brilliant at deadlines and working under pressure from other people, but much less so when it is my own internal deadline. But I did a deal with myself this morning; just spend a little time writing my blog and then see what happens. And lo and behold, my fingers have limbered up on the laptop and the sun is still hidden from view. Looks like I might be able to get my writing down after all. The housework can wait a little longer!
I have never been the type of person that suffers from writers’ block; thankfully. Faced with a blank screen or page it never takes more than a minute for me to feel inspired. What a gift! I should be grateful, and indeed I am. However, sometimes my problem is that I can’t bring myself to switch on the computer. I am brilliant at deadlines and working under pressure from other people, but much less so when it is my own internal deadline. But I did a deal with myself this morning; just spend a little time writing my blog and then see what happens. And lo and behold, my fingers have limbered up on the laptop and the sun is still hidden from view. Looks like I might be able to get my writing down after all. The housework can wait a little longer!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Life experience as material for fiction
Many people have commented to me that my life has been so full of drama that I ought to write my autobiography, or at the very least, I would have lots of experience to tap into. I cannot imagine anything duller than my autobiography. Unless I manage to achieve some kind of bizarre celebrity, there would be absolutely no interest in me, and I am not the type to become a celebrity; I am too ordinary. But in terms of life experience as material for fiction, I suppose it has been useful, but not in the way that anyone might expect.
I realise that I have a tendency to avoid moments of high drama and potential heartbreak; or at least I write about such things in a cool and unemotional way. Instead I seem to focus on the positive. I cannot imagine writing a novel that does not end well, as I am firmly committed to happy ever afters. But whilst that might seem superficially shallow, I realise that this could be something of a strength. My protagonists do not lack courage, and are inclined to take risks and make things happen for themselves. I never really thought about that until today. However, I also realise that I do need to inject more of that natural emotion into my writing, instead of shying away from it. This is something that I will have to work on over the next few years. I have always congratulated myself on emerging from multiple heartbreaks, and more than the average number of divorces, with my dignity and sense of humour intact. I dislike bitterness, revenge, misery and cynicism. But these are normal human characteristics that I should not be afraid to examine closely under the guise of fiction.
However, I am the eternal optimist, and this is what might help me as a writer. It takes a lot of confidence to write. Anyone can tell a story, but few get the opportunity to do so. It does not pay well for the vast majority of writers, so it is always tempting to give it up and get on with something more rewarding and profitable. But if you do feel the compulsion to tell tales then you need an awful lot of ambition, positive thinking and most importantly of all, the ability to spend huge chunks of time alone. Writing is a very lonely occupation, and you need to be able to deal with this without becoming overly introverted. I have learned to be comfortable with isolation, despite being an extrovert and naturally gregarious person. I have learned resilience and acquired a thick skin, all the better to fend off rejection letters from publishers. I have also learned that happiness can be fleeting, and it needs to be nourished and worked at. Nothing in life can be taken for granted and that every opportunity needs to be grasped, and if an opportunity does not come your way, then you have to go out and hunt it down.
I realise that I have a tendency to avoid moments of high drama and potential heartbreak; or at least I write about such things in a cool and unemotional way. Instead I seem to focus on the positive. I cannot imagine writing a novel that does not end well, as I am firmly committed to happy ever afters. But whilst that might seem superficially shallow, I realise that this could be something of a strength. My protagonists do not lack courage, and are inclined to take risks and make things happen for themselves. I never really thought about that until today. However, I also realise that I do need to inject more of that natural emotion into my writing, instead of shying away from it. This is something that I will have to work on over the next few years. I have always congratulated myself on emerging from multiple heartbreaks, and more than the average number of divorces, with my dignity and sense of humour intact. I dislike bitterness, revenge, misery and cynicism. But these are normal human characteristics that I should not be afraid to examine closely under the guise of fiction.
However, I am the eternal optimist, and this is what might help me as a writer. It takes a lot of confidence to write. Anyone can tell a story, but few get the opportunity to do so. It does not pay well for the vast majority of writers, so it is always tempting to give it up and get on with something more rewarding and profitable. But if you do feel the compulsion to tell tales then you need an awful lot of ambition, positive thinking and most importantly of all, the ability to spend huge chunks of time alone. Writing is a very lonely occupation, and you need to be able to deal with this without becoming overly introverted. I have learned to be comfortable with isolation, despite being an extrovert and naturally gregarious person. I have learned resilience and acquired a thick skin, all the better to fend off rejection letters from publishers. I have also learned that happiness can be fleeting, and it needs to be nourished and worked at. Nothing in life can be taken for granted and that every opportunity needs to be grasped, and if an opportunity does not come your way, then you have to go out and hunt it down.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
My writing day
I am always fascinated by what other writers have to say about their working method. Yesterday I was reading an article in Mslexia magazine about Naomi Alderman, author of the marvellous Disobedience. Naomi advocates a strict regime of working six hours a day for six days a week, and writing between 800 and 1000 words at a time.
This seems to be a regime that is quite popular with writers, and I wish it was something that I could adapt to. My writing is more chaotic; a famine or feast. During the famine I seem to spend all my time reading or daydreaming, or just getting on with the mundane stuff of life. During the feast I can sit at my laptop, oblivious to the demands of starving family members, while I knock out around 6000 words at a time. Obviously not all the 6000 words are fabulous, and they often get edited down significantly. However, what this process does is get the bare bones of the story, character, dialogue on paper so that I can tweak it at leisure. The only novel that I have completed ended up being over 200,000 words long. The current edited version is only 108,000 words. Quite possibly, if I had worked at a slower and more thoughtful pace I could have spent less time on the editing. But the fact remains there would always have been a significant amount of time spent on editing and I would rather have too much detail than not enough.
My inspiration for writing seems to work in a strange way too. When I am faced with an essay, short story or the continuation of a novel, I think about what I am going to write while I am doing other things. I plot storylines when I am driving, washing up, watching TV and even reading; talk about multi-tasking! When I have got an idea going I sleep on it. Actually, sleeping on it is not quite accurate. I am a dreadful insomniac and have been for many years. I have tried many things to cure this but nothing works, so now I make use of this “dead” time. I lie in bed and watch the “movie” of my story pan out. As the director of the movie, I change dialogue and edit the plot as I go along and then quite often I fall asleep dreaming of the story. In the morning I find that I can remember it remarkably faithfully. When I get a chance to write that day I simply have to write out the story/essay as I dreamed it; hence the ability to write, almost as quickly as I can type.
In the same magazine there was an article about Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way. Julia suggests starting the writing day by writing three sides of stream-of-consciousness text. This counteracts the internal critic that every writer seems to have, to sometimes detrimental effect. I have never been a fan of stream-of-consciousness writing, possibly the reason why I can never get on with James Joyce, however, I thought that I would try this method for a while, hence this blog. I intend to use my blog to kick-start my writing day; and it will comprise of random ideas that I have been pondering.
This seems to be a regime that is quite popular with writers, and I wish it was something that I could adapt to. My writing is more chaotic; a famine or feast. During the famine I seem to spend all my time reading or daydreaming, or just getting on with the mundane stuff of life. During the feast I can sit at my laptop, oblivious to the demands of starving family members, while I knock out around 6000 words at a time. Obviously not all the 6000 words are fabulous, and they often get edited down significantly. However, what this process does is get the bare bones of the story, character, dialogue on paper so that I can tweak it at leisure. The only novel that I have completed ended up being over 200,000 words long. The current edited version is only 108,000 words. Quite possibly, if I had worked at a slower and more thoughtful pace I could have spent less time on the editing. But the fact remains there would always have been a significant amount of time spent on editing and I would rather have too much detail than not enough.
My inspiration for writing seems to work in a strange way too. When I am faced with an essay, short story or the continuation of a novel, I think about what I am going to write while I am doing other things. I plot storylines when I am driving, washing up, watching TV and even reading; talk about multi-tasking! When I have got an idea going I sleep on it. Actually, sleeping on it is not quite accurate. I am a dreadful insomniac and have been for many years. I have tried many things to cure this but nothing works, so now I make use of this “dead” time. I lie in bed and watch the “movie” of my story pan out. As the director of the movie, I change dialogue and edit the plot as I go along and then quite often I fall asleep dreaming of the story. In the morning I find that I can remember it remarkably faithfully. When I get a chance to write that day I simply have to write out the story/essay as I dreamed it; hence the ability to write, almost as quickly as I can type.
In the same magazine there was an article about Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way. Julia suggests starting the writing day by writing three sides of stream-of-consciousness text. This counteracts the internal critic that every writer seems to have, to sometimes detrimental effect. I have never been a fan of stream-of-consciousness writing, possibly the reason why I can never get on with James Joyce, however, I thought that I would try this method for a while, hence this blog. I intend to use my blog to kick-start my writing day; and it will comprise of random ideas that I have been pondering.
Monday, June 7, 2010
You've gotta have faith, Baby!
You’ve gotta have faith!
I can't seem to lose George Michael from my head this morning, and maybe that is no bad thing. He has chosen an appropriate song to prod me into a little self-belief as I have been suffering from a fit of anxiety over "my brilliant career". On Saturday, in response to a question about what I do, I answered, for the very first time. "I'm a writer." And now I am surely heading straight to hell for that huge great lie I told. Am I allowed to call myself a writer, when I am merely a student of writing?
I might spend most of my day with my laptop burning my knees, as I write, edit and try not to delete too much of what I have written, in order to justify my existence, but until I receive some form of payment for my writing, it feels very much like I am just an unemployed ex-Civil Servant with a very lonely hobby.
I know that the potential to earn a living from writing is not great. There are already two writers in my family, whose earnings are up and down like the weather, and sometimes fall perilously close to starvation levels. But at least they can call themselves writers without crossing their fingers behind their backs.
So I guess the question is, why am I doing this? My career is in a shambles as I have taken time off to study. An MA in professional writing is probably not an investment in the same way as my husband's recent career switch to become a social worker. He'll never be unemployed that’s for sure. But since I don't particularly care much about money I should be relaxed and happy that I am able to do what I love doing so much. I really must learn to get rid of this misguided guilt about not bringing home the bacon.
I wonder, what does anyone else think about their status as a writer? Because I am pretty sure that once you have nailed your own crisis of confidence about your ambition, then other people will take you more seriously. I am sure someone very wise and probably famous, but I forget who, said “If you don’t believe in yourself, nobody else will.”
So, for the time being I am going to let George Michael stay in my head a little longer. I really do need faith.
I can't seem to lose George Michael from my head this morning, and maybe that is no bad thing. He has chosen an appropriate song to prod me into a little self-belief as I have been suffering from a fit of anxiety over "my brilliant career". On Saturday, in response to a question about what I do, I answered, for the very first time. "I'm a writer." And now I am surely heading straight to hell for that huge great lie I told. Am I allowed to call myself a writer, when I am merely a student of writing?
I might spend most of my day with my laptop burning my knees, as I write, edit and try not to delete too much of what I have written, in order to justify my existence, but until I receive some form of payment for my writing, it feels very much like I am just an unemployed ex-Civil Servant with a very lonely hobby.
I know that the potential to earn a living from writing is not great. There are already two writers in my family, whose earnings are up and down like the weather, and sometimes fall perilously close to starvation levels. But at least they can call themselves writers without crossing their fingers behind their backs.
So I guess the question is, why am I doing this? My career is in a shambles as I have taken time off to study. An MA in professional writing is probably not an investment in the same way as my husband's recent career switch to become a social worker. He'll never be unemployed that’s for sure. But since I don't particularly care much about money I should be relaxed and happy that I am able to do what I love doing so much. I really must learn to get rid of this misguided guilt about not bringing home the bacon.
I wonder, what does anyone else think about their status as a writer? Because I am pretty sure that once you have nailed your own crisis of confidence about your ambition, then other people will take you more seriously. I am sure someone very wise and probably famous, but I forget who, said “If you don’t believe in yourself, nobody else will.”
So, for the time being I am going to let George Michael stay in my head a little longer. I really do need faith.
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