Motivation and Targets

On Saturday morning I accompanied my husband to the gym for the first time. It was, after all, three weeks in to 2011 and getting fit was one of my resolutions. I got started on the bike, but after pedalling for a few minutes boredom set in. My legs could have gone on for ages but it feels alien for me to be sat without some kind of entertainment. The TV screen in front of me was tuned to Coronation St – and I don’t do soaps. The husband came to my rescue and handed me an iPod. The music was an instant boost to my motivation to stay on the bike, although I had to work hard at suppressing the impulse to sing along.

My husband has set himself the challenge of completing an Ironman triathlon later this year. He turns 50 in December, so I guess this is something of a mid-life crisis for him. But better an Ironman race than a blonde or a Ferrari. The training for this event is taking over his life. He goes to the gym twice a day, watches what he eats and is generally making a huge transformation to his life. He has lost two stone, radically changed shape and has tons more energy. All of this should be enough of an inspiration for me to follow suit. You’d think!

Getting fit is such a nebulous target. What does it really mean for me personally? I think I need to set a proper fitness challenge for myself. But it certainly won’t be an Ironman, that’s for sure. I might be able to swim and cycle well enough, but I certainly couldn’t run a marathon.

But whilst I was thinking about my resolution to get fit, I started wondering about my other resolution; to get published. What does this mean? I could achieve it tomorrow if I downloaded my novel onto the Amazon Kindle site. But that would not give me the same sense of achievement that getting it published in the conventional way would bring. The trouble is I am not able to take total control over my publishing destiny. It will involve lots of hard work on my part, but also some degree of luck that I get a publisher interested in my work.

Without a definitive writing target to aim for it is sometimes hard to maintain the effort. There is no equivalent to putting on an iPod to keep you going whilst you type. In fact music, television and the Internet are huge distractions.

There are however a number of interim targets to aim for. I have to have something suitable to read aloud at my writers’ group every fortnight. I can enter writing competitions and I have set a target to enter the Bridport Prize this summer. I can finish my MA, and then perhaps I can set my sights upon the writing equivalent of an Ironman – a three book publishing deal. A girl can dream!

Only in my dreams

Goran Visnjic - he's so fine

Sometimes I envy those people that claim not to dream in their sleep. How nice it would be to fall asleep safe in the knowledge that you won’t have to fight off the lion in your wardrobe. I haven’t been reading any CS Lewis recently but I do have frequent dreams about inappropriate wild animals roaming around my house. Although in my dreams I never seem to be alarmed by such events, but when I wake up I always feel slightly disoriented and inexplicably tired.

Fantastical dreams aside, the most annoying are those that are plausible, and involve real people that I know. I am plagued by very realistic dreams that involve mundane conversations and events, that subsequently disguise themselves as memories in my mind. If they involve someone I know it can be hard to shake off the feeling that we have shared a moment that didn’t actually happen. It leaves me unreasonably disgruntled over an argument, and even when I have worked out that the argument didn’t happen, I sometimes wonder whether the dream was the result of some subconscious undercurrent of feeling. But it never is.

Dreams are just so bizarre, seemingly independent of reality and frustratingly uncontrollable. They might be inspired by a film, a book or a conversation, but for the most part the outrageous plotlines appear out of the blue. I wish I had more control over my dreams. Goran Visnjic wouldn’t get much sleep, that’s for sure. But it strange that for someone who spends most of the day plotting stories, my subconscious imagination sometimes shows more potential for creativity. Perhaps I should turn my hand at fantasy fiction, where lions and tigers roaming in the house, and speaking, would be par for the course.

The Clonmel Writers' Group

The ultimate tonic - Writers' group meeting and a pint of the black stuff

For someone who aspires to be a writer there is nothing better than getting together with other like-minded people for inspiration and a lifting of the spirits. On Tuesday evening I went along to my first meeting of the Clonmel Writers Group. I had had a truly miserable day and was feeling deflated by a horrible interview at a call centre. The interview was a partial success as they called me back for a second interview, but by then I had decided I would rather sell one of my kidneys than work in some a hideous environment. I almost didn’t go to the Writers’ group as I was in such a blue funk. However, I knew that if I didn’t go then I would regret it later, probably half-way through a football match that I would probably have to endure as the evening’s alternative entertainment.

I had trouble finding the venue. The meetings are held in St Mary’s Pastoral Centre, which is confusingly close to St Mary’s Parish Hall which was hosting a Karate class. I finally found the Pastoral Centre, hidden in the grounds of St Mary’s primary school. It was locked and all the lights were off. I was only 5 minutes early so with nobody around I started to think I had got the day wrong. The rain was lashing down and I was about to go home and sulk when a group of people approached me. All budding writers; and one of them had the key to the hall.

I was made to feel very welcome and had a very enjoyable evening, listening to a diverse variety of poetry, short stories and the continuation of one person’s draft novel. After the meeting we adjourned to a nearby pub, and continued the discussion about writing, books and local community life. It was a great craic and I went home feeling a million times better. And to top it all, they meet up every two weeks, so I know that I don’t have to wait too long until the next meeting.

Happy Holidays and the Return of my Mojo

Castletownbere - Well worth a visit!

In the past I have often been at my most creative whilst under pressure. I have used writing as an escape valve from life and this has never failed me before. Recently however, possibly due to the numerous household upheavals this year, I have found it harder to remain focussed on my work. I have managed to keep on top of college deadlines, but everything else stopped. This lack of creative energy crept up on me. I noticed that I wasn't reading so much, in fact a week went by and I hadn't picked up a book. For anyone who knows me well, this is indicative of a serious internal crisis.

Every night, exhausted from packing/unpacking and organising new schools and Christmas, I went to bed with a completely empty head. No stories to plot, no movie scripts creeping uninvited into my dreams. Nothing! It was kind of scary after a lifetime of being bombarded with odd characters and plotlines.

So it was with some relief that our Christmas holiday in Castletownbere, West Cork seems to have done the trick. Despite the snow and ice, which was followed swiftly by wind and rain we had a great time catching up with friends and simply chilling out. We had an interesting drive around the Beara Peninsula and whilst I stared out of the window at the craggy rocks and soggy sheep I realised that my first "Irish" novel had been conceived. This little embryo is now taking shape and occupies all my down-time, and I think it will be a beauty.

All I needed was a holiday!