What’s in a word?

I have been picked up on the overuse of the word fabulous in my last posting, by an old friend who has doubtless heard me use it far too many times, and just for good measure said that I have a tendency to use the word bizarre too much too. I guess these words are just part of my lexical “fingerprint.” This critique got me thinking about the other bad habits in my vocabulary and that of other people I know. Words, particularly colourful adjectives, seem to come and go in fashion and have a horribly way of accurately dating the user.

There are words that I would never use to describe something that are commonly used by the younger generation. I would never describe anyone or anything as fierce, pants or minging. I never go around saying that’s so random; and it took me ages to discover what a chav was. However, I might say something was well wicked or cool, which has a tendency to make me seem, well, quite uncool actually.

I suppose none of this really matters in the grand scheme of things. I will remain a constant source of embarrassment to my youngest son, who is perilously close to those teenage years, where anything I say in public will be beyond the pale. However, it does matter when it comes to my writing and I must make a point to keep my language up to date, although it feels quite alien to try and use new words, at least when I am speaking.

Moving to Ireland has introduced me to a whole new range of words and phrases. Everything here is grand, legend or class. Nobody says thank you, it is tanks a million, and sometimes you’re gorgeous is tacked on as an additional flourish. Actually that’s quite nice to hear from time to time, so I am not complaining. But it is funny getting used to a new use of the English vocabulary, especially after living in Shetland which really was a linguistic adventure.

There are lots of words that are peculiar to Shetland and it took a little while to learn the dialect, which combined with a strong accent made my first few months quite difficult. But the hardest thing to grasp was the use of English words in a different context. For example, keen and kent mean know and knew. Mind means remember and messages means shopping, and start means a period of time.

Here is a peerie (little) example of Shetland dialect, from a poem I wrote a few years ago. I hasten to add that I would not dream of speaking in dialect, it would have sounded ridiculous with my accent but I loved the sound of others speaking it, and after a couple of years it sounded more normal to me than some speaking received pronunciation. In fact hearing anyone speaking with a London accent (my own) really grated on my nerves everytime I went south for a holiday.

Ode to a Bonny Langsome Siamese Cat

Da cat wheeches doon tae da loch and stauns peerie wyes
He watches sleekit for da peerie mootie deuk
Up in da skies a muckle bonxie skröls a warning
Tiger skelps back to da hoose, greetin aa da way
Back to neeb aside da roose
Nae more work for dee, du bonny langsome cat.

Much of my writing uses Shetland as the setting and therefore having a good command of dialect can be useful for setting the scene and creating a realistic voice for the characters. Although too much dialect makes it almost unintelligible for soothmoothers (people from outside of Shetland).

Whilst reading The Help by Kathryn Stocket, earlier this week, I was really struck by how well Ms Stocket created realistic voices for her three narrators. She used just enough dialect to create the ambience of the Deep South, without making it hard to read. Within just a couple of pages I got used to the rhythm and feel of the writing and inside my head it feels like I was speaking in another accent. It was a great lesson in how to use dialect and regional accents to good effect.

I cannot speak in any other accent than my own, but I love writing in another accent and creating different personalities and voices on the page. Moving around the UK and Ireland means that I have added some colourful new words to my vocabulary, so it is about time I ditched fabulous and replaced it with something else. How about brilliant, marvellous, wonderful or splendid?

Nah, I think I’ll stick with fabulous.

Maynooth – Maigh Nuad - so good they named it twice.

It has been drawn to my attention that the girl from Maynooth has said very little about her new habitat and so today I will put that right. Maynooth (Maigh Nuad in Gaelige) is a town in County Kildare, less than 20 miles from the centre of Dublin. It has great public transport in to the city and so it is a popular commuter town. It has a fabulous University here, the National University of Ireland Maynooth which does an impressive range of courses and has been rated as one of the best Universities in Europe because of the employment prospects for its graduates. The university campus is a mix of gorgeous old historic buildings, dating back to when the college was the National Seminary (for educating priests), and a fabulous modern development that has very high tech education facilities, gym, swimming pool and lots of accommodation.

I took a look around the old part of the campus during a post-graduate open evening, a few weeks ago. The architecture and atmosphere of the building rivalled that of Oxford, and I wanted to sign up to a course straight away. Since I am already studying for a Masters with University College Falmouth I could hardly start another course, but it did inspire me to think about studying for a PhD. I had a very interesting conversation with one of the lecturers who actually thought that my idea for a PhD about chick-lit and its role in post-feminist culture could be an interesting proposal. I quite fancy being Dr Frankie Valente one day so I shall leave that idea to one side as the plan B in my writing career.

Next door to the university are the remains of the old castle, a scene of an historic rebellion against the English. Sadly the English won and as they were rather short of moral fibre they executed all the surviving rebels in the castle.

At the other end of town from the castle is Carton House. Now a hotel, leisure complex and golf course, it was originally the home of the Duke of Leinster. The house is grand, opulent, fabulous and totally accessible to the general public. The staff are friendly and helpful and, Guinness is a bargain five euros a pint. OK, that’s not quite a bargain, but the surroundings are worth the little premium. It is a great place to spot celebrities. On one occasion I drove through the grounds and came across the Ireland rugby team during one of their training sessions. I could not resist the opportunity of getting close to Brian O’Driscoll, so the car was quickly abandoned and we watched some of the players playing. They had just thrashed England and were on top form. My son was in heaven, although he was a trifle embarrassed to be caught wearing his Munster rugby top, when Mr O’Driscoll is a Leinster man. Personally, I was disappointed that Ronan O’Gara was nowhere to be seen.

Maynooth also has some brilliant pubs, restaurant and fashionable shops. It has two bookshops, which I seem to visit more often than is good for my finances, and a lovely little library. Because of the university the town is always lively and full of young students from all over the world. It all adds to a great feeling of multiculturalism. The schools are great and there are great sports facilities. I seem to spend more time than is good for me at the local cricket club, as both my husband and son are fanatics, and play for any team that will have them.

Ireland has a well deserved reputation for friendliness, and Maynooth is a friendly place to live. It is not, however, up to Shetland’s standards of friendliness, but I guess nothing will compare with that. But, for now, it is a lovely place to live, study and write. It is also closer to relatives and friends from England and we have already had lots of visitors with bookings up until the end of September.

Big Brother - the fight for celebrity

I have never been a fan of reality television, but for some bizarre reason I have found myself dipping into the last ever series of Big Brother. I shall blame my husband for this temporary lapse in taste; as a social worker, he has a great interest in the behaviour of people and finds the programme fascinating. I am torn between being interested in watching how people behave, to covering up my ears and singing LA LA LA LA very loudly to block out the excruciating drama in the Big Brother House. The antics of this extraordinary mix of odd-bods defy belief and makes me feel like I am 110. I am absolutely not prudish in any way, but the crude language and overtly sexual discussions is shocking and ugly. The tears and tantrums over food, cigarettes, and who fancies who, are exhausting to watch and must be exhausting to live with. I am always amazed at why anyone would want to put themselves through this ordeal. The craving for celebrity has a very strange effect on some people. I cannot imagine why anyone would want to be a celebrity and be subject to the scrutiny of the tabloids and the gossip magazines.

I am sure that celebrity is helpful for the creation of wealth and for promoting careers. The Beckhams certainly seem to have set themselves up for life in that respect. But I don’t think I would like to swap places with Victoria Beckham, Cheryl Tweedy or Katie Price, even if it would mean a more glamorous wardrobe, instant publishing contracts or a date with a Premier League footballer. Today’s media seem to be so cruel in their approach to reporting any kind of trivial news in relation to celebrities. Whilst I don’t have any particular sympathy with people like Katie Price, the savage way she is gossiped about is repulsive. I think that it is a very sad state of affairs that the media cannot find a good word to say about anyone these days. I wonder how the writers themselves must feel, constantly bitching and complaining about anyone in the public eye, even though, without these people they would not have a job. I am sure there is an element of compulsion by the editor to write this drivel - but seriously, who wants to be paid to be nasty?

The way that the media turns on people that were originally quite popular is also surprising. Christine Bleakley, the presenter of The One Show always comes across as a charming and pleasant person on TV. However, now that she is dating Frank Lampard, the bitching has started about what an attention seeking WAG she has allegedly become. It was interesting reading the Daily Mail online, for the first and last time, as there was a column on the right hand side of the page with photos of the celebrities de jour and a link to whatever vitriol was being poured out that day. Without exception each picture was of an attractive young woman and each one was the subject of ridicule for the way they dressed, who they were dating, the size of their thighs, or their extreme skinniness. It made me remember why I don’t read the tabloids, although some of the broadsheet newspapers are equally harsh.

Politicians don’t fare any better. No sooner than the Coalition government was established the criticism started, and journalists were fighting to be the first to get a story of a behind-the-scenes fallout. Am I just naive in thinking this could be a better world if people weren’t quite so nasty to each other?

But going back to Big Brother, how can anyone submit themselves to a summer without books? I am itching to get started on The Help by Kathryn Stocket after reading some great reviews of it. I also bought Anita Shreve’s latest book, A Change in Altitude. Despite my intentions to get more books out of the library instead of buying them, I can never resist a buy two get one free deal. The freebie book was my son’s choice – some Jeremy Clarkson nonsense about cars.

The books are calling out to me to be read, so homework, and the ever growing mountain of ironing will have to wait. I am heading off to the garden; a garden blissfully free of hideous house-mates and Big Brother’s watchful gaze. However, I might have to fend off the paparazzi again. The Church next door is a popular place for grand weddings. Some Manchester United footballer got married there a few days ago, although naturally the press were more interested in what Coleen Rooney was wearing than anyone else. I must say the guests did look unnaturally glossy and fabulous. Perhaps there is something to be said for celebrity after all – says she, in her scruffy jeans and ancient tee shirt.

Life is fabulous – because of my friends

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

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!

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.

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!