The Book Protectors' Daughter

 I am flying high with a head full of love. For my children yes, of course, that is a given, but also for the novel I have just completed the first draft of. It is a story I love and that I have been mulling over for a year or more. It is called The Book Protectors' Daughter, originally it was aimed at children who are 9+ but I think it is more of a 7-10 now.
Anyway, it is complete in that the whole story is now on the page, but it needs a lot of work and re-drafting. I shall look forward to that. BPD has been my escape when the sex, drugs and alcohol from my PhD have go too much. This is because BPD is a soft fantasy novel. It is about Alice who has to save the stories of the world by rescuing The Book Guardian from The Trojan, an evil computer virus who has kidnapped him. The Trojan wants to stop children reading stories and using their imagination. Instead he wants them to use computers so he can control them. In order to rescue the Book Guardian Alice has to actually step inside some of her favourite stories and become part of them.
Who knows what will happen next with it, maybe I will be lucky, maybe it will make it off a slush pile. But at the end of the day, I have had a great time writing it. And that makes me very happy.

Emotional writing.

 I am not talking about those times when you let emotion rule what your write (drunken texts being a prime example). Those incidents when you go back to your blog think good grief, I was down that day! And yes I know I can be just as guilty of that as anyone.

What I am talking about with emotional writing is when you are writing about something that is so gut wrenching that by the time you have finished it. You are exhausted and drained. You have lived every moment of that chapter. This is what I have done today. I have written a stand alone chapter that fits in my PhD novel. It is about an 11 year old girl called Saba (btw I have named the girl in the picture Saba too). She lived in Afghanistan until her Dad was shot. Then she and her Mum had to escape because the Taliban wanted to kill them too. Their sin - Father was a teacher who secretly ran schools for girls at nights and her Mother was a doctor, no longer allowed to practice but she would secretly run clinics for women who needed to talk to a woman.

The chapter is the story of her journey to 'freedom' in the boot of cars and the backs of lorries. However, her Mother dies during it. She is left alone. The people traffickers see a good use for her. A young virgin. There are men around who would pay a lot to play with that.

I am wrought with emotion. The story has literally just fallen out of my fingers through the keyboard and on to the screen. I have been thinking about it for quite a while but today was the day I was going to get it down. I can't go back to it yet. It is too raw and new. In a couple of days I will. I need to distance myself a bit from it.

But don't worry she is safe in the end.....but I'm not telling you how, you need to read the story ;-)

That's what writing can do. It can take you over, every part of you is living that story. It is real in your head. It is exhausting yet exhilarating. Who else can live two (or more) different lives? It is one of the pleasures and occasionally miseries of being a writer. But I wouldn't change it for anything. Enjoy your writing today, tomorrow or whenever you next get a chance to sit and imagine.

A new day

Yesterday, in case you hadn't guessed, was a horrendous day. Today, however, is a new one. A day in which I have applied for a third job, got an article ready for submission, agreed to do a workshop and remembered who I am. Though that last bit was accompanied by a fair amount of metaphorical slapping round the face and telling myself to get a grip.

Some people may think I am mad, if this comes off I will have 3 jobs, 2 novels to write, 1 journal to edit and a PhD to finish. No hassle! Bring it on. I know how can anyone make an about face like that in 24 hours? It isn't easy and I may slip back but I have remembered who I am and what I am. And I have got to stop letting others take that away from me.

A good friend sent me this poem by Adrienne Rich last night because she knew I was struggling and understood why. This was the catalyst for the reawakening. Thank you Jen and I will continue to keep my eye out for that intellectual reprobate. x

You're wondering if I am lonely:
OK then, yes, I'm lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean.

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely

If I'm lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn's first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep

If I'm lonely
it's with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it's neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, for a gift with burning

SPLAT!

Just when you think things are going ok, you are taking control again and you can see a future someone/thing sticks a few extra stairs there ready for you to trip down, falling flat on your face at the bottom. But as always you get up and start again. Trouble is every time it happens it is that bit harder to do.

I knew this week was going to be tough but it has turned to be more difficult than I could possibly of imagined. It is filled with words like menopause, single, body failure. All of which are small insignificant words in themselves but are great at removing any sense of self or womanhood.

I am still trying to find who I am now I am no longer a carer and weeks like this don't help. Hang on need to open the window as yet another hot flush springs a surprise. Why do these things all come at once. A great friend is going through similar but different issues. Today is our day for feeling sorry for ourselves. We have both lost any sense of purpose or future. To a certain extent who am I kidding doing a PhD what purpose will I serve once I have got it. Other than I can wear a very fetching floppy hat. But also it is something I have wanted for so long and I love my project I have to hope that is enough.

We will get that sense of who we are back because that is what we do. I am going to hide in a corner lick my wounds and come bouncing back as if nothing has ever happened.

So be prepared!!

Grey hairs, wrinkles and memories = this writer and her PhD

 I met up with a friend of mine who has known me for 12 years or so. This means she knew the old me as well as the new one. I haven't asked which is better in case I don't like the answer. There were tears because we are both going through some fairly life changing situations. Mine you know about if you read this blog and hers is the failure of her marriage after 20+ years. Not only were there tears but we managed to get a considerable amount of laughter out of both situations too.

But this set me thinking. It is 20 years next Friday that I became single again and was left with three children under the age 5, the youngest was just 1. It was the World Cup then too. I think England and Germany were playing on the television in the corner as my secure life fell to pieces. It is strange what you remember. At the time several people said 'Don't worry you won't be on your own for long, there will be someone round the corner.' Well folks, all I can say is it is bloody long corner. Don't get me wrong there were men I fell in love with, they never knew and I was never quite good enough for them to fall in love with me. Maybe I was too choosy.

In that 20 years I have started a business and lost it. Become disabled and found a way to keep myself very happy - writing and academe. Would I change any of this. Nope not one bit (except maybe it would have been nice if one of them had loved me back lol). All the pain and stress and laughter and happy times (of which are in the majority) have etched their mark on my face and in my hair. Each wrinkle and grey hair was hard earned. I am proud of each one because of the experience they represent makes me the writer I am. It is also my experiences probably in the second half of the 20 that formed my PhD.

What would have happened or who would I be if that night 20 years ago hadn't happened. A very unhappy woman. This friend that I was with this afternoon is beginning also to see how good her life is going to be now the shock is subsiding. She is aware now that she is no longer under the pressure she was. This doesn't mean it is going to be easy but at least she feels she has a future now.

Just so you know I am proud of ever grey hair and wrinkle (just don't make me look at them!) and I am now going to write either this paper that is hanging over me or if I am feeling really bad I might do some PhD writing ;-)

Just remember you only have one life, enjoy it, wrinkles and all

Moving fast

A scary photo. I hate pictures of myself. It never matches the perfect picture I have in my head so it is always a disappointment. The only reason I took the photo was because a friend wanted to see the new hair cut. I should have taken it yesterday when I had it first done. Ezra knows how to make it look perfect but I am learning again. I had a lot of my hair cut off yesterday for many reasons, some health related but in the main a bit of rebellion, my mother hated me having short hair! Behind me you can just see a collection of small sculptures. I fell in love with another one to add to the collection yesterday when I went to the local art gallery. This time instead of being a bird it is a yacht. It is very simple with smooth lines and the hint of a chance to escape.

This neatly takes me on to the other aspects of my life that are moving so fast. The tickets arrived for Normandy with the following as the description of where I am staying: renowned for its gastronomic restaurant (pity I can't eat!!), this ancient priory is at the quiet end of the city, overlooking the chateau. The adjoining chapel has been converted into a breakfast room and fitness suite. I am so excited, it is the first time I will have been away without worrying. I am also thrilled with the idea of bringing a deeper sense of verisimilitude to my novel.

But I have also booked my train tickets for Cambridge. I am going to give a paper at a conference there in September. I am currently fighting desperately with the said paper. I have too much to say and only have 2000 words!

I have journeys planned and a sense of freedom not felt for a very long time. The excitement just about stifles the guilt I feel about feeling so good. I am a bit old for this but feel a bit like I am a fledgling....can you get a fledgling with salt and pepper hair and more perforations than a t-bag?

Life may be moving fast but I am still managing to keep up. And I may yet have to get that yacht to add to my collection as a memento of this new freedom. :-)

Forbidden by Tabitha Suzuma

Tabitha Suzuma very kindly arranged for me to receive a review copy of her latest book Forbidden. I am going to do a review of it in the November edition of the e-journal Write4Children (www.write4children.org). It is also going to be very useful for my PhD because of the subject matter.
This review by necessity has to be brief as the full one will appear later as already mentioned. As with all of Suzuma's books it takes hold of you and dares you to put it down. You are immediately empathetic with the two main characters Lochan and Maya and they way they cope with difficult mother and keeping the home together. The illicit relationship is dealt with in such a sensitive way where as it would be so easy to sensationalise the whole thing making it crude and offensive. You cannot help but want to hug the two young people.
Tabitha Suzuma has once again weaved her magic making a story that has potential to be a car crash into something that touches your heart. Congratulations Tabitha!