It is June 2024.The wallpaper table has been slid from under the sofa and set up on its spindly legs along the hall. A tall bar stool, tucked in below, strengthens the weak hinges. I have to tell you that this frail table has never indicated that decorating is taking place. It is a signal that a serious sorting-out task is underway in the house.
Over the years, the table has been used for all sorts of practical purposes: assembling packs of quiz questions; counting out colouring sheets; organising muddled pens, pencils and art materials; collecting book donations on their way to Oxfam, and even for checking name badges for children’s book celebrations.
However, right now, the wallpaper table has been set up to help with the Big Cull. I have decided that it is time to discard lots of the ‘work stuff’ that gathered in my work room before the current paper-free era arrived.
I am spreading out stuff, box by box, and in true Mari-Kondo style, looking for the items that ‘spark joy’, those that needs to be discarded and those that items that have simply been hanging around too long. Try to think of my project as the Art of Swedish Death Cleaning crossed with Stacey Solomon Sorts Your Life Out, but taking place in my hall, with a wallpaper table instead of a vast warehouse.
Crates full of pre-digital packs hold all the stages of the book in process: there are scribbled drafts, submitted m/s, paper roughs, colour roughs, completed cover work, all leading up to the rough proofs, final proofs and then. at last, the book arriving - fingers crossed - as an object of success and delight.
My culling method is to go slow, to allow for the extra emotion and to almost pretend it isn’t happening. I might let one pack go, then another, and, maybe, a day later another. I am hanging on to the packs of my best-loved projects, but once I’ve done a due amount of shrugging and sighing, some of them might go. After all, I do have the books themselves, don’t I? And that’s all that matters?
I found it easy to discarding the box of official slips, automatically sent with my ten free ‘on publication’ copies. These marked the time when school visits could mean book sales, rather than merely accompanying Book Fairs. Mixing up ‘free’ copies with one’s own bought-in book-stock was an accounting peril and I have now escaped. As I cast the slips into a large rubbish bin, I wonder if, somewhere, I still have a tiny tin of 1p coins, ready to give out as change for that awkward £+ 99p pricing.
Oh dear. Table or no table, there will be some days of chaos ahead. Bags and bundles sit under the wallpaper table or beside it, until each one’s contents are spread out across the top of the table and along the wooden box opposite it in the hall. I do not want any visitors arriving during my very Big Cull.
The most poignant are the mementos from school and library visits. I feel sad about casting out samples of children’s writing, their letters, pictures, class anthologies, as well as art work, photos of wall displays, and more.
I ponder over sentimental items: a rosette from a book festival in Delhi, a booking for an author trip to schools in Menton, ticket stubs for flights to Cyprus, and more. I sigh nostalgically over the sets of stories collected for certain historic sites, remembering events at Souter Lighthouse, Cherryburn Farm, East Riddlesden Hall, Fountains Abbey and several book festivals. The reverie ends when I come across my possibly last-ever booking form, and shrug.
I don’t think I am that sort of Visiting Author any longer: I have stepped away from dawn starts, endless rush hour driving and five or six session days. Though, there are 'virtual school visit' options now, the face might not work so well at a projected size. I’m happy enough to be doing Story-times at the local library, ten minutes walk from my home.
But back to the work on that wobbly table! I will deal with the simplest categories first, and allow myself time for coping with the harder stuff. In any case, listening to favourite music, especially the more cheerful kind, makes the work of the Great Discarding that much easier. Who else will ever want this stuff, Penny? Or have room for it? Be practical here!
Over
the days, some old
written work has risen to the surface: various scribbles, drafts,
re-workings, as well as odd poems and wodges of novels or ideas I was
in love with for a while. Maybe
the space appearing on the shelves will allow me the mental room to
create once more? Who knows? I
hesitate over the
half-made manuscripts,
just in case the words might still have life in them and
put them aside for
later. I think about the one currently resting, and whether it is worth, now, finishing.
Then comes a bright moment. As I stand in the hall, clearing away the clutter around the wall-paper table, I start thinking about and silently thanking all those people who have helped me in my writing life.
All those signatures that once mattered: all those commissioning editors, editors, illustrators, designers, publicity people, agents, agencies and all the other contacts. I remember all those who helped with the visits too: the people working in the bookshops, the libraries, for literacy initiatives, book organisations and as festival organisers, as well as all the school staff who arranged my visits on top of their own daily work.
Though I have often felt alone as an author, there is, in truth, a whole network of people around you out there in the world of books. And, in particular, I’d think of the support and generosity of so many in our strange tribe, and the gifts that are one’s own writing friends.
Oh well, back to that wallpaper table, and onwards. Have a very good June!
Penny Dolan
