When the toad 'Work' squats on your life a little too hard by Sheena Wilkinson

Like most writers, I have a lot of different jobs to balance -- the ones that pay the bills, the ones that maybe don't pay that many bills but feel right, and of course, the endless, endless admin.

When I'm really busy, in those minutes before sleep when I'd rather be thinking about my characters and my story, my brain offers me such delights as, Did you book that flight? Did you send those poems to that organisation so the students will have them for your workshop next week? Did you renew your professional Zoom?

And, regularly about the tenth of each month, Did you write your ABBA post...?

Even when I clear my diary of workshops or live events, which I always do when a deadline looms, it's still hard to escape the admin: Did they pay me for that event last month? (Come to think of it, no, they didn't. Something else to check...)

novel progress halted by Covid at the end of July 

This weekend I have written 6999 words so far, and I plan to write as many more as I need to finish the first draft of my novel by tonight. It has to be tonight, because I'm off to Mallorca in the morning. This will be only the second 'beach' holiday I've had in my 55 years of life and after writing a first draft (almost) in three months, with a few weeks off for Covid and a busy conference in London, I feel very ready for kindle, beach and possibly not much else. 

crazy weekend!

I'm sharing this for several reasons. One, I spend a lot of time teaching students about the process of writing, and how important it is to find the time for it. Two, this is literally all I can think of to write about in a weekend that's mostly been about hurtling to the end of a very very messy first draft. Of course I could go on holiday with the draft unfinished -- but how much more I'll enjoy it if I don't. 

Back to the desk -- not that I ever left it! 

The Best-Laid Plans .... by Sheena Wilkinson

March

Sheena to Sheena:

 Ooh, I can’t wait to get my manuscript delivered next month and then I can write ALL THE THINGS!!! ALL THE SHINY NEW THINGS!!!!!

all the ideas! 

April

Sheena to Sheena:

Hooray! I've delivered my book, and you know what, I feel kind of exhausted.  I feel almost as if I have been writing books non-stop for over ten years, and using all the time I'm not doing events and things to write more books*. I feel like the girl in The Red Shoes -- scared to stop dancing, only in my case it's writing. 

*That's because I HAVE been writing books non-stop for ten years, etc. 

May

Sheena to Sheena:

OMG! I have had the BEST idea. I'm going to take the summer off! I am going to STOP DANCING/WRITING and let myself recover. I am going to walk and run, and play my guitar and spend more time with the people I love, and go on holidays and just BE. I can't wait. 

more of this kind of thing, thank you

June

Publisher to Sheena:

Um, we kind of hate your book. We think it needs a MAJOR REWRITE

Sheena to Sheena (three seconds later):

They are WRONG!

Sheena to Publisher (a day later):

Oh, that is rather deflating. But of course I will look at your concerns with interest and an open mind.

Sheena to Sheena (a day later):

Hell! They are RIGHT! This needs a MAJOR REWRITE

some cheerful ice cream cones to distract from beastliness of rewriting 

July

Sheena to Sheena:

This is HARD WORK. This is not the summer I planned. But this is going to be a much better book. Thank God for such good publishers. 

August

Sheena to Sheena:

Another draft done! Phew! Time for a quick holiday before the final draft. What a relief!

the forest that keeps me sane while I write...and rewrite... 

OMG! ABBA post due. What on earth can I write about...?

How long should art last? - Lari Don

When I write a draft of a story, I am starting a process that I hope will result in a printed book, an object that will last forever. When I first start to tell a traditional tale out loud, I am developing a performance that I hope will become a long-term part of my repertoire of stories.

Sometimes a draft falls apart, sometimes a folktale or legend doesn’t grab the audience the way I hoped it would. So not all my time and effort and creativity goes into something that lasts. But I always start off hoping that it will. Except, it turns out, when I’m on holiday...

This summer, on holiday in Orkney, my family and I found a geo cutting into the coast of a small tidal island, which was filled with small stone sculptures.

We decided to join in with this community enterprise and use the flat and rounded stones lying on the shore to build our own sculptures.

Most passing sculptors had tried to find safe places to create their art. Far up the narrow beach, or high up the steep cliffs (a safe place for the stones, but surely not a safe place to build!). Somewhere that their creations would last, for at least a while.

But I walked right down to the water’s edge. I spent half an hour putting all my creativity and thought into selecting the perfect stones to build something that I expected, that I HOPED, would be knocked down by the first strong wave of the next high tide. I did this entirely deliberately. I tried to build something that was attractive and satisfying. But also unstable, and below the tide line.

Why?

Because I was on holiday, and I didn’t want to make anything permanent.

I wanted to let my brain create without worrying about audience or permanence, without trying to make it perfect for ever. I wanted to create something which was specifically designed to be temporary.

And that challenged me to think about the permanence of art, and whether caring about the longevity of the work you are doing stops you noticing the process of creating it and enjoying the moments of its present time because you are thinking too much about its future.

 And it forced me to consider whether ANY attempt to create permanent art is doomed to disappointment (the sun is going to burn out eventually, after all.) So my hope in the first line of this blog for books that last forever is probably naïve...

And it showed me that planned obsolesce is surprisingly difficult – it wasn’t easy to build something that wouldn’t fall down the moment I stepped away, but would fall down very soon.

And it amused me.

And it also freed me up.

But I wonder if I could have deliberately created something with no future, if I had been building with words...

(And I now realise that taking photos of the resulting temporary creation, means that it wasn’t temporary after all!  But it was my first time... )

Lari Don is the award-winning author of more than 20 books for all ages, including fantasy novels for 8 – 12s, picture books, retellings of traditional tales, a teen thriller and novellas for reluctant readers. 

Lari’s website 

Lari’s own blog

Lari on Twitter

Lari on Facebook

Blurred Lines and Holidays

It’s three years since I gave up the day job. Three years since I had a monthly pay cheque. People ask me how my life has changed, and how I manage to live on less than half what I was used to. My standard answer is that I don’t buy as much as I used to, that I use the library more, and that I’ve given up holidays. But you’re always away! they reply. Yes, but it’s always work, I say. 

But I realised this week that that’s not strictly true, and that the line between work and play is blurry. Take this summer. I’ve been away three times, if we count being off the island of Ireland as ‘away’, and every time it has been officially ‘work’; yet every time it has been, not only hugely enjoyable, but a chance to connect and reconnect with writer and reader friends from all over the UK.

Charney Manor: hard work spending time here 

First there was Charney, the Scattered Authors summer conference/retreat in Oxfordshire. Definitely work, as this was the second year I helped organise the programme, with Lee Weatherly. But play too – as there always is when a group of authors gets together. Charney is about friendships made and renewed. The first time I went I knew two people; this year I knew almost everyone, and those I didn’t know then, I know now.

Then there was my ten-day trip to the south-west of England. Oh, mostly work, I assure you – I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was frivolous. Well…the Bristol conference sounded like work, but how hard can it be spending a weekend with fellow book-enthusiasts, delivering a talk about the way I used girls’ school stories in my novel Name Upon Name?

Yes; this was really hard work. 

I went on from there to Totleigh Barton, Arvon’s Devon centre. Sometimes I go to Arvon in a definite work capacity, to tutor or to look after my group of young Belfast writers, but this time I was a student, learning to write radio drama, something I’ve always been interested in. It was HARD WORK and very intensive, but I may have enjoyed it just a little.

After that, it was off to the Exmoor Pony Centre to meet Charney chum Victoria Eveleigh and take part in a Pony Author Event. Hard, hard work, of course: talking about my first three books and meeting book/pony enthusiasts. And there were cream scones and ponies. I told you it was work. I’ll admit the last two days of the trip were pure holiday – staying with Victoria on her Exmoor farm, driving over the moors, seeing Exmoor ponies and big herds of deer, cuddling dogs and a cat, and riding a beautiful ex-racehorse. I felt I was living in a pony book. But lest I imagined I was there for fun, we did squeeze in a lunch with author Claire Barker, for very solemn book talk.

Extremely hard work on Exmoor

And yesterday I had to fly to Edinburgh for the day to meet my new publishers to talk about Street Song, out next year. 100% work. But it would have been rude to have been there and not meet up with local writer pals. Purely in the cause of serious state-of-the-industry talk, you understand.

Not even pretending to work with Eve Harvey and Helen Grant

It makes sense, financially, for me to combine work and pleasure. But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to work out where one ends and the other starts.

And most of the lovely people I spent time with this summer were people I didn’t know until I started writing. It’s the loneliest of jobs in some ways (not as lonely as lighthouse-keeper, I grant), and in others, the most convivial.

Thanks for the hospitality/fun/chat/laughs/support, everyone, and remember you’re all welcome in here County Down. Though not all at the same time.

Summer Days and Writing Ways by Eve Ainsworth

If I told you that this post nearly didn’t get written, would you be surprised? Those of you that know me wouldn’t. The fact was, I was lying on the beach, having my feet buried in a ton of wet sand when suddenly my brain clicked into gear.

“What date is it?” I asked my husband.

“The 9^th. Why?”

“The 9^th!” I jumped up spraying sand everywhere (most notably in my poor husband’s eyes) “It can’t be! I’m sure it’s only the 2^nd or 3^rd? Oh my god, I’ve got an ABBA post to write!”

“Abba?” He looked genuinely confused. “But you hate that group?”

(NB: I don’t hate the group but don’t I certainly don't love them enough to blog about them!)

“Oh god! Where have the days gone?”

Because that’s the truth of it. Summer comes, my kids are mine again full-time and my brain turns to putty. I no longer have routine. I barely know what day of the week it is, let alone the date - and my diet consists of ice cream and squashed picnic sandwiches. My poor work diary is buried under a pile of kids’ drawings and my Twitter feed is full of amusing kids’ quips rather than interesting writing facts. I’m no longer on writing forums. Instead I’m pleading for help on Facebook, asking where to take two high-energy bickering kids in the rain.

And writing. Huh? What’s that? I managed to squeeze some editing in while they bounced like deranged Tiggers on the trampoline, and I scrawl down ideas where I can. But in the main my mummy-autopilot is on. All I’m capable of saying is “don’t touch that!”, “please don’t hit” and “that doesn’t belong up your nose.”

Just last week I was standing at the cashpoint, one child tugging at my coat screaming “why can’t we put the paddling pool up?” the other child was circling on her bike whining “I’m bored” in a manner that drills insistently into your brain. A woman walked past me and gave me a wry look, “school holidays, eh?” She’d been there. She wore the scars. A day later the same child managed to get himself lost in a shop. After minutes of frantic calling, I found him posing as a shop dummy. I think my blood pressure had gone up a huge amount. I collapsed at home exhausted. I couldn’t bring myself to write Twitter update, let alone part of my novel.

 

 

                                                             (Spot the real kid!)

 

 

But Summer Holidays aren't all bad. I mean, yes the kids do frustrate me with their constant fighting and I do miss the freedom to write at 10am with no Tom and Jerry in the background. But when I do write it's good. And it's kind of more satisfying.  I just have to be more disciplined, like I was when I worked full time. I have to write in the small windows of time when they are eating their tea or are tucked up in bed. It’s smaller time slots, but it helps to keep me focused. I also plan to write a lot when we go to Devon. Long evenings with no TV should encourage me. It’s either that or endless games of Monopoly.

I've also enjoyed weekly trips to the library as my seven year old daughter tackles her first Summer Reading Challenge. Watching her curl up on the grass with another new book is wonderful. Actually it's one of the best things ever. Another reason why our library service is so vital.  

Soon the summer will be over and my writing routine will restart and I’ll miss the time with my kids. Which I guess, goes to show, it’s all about striking that balance.

 And ensuring you make the best of whatever time you have.

 

Eve Ainsworth is the author of 7 Days (Scholastic) a novel about bullying from two perspectives. Crush will be out March 2016.

 

Curry and frits - Anne Rooney

This weekend was a Bank Holiday weekend, and I actually had a holiday! That might sound odd to non-writers. The whole point of weekends and Bank Holidays is not to work. But for writers, they are useful catching-up time, when editors are not at their desks, sending out hassling emails and beckoning to deadlines to hurry up and come closer. What to do with a whole, long weekend off? Run away!


I took the bus to Oxford and had a lovely long tea and bookish chat with another children's writer, Susie Day. She is outgoing sys admin for the Girls Heart Books joint blog and I am incoming sys admin. That was the excuse.

But really we just had a good natter in the upstairs of the Turl Street Kitchen. It's a great place for writers who want to lounge around. The downstairs is all smart and full of people who own jumpers without holes in. The upstairs is shabby chic with emphasis on the shabby - disintegrating mismatched sofas, scattered around a high-ceilinged Georgian sitting room. It's occupied mostly by students (and children's writers).

Occasionally a real member of the public wanders in and perches nervously on the edge of a sofa, drinks their tea quickly and leaves. They don't know how to lounge properly. They probably have shopping to do or important meetings to go to. Susie and I discussed the merits of writing teen Neanderthal romance and stretched one cup of tea/coffee to an indecently long stay.

Refreshed and ready for the next bus, I went off to stay with another children's writer, Mary Hoffman. She makes a fine dinner, and is an excellent hostess. We drank prosecco and talked all evening to a lovely man whose name I can't spell who used to be a literature professor. More bookish chat, but no Neanderthals this time.

The next day I had lunch with my Big Bint in another favourite Oxford haunt, the Jericho Cafe - and discovered yet again that if I type Jericho into my phone it defaults to Lesbian. That cafe is quickly becoming known as the Lesbian Cafe and they will never know why... Then BB's partner showed me his wonderful college library (Lincoln College), with its chandeliers and stunning arched windows. He wins the 'I have the best library' contest. Big dose of library-envy. (Follow the link to that photo and you will immediately feel compelled to apply to Lincoln College, Oxford.) The library trip might have been revenge, as I had just shown BB my Natural History Museum Library card, a recent acquistion of which I am inordinately proud. To deal with the library-envy I had to spend lots of time and money in Blackwell's buying books.

Back at Mary's we had curry and beer and bookish chat and gossip, messed about with her website, and poked in an editorial fashion at the anthology she's editing.

More of the same the next day, plus a visit to fritillary day at Ducklington. A splendidly rural English event, this consists of walking round a field looking at the flowers. The flowers are probably pretty surprised by this. There they are, living quietly in their field, not provoking anyone, and suddenly hordes of humans galumph in and stare at them. If I were a fritillary, I think I'd be pretty miffed about it. But the good people of Oxfordshire don't give a fig for the rights of fritillaries and the frits had to endure it.

... and home. Working on the bus to and from Oxford is a total of seven hours' work. Add the writerly chat and the desultory editorial and website-poking and I did more than a full day's work over that so-called weekend off. But at least it felt like a holiday.

I guess writers don't really do holidays. We just do the same things in a different place and with a holiday attitude. So, what did *you* do on your holiday?

Anne Rooney (aka Stroppy Author)
PS - I don't mean to imply that Susie doesn't own any jumpers without holes in. But I don't.