Manifesto, by Saviour Pirotta

Hi guys, it's been a scramble trying to think what I can post about this month. My father's passing last November threw my writing schedule well out of kilter and I'm still struggling to meet deadlines four months later.  So here's a little manifesto I wrote for myself at my father's bedside. It's a bit twee in places but as Norma Desmond said in Sunset Boulevard, "I wrote it with my heart'.

How to remember Christmas - by Lu Hersey

It’s that time of year again. A few days off and you might think you’re going to be able to finish a draft or a book edit, or maybe get some brilliant new ideas jotted down on paper. Well, forget it now. You won’t. Or at least, I won’t. December is basically sabotaged by a logistical nightmare called Christmas.

I was talking to my father earlier, trying to pin down the size of the turkey we needed while listening to his lugubrious ‘if I’m spared’ remarks about his chances of making it to Christmas dinner. He’s 90, so I guess it’s fair enough, but I felt like screaming Dad, it’s less than two weeks away, and we seriously need to talk about the turkey. Just try and live another ten days, and I’ll do the rest!

While we were discussing life, possible death and turkeys, he told me there were only two Christmases in his entire life that he really remembered. One was when he was doing national service and his ship was moored in Penang - he spent Christmas by a swimming pool at a rubber plantation, with a gibbon wrapped around his neck. The other was when he was a boy, and the house next door caught fire. He and my grandfather rushed out to watch the flames shooting out of next door’s roof, leaving my grandmother to wrestle with the turkey.

Anyway, it got me thinking about the whole business of Christmas and how one turkey Christmas dinner generally blurs into another. It’s only when something different happens that you remember it. One of my daughters is in Australia this year, and sent me a picture of a dawn trip to a deserted beach, where Kangaroos were boxing. She’ll remember that for the rest of her life, and I’m really pleased she’s having that experience and not worrying about the impracticalities of turkey to oven ratios.

I asked my other kids (all adult now) if there were any Christmases they remembered from childhood. Apparently the one that stood out was the one when I didn’t realise the turkey gall bladder had burst into the gravy, and ruined everyone’s Christmas lunch by pouring it over their plates for them (they were too young to pour it themselves). Pfft. All I can say is at least it made for a memorable Christmas, and they learnt the true meaning of the phrase ‘bitter as gall’.

Gallstones are surprisingly attractive. (This has nothing to do with turkeys, but it's interesting)

I polled a number of writer friends to find out if other families fared any better. One told me that she and her daughter decided one year to ban family altogether, and just do what they wanted. They went swimming in the morning and had fish for lunch – and had the best Christmas ever. I have to say, this made me feel envious. No wrestling with family feuds and giant turkeys sounds like heaven.

Swimming on a freezing Christmas day is a popular pastime

Christmases from childhood that people remembered were either ones where they got amazing presents (bicycles featured a lot here) or books that changed their lives (ALL writers get excited by books) – or those disappointing Christmases when the truth about Father Christmas was finally revealed (one writer told me she was six when her father came into the room with a pillow case on his head - which sounds even spookier than seeing an old man with a white beard and a herd of reindeer…)

Books like these made many a memorable childhood Christmas

Christmases spent abroad cropped up in several accounts – like Sally Nicholls, who at 18 spent her Christmas working in a hospital in Japan. Although Christmas wasn’t celebrated there, on Christmas day she and some fellow expats put on a variety show for the patients, including renditions of English songs translated into Japanese. She can still sing ‘Gloop, gloop went the little green frog one day’ in Japanese, proving it was definitely a Christmas to remember.

Romance makes for a Christmas to remember too. HuwPowell  proposed to his (now) wife on Christmas Day, and Jenny Sullivan’s (now) husband spent three hours trying to get her father on his own one crowded family Christmas to ask for her hand in marriage. Apparently it's also a lovely time to discover you're having a baby, even if it means you can’t drink (possibly another reason these Christmases were remembered better than others...)

Last but not least, the magic of a white Christmas. Several people found snow falling at Christmas made it particularly memorable (it doesn’t ever snow here in the West Country at Christmas, so I may need to drive north one year to experience this…).

As it turns out, no one I asked said that writing or editing their book made for a memorable time, so think I’ll abandon that idea right now. Too late to book a trip to Oz for a beach bbq, but am hoping to make this a Christmas to remember without ruining the gravy – and hope you all have a good one too. Maybe we can compare notes in January…

Lu Hersey
www.luhersey.com
Twitter: @LuWrites

A Sense of Belonging - Eve Ainsworth

I went to a funeral this week for a well loved and respected neighbour. He’d lived in my small close for 40 years and in all that time had built a reputation as a kind, caring gentleman, a man who had time for his neighbours, who would stop you at his garden gate and ask how your day was. He’d always have time for a smile and a wave. In essence, he always made you feel better.

During the wake I got to meet the many people that had come to pay their respects. The majority spoke of years gone by, when the entire street was an open house and everyone felt like part of a community. As one lady said “you could never feel lonely. Or unsafe. We looked after each other.”

During the day I got chatting to current neighbours that I’d only nodded to briefly in the past. I was still relatively new to the street, as most of these people had lived in their houses for many years. It was lovely to have the opportunity to really talk to them, without rushing past and find out people’s backgrounds and histories. By the end of the day, not only did I have new friends, but a street party had been organised to raise money for charity and to reunite our small community further.

I went home glowing, feeling part of something which, considering how bleak the country had felt lately, was a great thing.

Later this week I found I was struggling with various other things. My writing wasn’t going as I’d hoped and the self-doubt monster was biting my neck again, forcing me to believe those deeply negative thoughts – those ones that take over and consume you if you let them.

I spoke to a writer friend, who was immediately on hand with reassuring words and a helpful kick in the butt. And it helped, it really did – because, as we know, writing can be a lonely, isolating activity.

In the past I have turned to others in the industry, to friends in writing communities who are there to dispense advice, wisdom and jokes as required.

It’s made me realise just how important these communities are. Just like my neighbours, writing communities can be there to reassure, give you a sense of belonging and also remind you of the important things – like laughter, love and wine.

So today, against a backdrop of political difficulties ahead of us, I will be raising a glass. And I will be loudly thanking those that make our lives that little brighter.

Let’s keep the light shining.

Eve Ainsworth is the author of Crush and 7 Days (Scholastic)  7 Days was nominated for the 2015/16 Carnegie Medal and was winner of the Dudley Teen Prize and FAB Books Prize 2016