Holding myself to account by Sheena Wilkinson

It can’t be a month since my last ABBA post when I promised I would use this space to hold myself to account by reporting on the progress with my memoir.

Daisy holds me to account too. 

 

I don’t feel I have done a THING except stare at my screen, type a few words, delete them, stare into space, retype them, check my emails to see if there is any word on my novel on sub (no), sigh and huff. I’m working, I snarl to my husband when he suggests a jollier plan for the day. I can’t just abandon it. Sometimes I would kind of like to. Because you know what? This is not as much fun as making stuff up. 

What I do when I am not writing. 

Last week I started an online course in memoir writing. I regularly teach on similar courses so it’s been quite strange to go back to being a student, without responsibility for anyone but myself. Except, of course, that critiquing each other’s work is part of the deal, so as well as working on my own writing I’ve been gaining an insight into what everyone else is doing, and I can tell you there are a lot of very talented people writing memoirs out there. In one way that’s encouraging – yay! Memoirs are popular! In another it sometimes makes me feel what’s the point. Who wants to read the witterings of another middle  class, middle-aged, moderately- bright, moderately-amusing-on-a-good-day white woman? I have the arrogance to assume my memoir will be good simply because I’m already a professional writer. I know it’s not that simple. 

Daisy says if your ABBA post is a bit
downbeat the least you can do is add a 
small dog in the snowdrops. 

 

But anyway, on I go because I said I would and I’m stubborn. Last month I was halfway through two chapters/essays, and fretting that there was inconsistency in the voice. I think I sorted that out, and the third chapter, about doing things – from walking in the forest to going to concerts – alone, came much more easily. I suppose, when I feel I haven’t done much, I should give myself credit for finishing those three essays and sending them all off to a competition the day before the deadline.  I’m now working on the fourth, which is about sex. I’ll be shyer about showing this to people, especially my husband who likes to believe I was a nun for 50 years – and don’t worry; I will never use my regular ABBA check-ins to share any actual content of my memoir! 

 

Next month, instead of such navel-gazing, I’ll maybe share some of the memoirs I’ve read and loved lately.  But this post has reminded me that I have actually achieved something in the last month, so thank you, ABBA, and now I shall go back to sighing and huffing.