Polish up my skills - Eve Ainsworth

In January I got a very exciting but scary email from my editor. My Publisher in Poland wanted me to visit for their book fairs in May – they were really keen to have me over. My first reaction was total shock – ‘what me? Seriously?’, ‘Have you got the right person here?’ My second reaction was a tiny drip feed of panic that always passes through me when anything new or exciting happens.

People who know me, know about my anxiety. It doesn’t take over my life as such – but it is enough to keep me in a fairly static and safe routine. I’ve never travelled very far, let alone flown by myself, and I’m a hopeless over-thinker – worrying about every possible outcome or awful eventuality that could happen to me - including getting lost in the airport, losing my luggage, getting lost in Poland or accidently packing liquids/drugs/TNT in my hand luggage and being arrested at Heathrow (yes, this was a real concern!)

So although I was really excited by my invitation, the tiny trickles of dread were starting to filter through me. Those horrible questions:  Could I cope? Would it all go wrong? Would I end up letting people down? Would I ruin it all?  Would it be easier just to say no and continue with my normal plans and let them invite someone a little less, well, kooky?

Thankfully, I ignored my negative, annoying thoughts. Thankfully I said yes.

Last month, I packed up and flew out to Warsaw. I was bloody anxious, I had lists for most eventualities and a million books packed to help me through. I nearly broke my back carrying my case as a result, but needs must!

And I can honestly say it was one of the most special times in my life.

There were hiccoughs. My son fell ill while I was away and I ended up having a painful conversation on the phone as he sobbed  through his snot about how much he missed me. I managed to sprain my ankle, not looking where I was going, and spent a few days nursing an attractive swelling. And on the very first day I discovered I’d only packed one shoe – so spent most of the trip wearing my heavy, clunky boots - much to the amusement of my hosts.

But, the upsides were amazing.

For one thing. Warsaw is such a beautiful place. It is truly breath-taking. Spacious, clean and green and so much history still to be found despite the total devastation caused by World War Two. Three days weren’t enough. I want to go back and explore some more.

For another I was made to feel so welcome by the wonderful hosts and the lovely, friendly people of Warsaw. I was well looked after, nothing was too much trouble.

The food. OMG the food! The picture says it all. I wanted to take the dumplings home with me. In fact I nearly did, but I feared arrest at Heathrow again (is a dumpling counted as a liquid?)

And the readers! How lovely was it to meet international readers of my book! That really was a dream come true.

So the moral of my brief international trip is that fears can be conquered. Yes, I’m still just as neurotic. I have a trip to Birmingham this week and I’m still making lists, thinking through every possible outcome. But I now know I can do these things. And with every new achievement, I feel a sense of pride, relief and a knowledge that I don't have to be held hostage by anxiety,

And that is one of the best feelings of all.

Driving Myself MAD - by Eve Ainsworth

 

I’m currently learning to drive. God help the human race.

I’m doing this for a number of reasons:

 

• I need to be more independent and able to get to places in the middle of nowhere without relying on the goodwill of others.

• I want to be able to take my kids to places that I can’t at the moment.
• I want to be able to do some school visits without having to rely on three trains, a tram and a taxi ride.
• I hate buses.

The fourth point was reinforced when a bus driver kindly pulled in to the bus stop, and then immediately pulled out again, despite the fact I was standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM, leaving me and two kids stranded into torrential rain. I decided at that moment enough was enough and I needed to get my act together and learn to drive.

To be honest, I’m not very good at it. I’m obviously not a natural born diver. But going through the motions has made me realise that there are some similarities between driving and trying to write a new book:

• At first everything is overwhelming. You look around your new car/blank page and you haven’t got a clue where to begin. It’s scary. You wonder why the hell you’re doing this.
• You start. You stutter. The gears stall/your keys clunk. You keep messing up. You feel rubbish. You stall at a major roundabout or freeze during a manoeuvre in a busy street. Meanwhile as a writer you are stalling at chapter three, looking grimly at your work – you can’t remember how to write a sentence. You hate it all. You delete six pages.
• You see everyone else driving much faster and better than you, you feel inferior and inexperienced and stuck in the slow lane. Other ‘not so nice’ drivers flash and overtake you. You wonder why you are doing this at all. As a writer, you see others get their books published/win awards/ get new deals – they all seem to be doing better than you, and you worry that you’re not good enough.
• Other people will start to tell you how you should drive your car better, how you should ‘do your test now’ and ‘just get on with it’. Other people will question why it is taking you so long to learn in the first place. They will ask why they haven’t seen you out on the road yet and make you feel cross.  As a writer, the other people will also question you – they will ask you why you ‘only write children’s books’ and tell you of ways that you can make more money. They will ask why they haven’t seen your book in their bookshop and make you feel cross.
• As you drive a bit more, your confidence lifts a little, but then you make a big mistake - you pull out in front of another driver and it shakes and you want to give up. As a writer your confidence grows a little whilst writing and then you hit a block. You can’t find your way round it and it shakes you. You want to give up.
• You finally put in for a test. You fail. You finally submit your novel. You’re rejected.
• After lots of tears, sleepless nights and biscuit consumption – you pass your test. You feel happy, overwhelmed and shocked. You suffer imposter syndrome. After lots of tears, sleepless nights and biscuit consumption your book is accepted. You feel happy overwhelmed and shocked. You suffer imposter syndrome.
• You continue writing/driving with mixture of excitement and anticipation. Glad you did it, but well aware to avoid any pot holes that might be awaiting you.

Can I just add that I haven’t actually passed my test yet, I’m just imagining what it feels like!

Does anyone else agree with this analogy?

 

 

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

The Tale of Two Labours - Eve Ainsworth

It dawned on me the other day that writing is very similar to raising children. Bear with me on this, it may sound crazy, but there are parallels.
I guess it goes without saying that I'm a mother - a bit obvious I guess and a bloody tired one at that. I'm not your 'Earth-woman' type. I hated NCT classes and physically recoiled if anyone pushed a childcare manual my way, but somehow, god knows how, I managed to raise two, slightly quirky but still very beautiful-to-me children.

One of my bundles of joy...













I guess my writing is quite similar. I wasn't particularly academic (never had the concentration), I hated reading any 'how-to' manuals, but somehow, god knows how, I managed to produce a book.

And the coincidences do not end there. I noted the following:

• I fell pregnant the first time and it was a bright and exciting moment (this was long before the morning sickness and other uglies kicked in). You are full of hope and wonder. The world seems a bright and exciting place. You start writing an idea down, it's the same - bright and exciting. You can't stop thinking about it. It's alive and growing.  Everything is good.
• In pregnancy you think of names. You toil with the absurd and the traditional. Something might grab you and stick. In the early stages of writing, you might gift your book with a title. For me It has to have one. I can't physically write without it. And it has to be right. This has caused me serious neurosis.
• In both pregnancy and writing you grow. Pregnancy is pretty obvious, especially with my cravings for deep fried chicken and waffles. In writing, if you're like me, you'll eat constantly - grazing like a demented sheep. Crumbs will litter your keyboard like scabby snow. I know this because my bum has slowly expanded to the size of a cow.
• Then birth, the agonising labour. Sweating and cursing to get that baby free from you.Not so dissimilar to the sweating and cursing at the last stages of the first draft. You start shouting at people (my husband in both cases) and you wonder why the hell you bothered in the first place.
• Then relief. Love. A feeling of satisfaction - achievement perhaps?
• That's until the sleepless nights kick in. After childbirth, the baby whines and moans. After drafts, it's me whining and moaning as I wait for feedback. I rethink sentences at night, torturing myself, wondering if I did enough.
• A slow sense of worry claws at you. You wonder if you're actually any good at this, as you plaster the nappy on backwards (yes, I did do that...). Or re-read your book and hate EVERY SINGLE WORD.
• You look at other writers/mothers. Why do they seem so 'together'. Why are their babies perfect and behave like they should. How do they manage to write so beautifully. Why can't your writing be like that?  
• The baby is growing, the baby smiles and you feel good again. As you edit, your book is becoming stronger. You re-read a bit you love and feel good again.
• Someone tells you how beautiful/well behaved your baby is and you glow. A blogger/reader tells you how wonderful your book is and you glow.
• You look at the finished product with a sense of pride. You want to tell the world about it.This is what you wanted. This is what you must always remind yourself.

I guess the most important thing of all is that either in writing, or in children - or perhaps both, we have left some kind of legacy. Some sort of stick in the ground.
Although as I watch my little boy trying to walk backwards with a cat basket on his head....this could be a very wobbly stick indeed.