Occasionally I dive into the world of poetry for a quick distraction, before getting back to fictional prose, where I'm more in my depth.
Here's such a moment of madness. Enjoy!
Writing
I’m every voice
Aphrodite in her heyday
At the height of her beauty
She drove men to destruction
With the lure of her eyes
I’m the ugly stepsister
Whose fate no one remembers
The coarseness of her heart
Made her unworthy of love
I’m the man who lays his head on a newspaper
Ragged, his stubble old
I’m the voice of the dead in the depth of the night
The messages whispered on to the air
I hear those
I’m the waitress, the handshake
A dark exchange of sweat
I’m coal, concrete and pavements
Shattered edges of glass
Monologues of pain hurting
Nights of love in the rain
I’m broken and I’m perfect
I’m every voice
My new book
The old book is printed, and littered with post-its that my husband has put on most pages; his comments and suggestions for revision. I'm extremely lucky to have someone go through it so thoroughly, I'm quite sure even a professional editor wouldn't give it as much attention.
But as for me, I'm still in the process of detaching, and in the meantime I've started another book, this time one about online dating, a subject I find fascinating.
I guess I have to thank one of my aunts for this fascination. She has done her fair share of online dating and lived through all kinds of situations, meeting always colorful characters. The book is going to be a series of inter-related stories, and the point of it all, I don't know, I guess the feebleness of humans and how difficult it is, for various reasons, for a person to find another person they can love.
I have written about a hundred pages of it now, though of course, once revisions are in place only about fifty of those will make the cuts.
I don't have much to show, but here's a little snippet, for the sake of putting something up.
http://www.editred.com/Uploads/st_99767_Leo_and_the_business_man
More soon!
Sylvia
The old book is printed, and littered with post-its that my husband has put on most pages; his comments and suggestions for revision. I'm extremely lucky to have someone go through it so thoroughly, I'm quite sure even a professional editor wouldn't give it as much attention.
But as for me, I'm still in the process of detaching, and in the meantime I've started another book, this time one about online dating, a subject I find fascinating.
I guess I have to thank one of my aunts for this fascination. She has done her fair share of online dating and lived through all kinds of situations, meeting always colorful characters. The book is going to be a series of inter-related stories, and the point of it all, I don't know, I guess the feebleness of humans and how difficult it is, for various reasons, for a person to find another person they can love.
I have written about a hundred pages of it now, though of course, once revisions are in place only about fifty of those will make the cuts.
I don't have much to show, but here's a little snippet, for the sake of putting something up.
http://www.editred.com/Uploads/st_99767_Leo_and_the_business_man
More soon!
Sylvia
The end of the book
So I never thought I'd say this but it looks like my book is now finished. Okay, okay, so it's not really finished. I can see myself going through it again and again (especially the beginning part, which goes on a bit) and revising, and still making it tighter and better.
But I have reached the point where I will get the entire book printed and call it a first draft. Hopefully tomorrow I will walk to the printing shop, and have it bound and made nicely into a little notebook, and shout for joy when I can finally hold it in my hands, all those hours of work. I started it in Mallorca, on a sunny eighth of January, having just read Isabel Allende's 'La suma de los dias' and borrowing her lucky book start date. I wrote first on my big dining table, which Laurie insisted on shipping over, and when the dream of Mallorca was over, I continued writing, mostly in coffee shops all over Vancouver, and sometimes at the library too. It is no more than a guess but I'm saying 400 hours of work have gone into that book, a year and a haf of never being away from it for very long. It is a huge achievement even if it never sees the inside of a bookstore, if no one ever reads it but my husband and a couple of close friends. I wouldn't have guessed I would have had the persistence to see it through crises of confidence, and life upheavals, and the surprisingly ardous job of looking after my two little ones full time.
Now, truly, ahead of me, is what is often thought the most difficult part: the knocking on doors to try to get it published. But not yet. For now I will bask in the glory of the bound copy, and place it somewhere safe and out of reach of the children, and just be happy that it's done. Tomorrow, when I leave for the library in the morning, I will start something new, and leave my book aside for a while, until such time as I can read it with something approaching detachment. At the moment, I'm far too close to it.
Happy, happy, happy,
Sylvia
So I never thought I'd say this but it looks like my book is now finished. Okay, okay, so it's not really finished. I can see myself going through it again and again (especially the beginning part, which goes on a bit) and revising, and still making it tighter and better.
But I have reached the point where I will get the entire book printed and call it a first draft. Hopefully tomorrow I will walk to the printing shop, and have it bound and made nicely into a little notebook, and shout for joy when I can finally hold it in my hands, all those hours of work. I started it in Mallorca, on a sunny eighth of January, having just read Isabel Allende's 'La suma de los dias' and borrowing her lucky book start date. I wrote first on my big dining table, which Laurie insisted on shipping over, and when the dream of Mallorca was over, I continued writing, mostly in coffee shops all over Vancouver, and sometimes at the library too. It is no more than a guess but I'm saying 400 hours of work have gone into that book, a year and a haf of never being away from it for very long. It is a huge achievement even if it never sees the inside of a bookstore, if no one ever reads it but my husband and a couple of close friends. I wouldn't have guessed I would have had the persistence to see it through crises of confidence, and life upheavals, and the surprisingly ardous job of looking after my two little ones full time.
Now, truly, ahead of me, is what is often thought the most difficult part: the knocking on doors to try to get it published. But not yet. For now I will bask in the glory of the bound copy, and place it somewhere safe and out of reach of the children, and just be happy that it's done. Tomorrow, when I leave for the library in the morning, I will start something new, and leave my book aside for a while, until such time as I can read it with something approaching detachment. At the moment, I'm far too close to it.
Happy, happy, happy,
Sylvia
The writing group
Apologies as this blog is now shamefully out of date, what with all the comings and goings of the past three months, finding our feet in Vancouver, moving in and out of new places, and generally trying to adapt to a new life come suddenly.
It’s been pleasant enough. We live by the beach, closer than we did in Mallorca, and the sun shines glorious most days, in more ways than one, somewhat to my surprise. We took the disappointment of Laurie losing his job in our stride, and went with it, and find ourselves in a good situation again, probably a better one overall. That’s probably the right way to live, riding the waves of the ups and downs as they come, swimming, yes, but with the currents and not upstream.
One of the best things about Vancouver is that I’m part of a creative writing group, and an awesome one at that. It was something I had thought about for a while, somehow starting a group and getting to meet people who write for the love of the writing, people who might look at the world a little like I do, who live in the fringes of the possible and the impossible, fiction and truth, people who try to take what they know and make it into words, so that somebody else might understand it too.
I put up the first ad because, despite the advice to try to mix in with the mums of the world, I somehow never seemed to find people I connected with- my true friends have always been few and far between, though well worth waiting for-. The writing group has turned out to be a great source of amazing people, and in fact, it all worked out much better than I could have envisioned. The talent bar is extremely high, and a process of natural selection has resulted in a very well ‘jelled’ group, where everyone is very committed to the craft and the group. I couldn’t be happier with the whole thing.
As for my novel, well, some great writer once said the editing process is much longer than the first writing. I was skeptical, but I can attest now, it’s absolutely true. To maintain a level of quality remotely fit to compete for a chance in the publishing world, A LOT of editing must be done. I read my sentences for the nuances that give the amateur away: clumsy construction, dialogue that doesn’t ring true, dealing in ‘generals’ rather than ‘specifics’, cliché and its anti-thesis, the anti-cliché, which can be just as bad. I read whole sections, nose up, sniffing for moments of boredom, moments where the plot doesn’t hold as much promise as it should. I make notes on factual things that need to be researched. How long is a train drive from London to the Lake District? How do companies decide on which advertising agency to go with?
It’s a slow process, with two children on tow, and all the duties of the full time mother that I am and can never quite convince myself I am.
It’s happening. As long as there’s progress, I’ll get there.
It was Vancouver. We once read it was rated the world's most liveable city and said we'd have to go and live there. It was just a joke, at the time. One of those absurd things. And yesterday we arrived.
I go back on that. The 'yesterday' part. I've lost all sense of time, a 10 hour flight and an endless afternoon, and then a night pitch black in the new apartment, with the children wide awake and whiny and over-excited and the adults disoriented and rather grumpy ourselves.
At seven o'clock this morning we went out to explore the new world. We saw the skyscrapers of downtown, towering and shiny new, mirrors and reflections, one against the other for kaleidoscopic possibilities. And we saw the kind of streets that they have in films, the wide American style pavements, the straight roads, neatly numbered, all arranged and prepared when humanity was already in the mood to be efficient.
There is a certain sense of 'differentness' about the place, though not as much as one might expect. The first world is much the same in my opinion, and understandable. There are shops, there are restaurants, there are uptown flats and hotels, and more trodden areas where the window shutters are cracked and the buildings in need of a refreshing coat of paint. This morning I went to a Starbucks and save a touch of extra cleanliness, I could have been in a Starbucks anywhere. Central London, in the Whiteleys shopping centre, or the one next to the Council House Extension in Birmingham. I guess that's the corporate idea, a replica of basically the same place, down to straws and napkins and light fittings, anywhere in the world. It's kind of sad that the world should go flat like this, but also, I have to admit, comforting.
We have lots to see, and many hours sleep debt to make up. We haven't fully arrived, not yet, despite having been here twenty four hours. But we're happy. Canada feels familiar enough not to be scary, and yet all new. There is a sense of civility and responsibility about the people that is quite refreshing, this is indeed the home of Caillou, a place where things run well and people can get on with their lives.
We're happy. We've made it through the packing, the selling of our things, the endless bin bags going down the lift in Palma. We've made it through the apartment search, and the paperwork, the doubts, ours and other people's, and here we are. A few hours solid sleep and we'll be good as new.
A new thing. I love new things. Vancouver.
I go back on that. The 'yesterday' part. I've lost all sense of time, a 10 hour flight and an endless afternoon, and then a night pitch black in the new apartment, with the children wide awake and whiny and over-excited and the adults disoriented and rather grumpy ourselves.
At seven o'clock this morning we went out to explore the new world. We saw the skyscrapers of downtown, towering and shiny new, mirrors and reflections, one against the other for kaleidoscopic possibilities. And we saw the kind of streets that they have in films, the wide American style pavements, the straight roads, neatly numbered, all arranged and prepared when humanity was already in the mood to be efficient.
There is a certain sense of 'differentness' about the place, though not as much as one might expect. The first world is much the same in my opinion, and understandable. There are shops, there are restaurants, there are uptown flats and hotels, and more trodden areas where the window shutters are cracked and the buildings in need of a refreshing coat of paint. This morning I went to a Starbucks and save a touch of extra cleanliness, I could have been in a Starbucks anywhere. Central London, in the Whiteleys shopping centre, or the one next to the Council House Extension in Birmingham. I guess that's the corporate idea, a replica of basically the same place, down to straws and napkins and light fittings, anywhere in the world. It's kind of sad that the world should go flat like this, but also, I have to admit, comforting.
We have lots to see, and many hours sleep debt to make up. We haven't fully arrived, not yet, despite having been here twenty four hours. But we're happy. Canada feels familiar enough not to be scary, and yet all new. There is a sense of civility and responsibility about the people that is quite refreshing, this is indeed the home of Caillou, a place where things run well and people can get on with their lives.
We're happy. We've made it through the packing, the selling of our things, the endless bin bags going down the lift in Palma. We've made it through the apartment search, and the paperwork, the doubts, ours and other people's, and here we are. A few hours solid sleep and we'll be good as new.
A new thing. I love new things. Vancouver.
Dreary England
The choices, in the end, aren't really multiple. A month on and there has been a lot more waiting than expected, far fewer news, far fewer interested companies. The world is going through some tough times, and we're, both of us, jobless. I have a book that's nearly finished but of course, nobody takes that into consideration, and why should they. I know how the publishing industry is and I'd never plan to eat off my writing.
There is a particularly insistent company that want Laurie in Banbury, even if he doesn't want them. They don't really make games, more just applications, and they want Laurie to work on something similar to Wi-Fit, if you can picture that. I know he wouldn't like, and there's nothing particularly appealing about the place, not even a university where I could do my teacher training and design some fancies about having a career post-kids. Again, writing doesn't really count, not yet, though we have high hopes.
And now for the exotic option: selling absolutely everything we have and going to live in Vancouver, rated consistently amongst the world's three most livable cities. People do this day in and day out but for us it's a tremendous step. Personally, I've never set foot outside of Europe and the whole thing excites me as adventure always does, but at the same time, ever my own devil's advocate, I worry. This is not all fun and games now with two kids to tag along wherever we go. Experimentation is all very well but some small part of me hosts a rather conservative housewife (I said a small part, okay?)
What will it be, dreary England, with Banbury and the same old, same old? A terraced house like many others and a patch of grass at the back of the house, and the school sending out integration policies for us to sign? Or the new of Vancouver, with its lights, and the glamour of a long voyage, out there, new territory, as yet unexplored?
The thrill of living, sometimes. Sometimes it gets too hard, sometimes just exhilarating.
Love to all
Sylvia
(PS. Book editing going great!)
The choices, in the end, aren't really multiple. A month on and there has been a lot more waiting than expected, far fewer news, far fewer interested companies. The world is going through some tough times, and we're, both of us, jobless. I have a book that's nearly finished but of course, nobody takes that into consideration, and why should they. I know how the publishing industry is and I'd never plan to eat off my writing.
There is a particularly insistent company that want Laurie in Banbury, even if he doesn't want them. They don't really make games, more just applications, and they want Laurie to work on something similar to Wi-Fit, if you can picture that. I know he wouldn't like, and there's nothing particularly appealing about the place, not even a university where I could do my teacher training and design some fancies about having a career post-kids. Again, writing doesn't really count, not yet, though we have high hopes.
And now for the exotic option: selling absolutely everything we have and going to live in Vancouver, rated consistently amongst the world's three most livable cities. People do this day in and day out but for us it's a tremendous step. Personally, I've never set foot outside of Europe and the whole thing excites me as adventure always does, but at the same time, ever my own devil's advocate, I worry. This is not all fun and games now with two kids to tag along wherever we go. Experimentation is all very well but some small part of me hosts a rather conservative housewife (I said a small part, okay?)
What will it be, dreary England, with Banbury and the same old, same old? A terraced house like many others and a patch of grass at the back of the house, and the school sending out integration policies for us to sign? Or the new of Vancouver, with its lights, and the glamour of a long voyage, out there, new territory, as yet unexplored?
The thrill of living, sometimes. Sometimes it gets too hard, sometimes just exhilarating.
Love to all
Sylvia
(PS. Book editing going great!)
Jane Eyre
So here I am, reading through the English classics while around me my world spins promising new landscapes, new people, and the lure of uncertainty.
It's much too late and I should be sleeping, but I've just finished reading Jane Eyre, another one of those classics by female writers, and what a book it is! I had just to write something about it whilst it's still fresh in my mind, this feeling of exhilaration on coming across genius.
I watched the film a few years ago and was sort of unimpressed. It seemed the usual tricks of sensationalist mixes: God awful schools, uncaring step-parents, lunatics and so on.
The book is nothing like that though, a well deserved classic. The pacing, the situations, the characters are right. On reading it, there is this strange feeling. You have to keep reminding yourself that it is a work of fiction, because the blend of character observation, and introspection on the part of the narration, and scene description...I don't know what it is, really, but this book lives, 150 years after it was written, in a way that most books don't even come close to. Jane Eyre seems a real person, flesh and blood. I have finished this book with the distinct impression of having learned of something real.
So much to learn. People out there so good at this craft, so accomplished, and here's little me.
As always, I keep writing, and reading. As I said in one of my very first posts, when it comes to writing, effort is no sacrifice, work is not work.
Not when there are books like Jane Eyre around.
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