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“If it bleeds, it leads,” is proved by the awful headlines splashed across the news daily – but the terrible bleeding away of the public and school library services seems to be almost invisible.
There’s no gory red stuff on show, no heart-rending images to display, so even as financial axes have been slashing and cutting - and are now being freshly re-sharpened, there’s little response in the news media.
Library cuts don’t make for sustained headlines or passionate press campaigns. Even the reports on cuts to Birmingham’s showcase library – the one that was supposed to be the glory of that authority’s much pruned provision - had a world-weary touch of “what else did you expect?”
In honour of the Great Austerity, central government cut all regional funding so steeply that councils have little money to support essential services. However, because the funds are now in regional and local hands, the government can raise its political eyebrows and say it’s not their fault when those cuts hit home. With community centres, care of the elderly and more being hacked away, the idea of a library service comes across as almost luxurious. Books rather than bedpans? Pages of text rather than playful toddlers? You elistist!
There have already been cuts and casualties: the closure of 324 libraries, the handing over of 400 more to volunteers, and the loss of 6,000 staff jobs since 2011 - and probably many more. Statistics have a way of being out of date by the time they appear. However, the cuts planned for 2015 – possibly concealed by both the noise and the silence leading up to the election – will be truly severe.
Furthermore, librarians are not, I heard elsewhere, allowed to comment on the matter. Most I know are desperate to keep their library services running in a positive way - but how hard to do that against the onslaughts of rationalisation; hours reduced means usage reduced means less need. Isn't that how it works?:
Visiting my local library, in the centre of a prosperous conference town, as well as the “middle class readers”, I see elderly people on their own, families with young children, students working at the few tables, newly arrived immigrants and more: people to whom the library service is essential.
Lucy Mangan, writing recently in the Guardian, mentioned the Independent Library report that Ed Vaisey – not a name trusted by many – commissioned a couple of years ago. He asked William Seighart to investigate the current state and possible future of libraries. According to this report, 35% of people in England use their local libraries, rising to 50% among poorer and immigrant groups.. The report points out that “The [socioeconomic] AB group, who run the country and the media, don’t use libraries. They do not understand how vital they are, or how many social problems they deal with.”
Hooray for Lucy for even writing about libraries, though she suggests a far more optimistic picture of the future library service than I’m witnessing. Meanwhile, too many of the pitilessly bright political and media folk seem to be giving a cultural shrug, happy to disregard the damage being done to the libraries. After all, there’s still the London Library isn’t there? And everyone has wikipedia on the computer at home, don’t they? Or is there, somewhere, a belief that stripping the library service of its assets until it is unsustainable is a valid thing to do? Or is this another version of “the poor don’t deserve libraries” attitude of the past? What do you think of that, Andrew Carnegie?
Of course, damage isn’t called damage. It is presented as a “new model”, given a fresh positive spin. Here in North Yorkshire, people are being “consulted” about new library service proposals, because by 2020 this County Council’s library budget will be half what it was in 2010. How about where you live?
I, being lucky, live near what is proposed as the “core”library for my district. (Less lucky are the many library staff losing their jobs under these proposals.) There will be one core in each of the seven districts of this large and often rural county, acting as an “engine”; advising the remaining libraries, says the document.
What “remaining libraries”? Five “hybrid” libraries will remain in towns where there are large and busy daytime populations. Each will have access to a librarian but be run by volunteers. Will the librarian be based at the library? Not necessarily. Is this one of the now very few librarians back at the core? Yes.
The rest will remain, but not as we know them. They will be become twenty “community libraries”, where not only the running but the cost of maintaining the building will fall on the local users and fund-raisers and these will be staffed by volunteers. Not surprisingly, these smaller libraries are mostly in rural and poorer areas of the county.
In addition, everyone who fills in the form is asked to tick the “volunteer” box, because that is how libraries will be run in the future. I have to say that, looking ahead, my heart sinks. Volunteers are good-hearted, capable people, eager to help when it doesn’t inconvenience them or interfere with the other, very real demands on their time. How will the leadership & structure work out among these often strong-minded people? Who will tell who what to do once the librarians have gone? Where will the responsibility lie? What about the maintenance of these community buildings a few years on? And who will cough up the money for replenishing book stock – a subject that is hardly mentioned in all the proposals? (Reduce stock, reduce use, reduce “need: that useful model again.)
This is my example, but I know the same is happening all across England and Wales. Truly, I fear that once the dynamic central expertise has disappeared, the whole library system will be so weakened it will fade.
Of course, then it will cease to be a bother. Proof again, no doubt, that the people just do not deserve libraries. Besides, as many young people probably won’t have had librarians or libraries in their schools, they won’t feel the loss anyway. Job done, eh? Spit spot.
Oh dear. 2015, what bodies will you bring? Maybe if there was blood on the carpet, the media would notice. Where’s Professor Plum with the hammer when you need him?
Otherwise, Happy New Year!
(Money for fireworks but not libraries, eh?)
Penny Dolan
My local writer’s group holds a recitation evening at this time of year, when people seem drawn to old stories and songs and poems. The poem below, although not traditionally wintry, is my own favourite for this season.
Almost a short story, the poem was written by Robert Louis Stevenson, who was the son of a lighthouse engineer, and appeared in 1888 after the publication of his Treasure Island. Although the poem seems to be about danger at sea, the emotional conflict and longing seem to me a deeper part of the celebration itself, whether on land or sea. Please, if you have a moment, do read through to the end.
Christmas at Sea
The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand;
The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could stand;
The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee. They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about. All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North;
All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further forth;
All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,
For very life and nature we tacked from head to head. We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide race roared;
But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard:
So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,
And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his eye. The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam;
The good red fires were burning bright in every 'long-shore home;
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about. The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;
For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)
This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn,
And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born. O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there,
My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;
And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves,
Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves. And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me,
Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea;
And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessèd Christmas Day. They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.
'All hands to loose top gallant sails,' I heard the captain call.
'By the Lord, she'll never stand it,' our first mate, Jackson, cried.
… 'It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson,' he replied. She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,
And the ship smelt up to windward just as though she understood.
As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night,
We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light. And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but me,
As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea;
But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold,
Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing old. * * * * *
The Awfully Big Blog posts are mostly about fiction, but there are poetry readers and writers too. What’s the title - and author - of your favourite poem at this time of year? Penny Dolan
(The painting is by Aivasovsky Ivan Constantinovitch. 1899.)
Grunts, groans, and sits down with a sigh. Yes, I’m just back from the “Christmas Market” in my town. How much boozy chocolate, mulled wine variants and worryingly early mince pies does a nation need? As I walked back, I thought about things that might be useful for you in the run up to the festivities.
So, here’s wishing you:
1. A cunning clock that shifts time about so you can do the writing you need to do.
2. A Light to help you see a clear path through the wintry fogs, mists and gloom of Plots Gone Bad.
3. A pair of swift Writing Skis, and the skill to use them, so you can speed onwards whenever there’s a clear patch ahead.
4. Exceptionally Magic Ears so you can still hear the words of your Work In Progress way above all the nagging seasonal music and unwanted requests.
5. An Optional Food Fairy or three. Plus a happy flock of Clearaway Elves. For more than one day. 'Nuff said.
6. A Santa Claus who will stop faffing about on cakes, cards and comfy chairs in grottos and actually bring all those presents on Christmas Eve. Like he’s supposed to, you know!
7. A Cheery Facemask so you can smile at Party Questions like. “When are you going to write a book for adults?” or “We’ve just bought Russell Brand’s Pied Piper. Do you ever have ideas like that?”
8. A Book (or more) so admirable that it will thrill you, please you, bring you knowledge and understanding - without making you weep in desperation at your own feeble talent. Plus bookshelves to fill to your hearts’ content.
9. A Very Large Spoonful of Good Health for you and for yours. (This one is so important that I’m not even joking.)
10. A Deck of True Patience Cards so you don’t waste too much of your your writing time waiting for your editor/agent/publisher/whatever to call.
11. And a Collection of Good Writing Friends, who will let you grumble and witter on like this . . . and know it’s only half the story. (Thanks! You know who you are!)
12. Plus whatever else YOU need to wish for, of course.
Have a happy and peaceful December, everyone!
My local “Friends of the Library” group has just raised enough money for an external Library Notice Board, and today the board was fixed to the Library railings.
I feel rather proud. The board will display information about what’s on inside the Library building. Pedestrians outside, seeing the notices, might be encouraged to come inside and make use of the town’s Library itself.
So today I’m happy and positive and, although not everything is perfect, I live where there is a Very Nice Library.
Yet my heart sinks. Right now there are rumblings of more cuts on the way. Nothing to do with the Big Government, of course – ha ha! - as these will just be local cuts for local people.
Which means it’s “not my responsibility” says Somebody Important Minister, no doubt smiling.” Hey, look at my clean hands! Besides, I have people who do all my reading for me. I’m just too busy for books to matter in my life . . . Or I can buy what I need anyway . . .”
Honestly, I feel very lucky because when I go into “my” library, because I witness:
easy chairs so people can reading papers and magazines and books (or snooze);
rows of computers with almost every machine in use;
plenty of fiction, both general and genres;
information books on a wide range of subjects, including topics I am not interested in yet;
reference books;
a large local history section
books in foreign languages and books for second language learners;
large print and audiobooks for the visually impaired;
films on DVD and, still, a few music CDs;
spaces with tables where people can study or write;
a children’s library, with a wide selection of books;
space for storytimes with a weekly programme of events;
a tea and coffee area;
community rooms
and more.
Who uses it?
Older people. Retired people. People probably out of work or on low income. People with disabilities. Mothers. Children. Fathers. Carers. Children’s health clinics. Parents. Students of all ages. Solitary teens. Lone readers of all ages. People who like the conversation group. People learning English as a second language. Reading groups. Computer groups. Local history groups. A WI group. A handicraft group . . . And all of them involved with reading in some way.
It is a busy library!
How does it feel?
Busy. Warm, Friendly. A place for browsing. For meeting. Free to all, without means testing, and funded by taxpayers money. Possibly the last space in this tourist town where you can sit, rest, work or read without paying. In many ways, this local Library is the last indoor democratic area.
Who runs it? The whole place is run by a core of trained librarians, supported by groups of volunteers. (Oh dear. Another anxiety, with these cuts coming on! In my opinion, volunteers can’t hold a library service together on their own, not for long. I worry that as genuine library expertise seeps away, libraries will just become large rooms filled with books on shelves. Then e-rooms. Then non-existent and the space for the community lost. . . )
Now I don’t want to offend people, but I do get angry – very angry – when newspaper and other articles suggest that a nicely-decorated ex-phone-box crammed with book shelves is “a Library”. It isn’t, not for me. It’s a nice, enjoyable community project and I’m very glad that such things exist and am happy for the people who care for it and make use of it and the places where they are found.
However, as council library services are being decimated, I resent the way that local media and local bigwigs promote such “pretty new library” stories, implying that these libraries will make up for all the lost Public Libraries. A library is more than a collection of books, isn't it?
I feel blessed because this post is about my local library, right now. Happy face.
I also know that - right now! - libraries in Liverpool and elsewhere are being hacked about, weakened, cut and closed, their school library services shut down and, I suspect, companies approached to take over “ailing services”. For non-profit? Ha! Angry face!
Yes, people. It’s cultural vandalism gone mad! Grrr!
Put that on any new Notice Board as a warning for passing people to see!
Penny Dolan
Ooops! I'm dashing on to today's ABBA page, half out of breath!
A rare and unexpected holiday has shoved the Things That Need Doing Right Now into a complex squidge of pages, people to contact and panic.
So this post - sorry! - is just about my computer's current post-it note.
Maybe a month ago,Nick Green - thank you, Nick! - mentioned a second book by Dorothea Brande. As I have always been curious about how artists and writers work, I investigated.
Brande, an American editor, was the author of "Becoming A Writer". Originally published in 1934, her first book gained extra popularity when the novelist John Braine claimed in his foreword to the 1983 edition that Brande's advice cured his writer's block. Maybe that was the moment when the whole modern genre of "writing about writing" toddled to its feet and started walking and talking?
What is the essence of this second book? Basically - in "Wake Up and Live" - Brande suggests that whenever we think and act in negative ways, we use up too much of the energy we could be putting into our art, our writing and living. Whenever we feel low or lack confidence, we slide into a constant cycle of giving time and attention to all those things that we can't do, all the failures and frets and fears.
We worry about all we haven't done or all that others seem to be succeeding at - and this was way before Facebook and Twitter! - and end up sapping the energy that we should be spending on the work itself. The book as a whole isn't one I'd recommend, but this particular point made sense to me.
Brande also went on to say that before going into an important interview, an awkward meeting or a scary party, people are advised to pause, present their best self and enter the room acting as if they have confidence. Yes, ACTING as they can do it.
So that's what you, the writer or artist, do. You go to your work acting as if you were the person you'd like to be, imagining you are your best version of yourself, giving your energy to the positive side of yourself.
Each morning, now the holiday laundry is done, I'm going to approach my work in progress, take a moment to push away all that sad energy-draining stuff and try imagining myself as the writer I might be.
This is how Brande puts it:
ACT AS IF IT WERE IMPOSSIBLE TO FAIL
Eight words that might help. Eight words that inspire me more than the usual daily litany of self-doubt. The words are perfect for my desk right now.Penny Dolan
Penny Dolan’s post Wanted: One Technical Geek made me think of how the departure of my three teenagers over the next few years will affect my writing. I have a technical director in the shape of my husband, so there’ll be no service interruption on that front, but many other problems may arise.
Being current
I use words that label me as a teenager from the 70s and 80s. Fab. Cool. Get off with. Pictures. Snakebite. Purdey. Bimbo. Sloane.
With no idea what bands, series, gameware and social media are ‘happening’, I lazily slot in One Direction and Gameboy, knowing that my hopelessly yesterday attempts will be crossed out, sometimes with a sarcastic comment, and Que Sera by Justice Crew and Xbox One popped in.
Plotting
Meal times are essential for solving problems with my plot, or lack of. I outline the issue and let the four heads around the table come up with the answer, for which I take credit. How well this works seems to be directly proportional to the number of brains involved. A decline is inevitable.
Writing for older audiences
My first four books were for ages 7-11. Uncannily, I had exactly that age range in my family. My two news books are YA. Uncannily, I have exactly that age range in my family. Does that mean my future will see me attempting an adult novel?
School visits
I take a dustbin of props on my school visits. Most of the props do not belong to me. I will lose my light-up skull, my night-vision goggles, the tardis and everyone’s favourite, Dangles the Monkey. I expect I will be allowed to keep the lime green fairy wings and the Harry Potterglasses.
ExcusesI cannot write full-time, and sometimes hardly at all, because I have all sorts of important jobs to do with the kids, like watching The Great British Bake-Off together, going to Costa for hot chocolate, and making banana muffins. When I do not have anyone to do these things with or for, will I have to spend more time in my study?
Structure
The school day provides a fixed hour to get up, a chunk of time when I have the house to myself, and a reason to cook a meal sometime around six. I am grateful for the routine because left to my own devices I can imagine lolling around in my pyjamas until late in the day and then writing in the dead of night, still wearing boots.
Company
If I’ve spent a good few hours in the study, I am desperate to talk to someone. This usually means I go to the local shops and talk to strangers. With less people to talk to in the house, the shopping trips and liaisons with strangers will increase. This seems dangerous.
Encouragement
I moan about writing. When I moan, rather than telling me to shut up, my children say encouraging things.
Enough of the negatives.
In order to not end this post dreading what’s to come, I can see that all of the problems have potential upsides.
I may find writing in boots at three in the morning produces wonderful results.
I may, through my idle chats with fellow shoppers, find a friend, or a story . . .
I will, almost certainly, find new excuses like ice-skating, or trying out recipes from The Great British Bake-Off – that would certainly kill a few hours.
I may, take the plunge, and abandon my dustbin, because I have been doing the same thing for five years now and it’s probably time for a change. I can entertain without a tardis!
I won’t write for adults, because I don’t want to. And anyway, as Anna Wilson pointed out in her post Childish Things? "Booksellers now estimate that almost half of young adult books are being read by people who are over the age of 18,” so I’m there already.
There must be other people I know who might enjoy plotting in return for a meal.
And being current, well, there’s a novel set in the twenties that has been hovering . . .
There we are – I feel better now. Off to watch X Factor – with a child, obviously.
It’s the start of the new academic year.
It's a time for change.
September is the month when lots of teenagers in the UK move on, leaving home for college or gap years or other adventures.
The growing-up may have felt, at times, like very long years, so rejoice now that change has arrived at last
Rejoice, for a moment, in what you’re losing. All those late arrivals and sudden slam-door exits, the too-much too-loud music or grunts-plus-earphones; the washing machine full of dirty clothes; the presence of unknown bodies sleeping on living room floors and sofas; the big screens and small screens constantly flickering with fascinating stuff, and more.
Aha! Soon you’ll be nostalgic for bathrooms stacked with more grooming products than can be daubed on one person in a lifetime, Even so, it will also feel very good to reclaim some of the space that you knew was once there.
However, before it’s too late, be aware of what you will be losing too. Especially if you’re a freelance loner working from home. The person who is probably your most valuable technical resource is leaving. Not only will all that precious and vital energy disappear - and no, I'm not joking! - but so will all their random knowledge, skills and fluency with all things technical.
From the moment that door closes, you will be relying on your own knowledge - and how does that stand up right now, all by itself?
I have no precious teen tech around right now. I have no handy geek or wizard who can help me with the latest social media trends, no person who can explain how to do the things I want to do, or the thing I don't know I should know about.
I don’t sit there bleating (even if this post may seem so.)I ask, I enquire, I go to the on-line videos and follow the simple steps. I google for answers, try things out and solve problems.
But, but, but . . . so often I find a gap where an essential bit of information should be.
Yes, the screen can show me “this” but what about the “that” that goes with it? The missing link that takes such hours to discover, the reason behind x or y? I 'd really like to borrow a socialised techno-wise human being for a week or three, please. Aaagh!
Maybe you are lucky? Maybe you are young yourself or you work outside home and have easy access, not only to training but to the casual wisdom of facts being passed on and gadgets explained.
If not, be warned.
If you work at your writing at home, alone, from now on you’ll be battling with new media and new work at the same time, and there's not many hours to go round.
Be nice to your nerds while you’ve got them. Today is the first of September. You’ve got about two weeks to download all they know.
Penny Dolan
Fiction sometimes grows large and unwieldy in the writing, so how can a writer deal with this uncomfortable issue? Here, from an author all too familiar with the problem, are some suggestions:
HIDE YOUR WIP – AND BULGE - AWAY. Are you too familiar with the way your WIP looks? Maybe you can’t actually see it - your turgid, ill-begotten prose - any more? Hide the bulge away for a while. Get on with other styles of writing: non-fiction blog-posts, ideas for a different age range, study books on structure to sharpen the mind and writing. Do something practical to occupy your hands and let the back of your mind maunder on around the plot.IMPROVE YOUR DIET Meanwhile, read writing you don’t usually read, too. Get curious. Get hold of books, magazines, blogs and more, so you taste language that you wouldn’t usually go for. Wake up you palate. Cleanse your dull system. . . (Ooops. Maybe not that. )
ENLIST A BEST, BEST FRIEND. While all the above is going on, find a trusted & informed FRIEND or MENTOR who will agree to read your (copy-edited) but troublesome WIP. Choose carefully. Ask them for precise feedback. NB Your Best Best Friend can only read your WIP freshly once, so you may need more than one helper as you progress. 
TIME AT THE HEALTH FARM. Try, if possible, to retreat to a good SPACE OF TIME for yourself, so that you can give the work your full attention and an unbroken focus. Once you lose heart, it’s so easy to keep fiddling with the text in front of your eyes, rather than facing your problem areas and doing something. (Note: plan your home & social demands accordingly.)
SAY IT LOUD & PROUD. I sag, we sag, it sags. Take time to read the printed-out WIP aloud, with a pen and notebook in your hand, making notes of the problems as you go. Maybe start this from the point where you are satisfied? We write onwards, eager to get to the end, but often rush through the scenes in between, which need to be as honed as the start and finale. Do they have starts, middle and ends too?
THE TRIPLE-FOLD MIRROR - WITH SPOTLIGHTS AND MAGNIFYING LENS. Look and study the WIP’s WHOLE SHAPE! Maybe the middle looks worse because the beginning goes on too long? The reader is tired by the time they get there? Or is the ending itself underwritten, or not stunning enough?
INVEST IN A NEW CORSET. Has your STRUCTURE slumped? You may be an inspired PANTSER, but this might be the time to go through the novel, note and improve your novel’s outline. Or, PLANNERS, this is when your existing Outline needs a bit more thinking, a spark or two of excitement.
DISCOVER THE NEW YOU? Yes, create and save a fresh new WIP document, but do leave the original there in case it is still needed, but make sure you can identify which is which a month or so ahead. Don't loose the old you - or discover too late that you've been working on both versions at different times. (Hmmm. Adds to today's To Do list.)
GRAB YOUR ACTIVITY KIT. Hooray! Time for pens, markers and post it notes to mark up printed pages. Find space to lay out your print-out so you can assess the relative sizes of the chapter piles. On screen, use DOCUMENT MAP to show your chapters as headings, to add simple heading notes & characters, to analyse what you actually have. Other devices and gadgets available.
THE DIET NOTEBOOK METHOD. Go deeper. Just what is this WIP about? What are you feeding the reader? WHY does this chapter/each of these scenes exist? What is the PURPOSE of this scene between these characters? Spend time QUESTIONING your characters in order to deepen the plot and themes.
THE 2:1 DIET. Can ONE character do the work of TWO? Examine the work your characters do, the scenes they appear in. Do you use two characters when a single, better developed role could tick the “archetype” box or interest factor more efficiently and dramatically?
GO FOR THE MAX! Are there scenes and encounters that have not fulfilled their EMOTIONAL POTENTIAL whether an active or a reflective scene? Could the scene could be more effective or explicit? Do you need to shift some telling into showing?
PARK RUN: Has your plot slowed? Does it toddle, taking the reader too much time to get through the scenes? Can you CUT OUT part of the route, the less important scenes? And/or add more hopes and reversals? A scene is where something happens, moves forward. Does it?
GI DIET. Is there a Greatly Interesting diversion that you just couldn’t resist that holds up the reading of the story? Can you take it out? Or excise a running story thread? Or is there an attractive walk-on character that takes up too much time? Find and Destroy!
NOT THE L.B.D. AGAIN! Are there too many “familiar” encounters? Too many slightly SIMILAR scenes? Too many meetings between x & y, or combinations of characters that have the same pace? Maybe what the WIP needs, now and again, is a short summary - and on with the plot.
SLIDE INTO THE SPANX. Ooo-er!Do your descriptions bulge? Do you need to move more cleanly from scene to scene? Do you get in and out of your scenes quickly and neatly? And - pssst! - does every scene have a well-defined beginning, middle and end?
THE TURKISH BATH. Is your novel too TEPID? Too COLD? Even too constantly HOT? Do you need to build stronger contrasts into the emotional TEMPERATURE of your WIP? Can you push the moment and the tension until it’s almost unbearable? Do you have down-time too?
AVOID THE FULL CHOCOLATE BOX. Words, like chocolate, are fattening, and you LOVE WORDS - which makes it so easy to over-write and so hard to cut. Did your BBF mention any scenes that s/he felt were over-written? Repeated stylistic annoyances? Over-use of favourite words or expressions? Or are there thickly-written scenes that made you weary when read aloud?
THE TALKING CURE. How goes your DIALOGUE? What is the purpose of each and every conversation, especially in a vague and saggy middle section? Read each section aloud. Are the voices distinctive enough? Is the dialogue just an information dump? Is each stretch as tight and as short as possible? Is there a dramatic subtext, or power play between characters? Does the dialogue progress or stop the story?
THE ELASTIC BAND. Have you remembered the subtle things that PING? Have you sharpened the “colours” of scenes or characters? Considered the use of recurring symbols? Significant objects? Strengthened threads? Introduced letters and diaries, variety in the reading, perhaps?
FEEL THE BURN, ALAS! There’s no quick fix. Trimming the middle will be a trudge, so do find ways of rewarding yourself as you make progress. Keep your audience in mind. Keep each and every character in mind. Be bold, keep confident and may your story emerge a leaner, keener and fitter tale. GOOD LUCK!
Penny Dolan.
Confession time.I listen to the BBC radio series “The Archers”. (Yes, I heard that groan!) It is the only soap I follow, mainly because it fits in well with doing the evening meal.
I amalso revising and fixing a long manuscript right now , which means that - while listening to the Archers - I look out for lessons for my own writing.
There is a lot to dismiss or dislike in the Archers, which makes the listening easy when you need to concentrate on cooking. I am not at all fond of those notoriously awful romantic scenes (complete with ghastly squelchy radio sound effects) or some of the characters (back when the series did offer a range of characters) or the fact that I share a birthday with Linda Snell.
Nevertheless, for those fifteen minutes, veg-peeler in hand, I take weird pleasure from playing at script writing. I stand there, predicting lines before they are spoken, watching out for the foreshadowing moments (or the now thumping great clues)and pondering on potential plot options and development.
Sometimes (or once upon a time, as it now seems) the long- running threads could be poignant, especially if the subject echoed something you were dealing with in your own life too (and I don’t mean sheep) just because the thread developed over real time too.
But something odd has been happening to the Archers. I have heard rumours of a new Big Editor imported from East Enders, who is trying to “take the show back to its roots”. Maybe (or “mebbe” as Ruth would say) the differences between a “heard” script and a “watched” script aren’t totally appreciated, especially as far as characters go, and there are no visuals to back a radio story up.
All the big books on plotting, like Robert McKee’s Story, say that it is the balance between the character roles that holds a story together and, although these underlying mythic roles may overlap, each character should be fundamentally consistent.
Not so in this rural soapland. One central “grumpy character” role – Tony - has been taken over by a new and reputable actor who sounds even grumpier and nastier. He does it very well. (Has he been asked to go for the maximum moan?)
However – and suddenly - this “weak” character is coming over as far stronger character dramatically, which is unbalancing all sorts of other relationships in the storyline. Unsatisfying. Confusing.
Recently, a long-awaited joyous wedding ended in wailing when Tom the groom backed out. Hidden behind his seemingly stone heart was the realisation that he could not carry on trying to replace his older dead brother. However, the vital scene that would give full dramatic coherence to this strand just never took place. We got quick glimpses. One liners and that was about all.
It did not feel like a big tragedy. It felt odd and strange, or a too-hurried exit for the actor or character in question. Who? Why? What? (And is it still impossible to contact people in Canada if you put your mind to it?) I wasn’t involved or moved. I was just wondering what the behind-the-scenes real-life reasons or reasoning were and I was cross, because the scripts hadn’t had the courage to explore that. They also assumed that all listeners really knew the “dead John” story but it was long ago The story concept was big in the scriptwriters heads, but did the readers/listeners accept and understand? I don't think so.
The range of characters has disappeared. People are referred to but don't speak. The women seem to have become sillier and pettier. The male characters have turned into dim hunks, untrustworthy fools or moany oldies. Even the best in the Archers are suspicious or seem condemned to the long silence of the budget-cuts.
Then last week came another drastic character change. Loyal, hardworking conference-organiser Roy and snobby Lady of the Manor Lizzie had the worst-scripted “I’m at a music festival” fling imaginable. We all know that Roy is the kind of honest fool who will blab. Oh no. Too, too wearying a plot and too miserable the consequences. (Tempted to write “If I wanted to watch East Enders . . .”)
Right now, I’m barely listening to the show when it airs. I am imagining the script meetings where all the “possibilities” are loudly brainstormed, scenes where all the writers are so entranced by all the twists and options that they forget that their story-world has to feel credible. Have the once-many characters been written out because of budget cuts or did the actors walk? I am sure that I glimpsed an item on BBC Writers Room inviting new writers to submit their thoughts. Are we now listening to someone's mish-mash of all the ideas sent in? It's a mystery.
As I said earlier, I doing my own manuscript-wrangling right now and taking sideways note from what I hear and don’t hear on the Archers. Right now, the writing lessons I’m learning are:
Who are your rocks? Some characters are there to act as rocks. They need to be fairly stable all the way through the story, because if there are too many “out-of character” character changes, the reader does not know who to attach themselves, emotionally.
Watch the “volume” of your characters. When you revise, beware of characters that, emotionally & dramatically, dominate or fade when that’s not what you or your story need.
Watch your plot. The logic of the plot underpins the pact with the reader/listener. So don’t annoy with over-long diversions, such as the Jennifer’s kitchen aga-saga or unbelievable occupations such as Helen’s “successful” organic shop that closes on a whim.
What was it that you didn’t write? Don’t assume, just because you as writer know a character’s problems and what happens etc. etc. that readers/listeners do. A lot of small hints don’t offer the full blown emotional impact of a good big scene that makes everything clear. Make sure that you write all the scenes that matter.
Lastly, A is for Attachment. If your reader is no longer attached to a character – the person acts out of character with not enough explanation, alters at a basic level, or does unexplained things that lose sympathy, - they will get angry. And angry readers will close the pages, because you have broken the story contract.
Are you taking all this on board, Penny?
Yes, I am.
Good! And get back to revising that work-in-progress. Now!
Penny Dolan
ps. I’m also rather annoyed by the thought that this “Archer” tag could register on some media scanning device, and therefore add another tick to the “attention & controversy equals success for the new Archers”. ‘Cos it ain’t so. Grrr!
Once, the term “women writer” did not mean celebrity author or jaunty comedy woman, full of exuberant wit, or gently envied best seller. Those words brought a kind of doom.
As a teenager I felt haunted by the ghosts of tragic women writers: George Eliot forced to become a recluse; Christina Rossetti, dying an invalid on her couch; the Bronte sisters, dying of consumption and sadness; Sylvia Plath, resting her unhappy head in the gas oven and even the great Virginia Woolf, drowning with pockets full of stones.
Such often inaccurate versions of their lives tolled like bells, warning me that “being a writer” was an unwise choice. These writers - or what I knew of them then - offered solid evidence that any girl or woman bold enough to write faced loneliness, unhappiness, disgrace, and illness, Probably there would be madness death by one's own hand. I was too young to know that "happy writer" does not make good copy. 
Besides. there were whispers of madness close to home. My great-aunt and grandmother spent time in mental asylums, as such places were called. I had seen their empty, bewildered eyes and how hard they found it to hold on to reality. I'd heard talk about "electric treatment" and "women's problems" and other mutterings. I was terrified that “trying to be a writer” would invite such shadows into my already unstable life and lead towards that unhappy darkness.
Time has passed, and now is not how it was back then, what with equal opportunities and writing courses, and a host of women writers and more. Yet I can't have been the only would-be writer stretched out between longing and fear, being subtly taught that writing was definitely an unsuitable and dangerous occupation for a woman.
So, right now, although I feel sadness about Maya Angelou’s passing, I feel glad that she offered a different model. I thank the many joyful heavens for her and her generous spirit. She was a woman writer who lived into a fine old age, kept her thirst for justice, her love of words and, incredibly, and her hope for humanity alive, despite all the terrible things in her life. She did not die young.She was not a tragedy.
Writers like Maya – the ones who survive and last long, who do good work, who lead positive and full lives - are also the ones we should celebrate, the ones we need to chase away our writing fears, the ones who call out sisterly encouragement, no matter how hard they have lived. We need the joyful ghosts.
And for all those male writers haunted by similar tragic ghosts, I hope you find your good angels too.
Penny Dolan www.pennydolan.com
I am surprised how often writing feels more like maths or a game of logic than anything free, creative and expansive.
I say this as one who avoid all sums if at all possible,though i am not proud of that fact.
Recently, I have begun wrangling with the Tome again.
Note: My use of “Tome” is not a comment on the to-be-book’s quality or importance. Tome is my name for how the heaviness and unwieldiness of the project feels. The Tome lurks there, on my mind’s shelf, weighed so heavily with all the hope, fear, faults, characters and complicated plot-lines that, if it slipped, it could probably crush me. It did, combined with other factors, certainly halt me in my tracks for a good while.
However, the Tome is now out of hiding, and into the daylight of the real world. All the existing short and tricksy chapters are spread across a pasting table in my workroom, so I can observe the flow of the novel, and see what still needs to be done.
Planners, you are now totally welcome to roll about laughing on the floor, fling your stashes of post-it notes in the air, or aim paper arrows at your detailed wall charts here. Ha. Ha. And Ha.
Although I could write on – and how happy I am now to see how the ending could actually be done! - this particular plot is at a stage where I need the structure to be very secure indeed. So, as well as dreaming and noting and playing with the ending and all that creative stuff, I am toiling away, almost at SUMS!
Or, in other words, I am REVISING. Slowly. Bit by bit. Analysing the details. As well as listening to the sounds of and flow of the words and voices, I am constantly thinking “Does this bit make sense? Of itself, and within the story? Does this bit fit? Or is it a diversion? Does it come too late or too early? Is this bit even needed? ”
Today I have been working on a small “aside” scene. The scene has a double purpose. First, to let readers know that practical preparations for a major scene and plot moment are advancing. Secondly, the scene also increases the menace of the setting, the place where the two young heroes will be soon arriving.
I’d originally written the scene some months ago, and though it read quite well. Then I looked properly, and - "hides head in stupidity and shame" - saw that I needed to re-structure the conversation. All this tiny scene contains are three very minor characters, brought in partly because of the historical context: a scullion, a servant and a cook. They are shown gossiping around the fire, caught between the attraction of their master’s suspicious activities and the need to keep quiet about what’s going on.
Yet, when I truly studied the scene, the “sum” did not really work out. The logic I had presented was all over the place. The dialogue flowed between the three, but it was too much like real life chat and I don’t mean those “er” or “um” or “like” utterances, or similar.
In ordinary conversations – in my experience – people often suggest one fairly random viewpoint, meander to another angle, suggest another and so on until eventually the conversation shifts on to something more practical like “Do you want a chocolate biscuit with that?” or “Are we nearly there yet?”
However, in the much tighter conversation of fiction, each character’s words represent a point of view and a step in the story.
Which “argument” won at the end, status-wise if not morally?
Which character was dominant within the interactions, even if not by the number of their interactions?
In other words, by the end of even a small scene, the reader needs to know the “sum” of the talk and where the writer is taking them, and this is especially important for the young reader.
So I re-thought and re-allocated the lines, and on the way, developed the small character relationships. The scullion is the troublemaker, the fool that won't stop asking why.
The servant is the one easily lured into speculation and unwise suggestions.
What about the cook, sitting in his chair? In the new version of the scene, he is no longer the main, expansive conversationalist.
Now he sits almost silently, murmuring an occasional brief response. Then, at the end, he dominates the scene:
The cook suddenly leaned forward, his smile spread with menace.
“Which means that my advice is that we all keep our noses out of it, right? I’m telling you now that the Master don’t act kindly-like when he’s been crossed, and the river’s often tricky round here. Understand?”
The servants nodded, eyes full of fear.
The cook eased himself back into his chair, folded both arms over his wide stomach and dozed.
They tried not to notice what was going on, they really did.
I’m happier. I feel as if there is - now - an inner logic behind the total run of lines. The “story maths”are working perfectly. For the moment, I’m giving this scene a mental tick and moving on to revise another. Or do I mean check my next calculation?
As Oliver Postgate once wrote:
“Writing a story is not simply a matter of writing lines of words, but calls on the writer to assemble sentences in such a way that the reader receives them in the right order for stacking in the mind.”
Even so, whether you’re thinking “writing” or “sums” when you are revising, getting those small details right can be very slow work indeed. Good luck.
Especially in a Tome . . .
Penny Dolan.
(I know it’s the first of April, but this isn’t a Fools Day post. )
S
ilence. It’s a horrid thing to have happen. The words in the head gone, or never hanging around long enough to be useful. The shameful feeling of no longer being able to be the writer I've thought I was,.
The silence crept up on me, bit by bit, started by several petty reasons. A sudden family incident that it doesn't help to go on about. A smattering of nagging anxieties, boring and best suppressed. A while with scaffolding rattling outside my workroom window, and similar. A longish Arts Project ,and a worthy commitment that both ate up too much administration time. (Oh, why didn’t I weigh up the time involved at the start?) As well as all the good stuff of life that still needs planning and attention and enjoyment. Way too much on your mind? Best keep your mouth shut, and just get on with it all.
The silence grew, added to by the shadow of a “big book” not doing as it should, and one single minor review that hurt badly. Beware too thin a skin. Then there was that guard-down, coming-out-of-the-loo moment slap into the face of a slightly sneery librarian’s harsh remark. (Just who did I think I was, pretending to be a writer, I thought.) Then that one twisted school visit – out of many good ones, I know, I know - that didn’t go quite right. (Curse you, Powerpoint facilities!) Gradually the book that should be being written, is half-written, has paused for far too long a time.
Don't worry. I don't need a large red-spotted hanky or sympathy to wallow in.
This is just my explanation of why, slowly, the words had stopped, and that some kind of action was urgently required.
What action? I decided to try the “Artist’s Way” again, again. So the rest of this post is about is the famous Three Pages - or my version of how I did, and how I DO do them.
A quick aside, if you haven't yet heard that expression yet. The Three Pages writing exercise comes from the American writer and creative renewal guru, Julia Cameron. Her first book (1994) had the title “THE ARTIST'S WAY: A COURSE IN DISCOVERING YOUR CREATIVE SELF", and took the model of the AA 12-step programme. Julia continued with more books on this theme and a strong on-line presence. Her books do offer good and wise suggestions and I respect her enormously, especially for fighting her personal demons.
HOWEVER
Julia writes very American, and I am not. When she lyrically describes breakfasting on her sunlit porch, or riding her horse through the desert, or spending money on sparkly pencils in stores, or walking the streets of Manhattan, or meeting up with this or that creative film or theatre person in her cafe, or suddenly having a dream about putting on a musical and that happens . . .
Oh dear. Apologies. Julia. The crabby bit of me makes me shrug my shoulders and go “meh”. I'm sure it is all true, but that life is not my life. Never has been my life. These events may be a movie or life elsewhere, but not here. (Peers out at the grey drizzle outside)
FURTHERMORE
Julia’s main demand, echoing Dorothea Brande’s original and earlier book Becoming A Writer, is this. Every morning, as you wake up, you write three pages. I tried this often, as my family grew from babbling to teen-sulking around me. Sorry, Julia, but I failed too soon each time I tried. ( Back then, I was a working, work-worn mum. Somehow my role was to get everyone out there each morning or we starved. Time management wasn’t my thing - and I was doing diplomas and degrees around that time too, studying in the evenings. Not a good mix.)
BUT YET
Last November, with that cold grey dog Silence crouched by my ankles, I decided to try the Three Pages method again. (Not Page Three, please note.) However this time I would do it MY way. I would scribble those Three Pages down whenever I could. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t grieve. Or feel bad. Or all that other negative stuff that cascaded down. Agreed? Yes.
AND SO
I did - and have now been doing - the Three Pages. I've done them for (counts on fingers . . .) about five months now, and the good news is that - even in my revised, occasionally feeble and now-guiltless version - the Three Pages have worked. I miss it when I don;t do them. Words and ideas have started whispering in my head - and something’s begun ticking again on my big project.
BUT WHAT DO YOU DO FOR THE THREE PAGES?I use a large A4 yellow-paged notebook. Yellow because it isn’t white work paper, and the colour cheers me. Size is important too. Three large pages gives a generous space for you to listen to your muttering mind, and let all the low-level, hidden frets to rise up to the surface, to spill out somewhere around mid-second page. Aha, you think. So that’s what’s really making me so cross and fidgety!
I use a beautiful old green art-deco fountain pen, inherited from my father, which makes for comfortable writing. I keep away from the scary computer screen, the scene of my failure. The physical act of writing by hand seems to feed the task.
I use green ink, because this is not work, right? (Blue ink: school. Black ink: for depression or drawing Red ink : corrections and being marked. ) Green ink? Yes! Interesting and inspiring. Even if my fingers are always covered in green stains.
I note the day, date and year at the start, keeping a light watch on when I last made time for myself. If I have missed any days, I let myself wonder why, then start again. I even note where I’m scribbling. “Writing this in bed . . .” or “At my desk. 4.30am”.
I note the time I start, out of curiosity, and when I end. Dawn, morning, afternoon, late night, before I sleep. All sorts of times, whenever I can. The aim is to do it, not to be perfect. (Sometimes my three pages take 50 minutes. I note that I lose focus, get distracted. Small must-be-done’s arrive, start yapping and too soon I give in, but I try better next time. Yet, thinking about this blog, I got three pages covered in 20 minutes.
I use the Three Pages for . . what? Not for “writing on a given theme” at all, nor as a diary, although some entries do sound a bit like that. Nor are they reflective odes to all that is lovely around me, ever searching for the precise, right , perfect word. The Three Pages work by getting the hand and head moving, and even if angry thoughts flicker on some pages, somehow the yellow paper isn’t greyed over with gloom.
The Three Pages are just me writing,however the writing turns out, whatever the words think: a sort of low-level meditation. The pages are private: what’s in three pages stays in three pages, or they did until I used one set to consider my thoughts for this blogpost. Maybe the pages are changing? Maybe they are becoming about what I write about? Who knows?
For me, the Three Pages have become a place to rest and be alone. No readers, no editors, no revisions, a space where inspiration is not demanded, where my writing doesn’t matter - although in a way, it does, very much. And day after day - or almost - the pages have helped the other, the “Real Writing” begin again, too.
I’m sure that, to some of you, this wittering about silence will sound self-indulgent and weak. "Lives are different" is all I can say, and I have worked on some briefs that ended up in print and cheered me immensely. It was the big writing thing I'm wanting to finish that scared me. Onwards - and this post makes sense to anyone, thank you for reading.
Penny Dolan
www.pennydolan.com
When you have a book published, your heart slips into an anxious state, especially with a book that really matters to you. If your book is a “big book” – a title that the publishers have high hopes for, based on your name and previous sales - you may possibly be involved with publicity events, bookshop visits, parties, celebrations and prizes. All gloriously outgoing, in their way. Enjoy your moment.
However, some responses arrive more quietly: welcome to the written world of Children’s Book Reviews.
There was a time when paid-for articles by known and knowledgeable reviewers appeared in newspapers and magazines. I recall a full-old-page TES piece by Anne Fine excoriating a Melvin Burgess book, which all agreed did wonders for the sales. Those generous and thoughtful page-spaces have largely disappeared. Now reviews have a far smaller word count, some as low as 50 words a title. Smaller specialist magazines and quarterly journals do exist – I’d be glad to hear of any good titles in the comments - but reviews and reviewers seem to be moving on line.
Many of the current book-blogs are excellent - let me know your favourites and/or try out the blogs in the ABBA sidebar - but this open pasture does mean that anyone, of any age or experience can join in. I’ve seen such reviews on Amazon and – rather oddly - within some of the Guardian children’s book section links, and despaired.
This “everyone-a-reviewer”world has brought forth strange creatures: adults who trash a title because their toddler hasn’t enjoyed a book written for significantly older children; fundamental moralists calling foul and filth; people who don’t feel the need to read the whole book first, and even children and teens trying out the power of their own critical voice.
It's tough, Harsh words do sting the author, even when they aren't deserved. Sometimes it’s best not to look at reviews at all. I can’t be alone in having the slightly critical phrases seared across my memory, no matter who said them, whilst the kind, hopeful and encouraging praise is almost all forgotten?
One should feel glad to be noticed, of course. It might not happen. There can just be the Big Silence.
Maybe your book doesn’t fit easily into review categories? Maybe every space is taken up by the same “big” titles reviewed everywhere?
If you wrote a series for seven or eight year olds, you might have had no reviews. Such small books are rarely important enough for reviews,no matter that children might love them. And back before the rise of the Roald Dahl Funny Prize, funny books were rarely reviewed either. Some of this is changing, slowly.
Another awkward thing was that once a book – your book!- had had its span of publicity and reviews, that title was rarely mentioned again. The book seemed to be sent to the Quiet Corner, along with you, the author. No more time to make an exhibition of yourself. That’s done.
So this is why, when An Awfully Big Blog Adventure had been running a while, we tried to encourage more Book Reviews by setting up an Awfully Big Review section.
Every four days, a new review appears, written by one of the ABR review team. They all have experience in books and children’s literature, or bookselling, or writing, or working with children or all, and more. Our ABR reviews are about books we’ve chosen, and titles we’d like to share with people - adults or children - as appropriate. While we may have a quibble now and again, we don’t do negative reviews. Better to celebrate the good books!
ABR isn’t exclusive, either. The titles aren’t just by members of the Scattered Authors Society. Our chosen books are usually personal copies, rather than free proof copies arriving in publisher’s jiffy-bags, pre-publication. So you might find titles that have already have been published, may even be in paperback, may even be - sssh!- a little “older.” Yes, already published books getting another friendly moment in the sun - and that’s a good thing.
ABR reviews are wide in their scope. We review titles for all ages, including adult books, although personally I’d love to have more picture books and books for young & mid KS2 readers. People chose their own review style too, so the pieces range from the quietly formal to someone enthusing about sharing a picture book with young children, and the word-length is only limited by what works on the blog-page. Variety can be a good thing.
Ooops. I forgot. ABR does, currently, have only one rule. A title, no matter how grand or good, gets only one chance of a review. Why? Because Awfully Big Reviews wants to leave room for as many books as possible, to share the good news..
So, if you haven’t already done so, please do click on Awfully Big Reviews button – top left hand of the blog page - and see what’s over there right now. Not forgetting huge thanks to all the generous ABR reviewers too! Happy reading!
Penny Dolan
www.pennydolan.com
I've always found that there are certain characters in books of whom I get so fond that I don't want to say goodbye to them when the book ends. The hobbits were like that; when I finished The Lord of the Rings, I walked around in mourning for some days because I was no longer in a world where they were. Perhaps oddly, Horatio, in Hamlet, is another. There's something I really like about Horatio. He's on the edge of things, watching, but loyal and caring and clever. I picture him with a long scarf wound round his neck, glasses, a shock of dark hair, a wry smile. A bit like a French assistant we had when I was in the sixth form, as it happens!
And it's the same with the books I write. A few years ago, I wrote a book about Alfred the Great. It was called Warrior King. It's out of print now, but like Arnie, it'll be back. Soonish, I hope! There was a character in there called Cerys, a magic lady, a wise woman, with silver eyes. I really liked her.
She emerged from my imagination, but the other character from that book who stayed in my mind was real. She was Alfred's daughter, Aethelflaed (though in the book I called her Fleda - it made it less confusing, because there were so many other Aethel-whatnots hanging around). I discovered her when I was looking for a child who could be my point-of-view character when telling the story of Alfred - it was such a gift when I discovered that his oldest child was a daughter who would be just the right age at the time of the events in my story.
But Fleda became much more than that. I grew very fond of her. She was warm, impulsive, brave, and she could be defiant when she was defending something she believed in. I knew she must have been like that, because I knew that later, after the scope of my book, she married the Lord of the Mercians - and after his death, she became the Lady of the Mercians, Myrcna Hlaefdige, their de facto queen. She led them into battle and rebuilt their towns, and after her death, she was named in the Annals of Ulster as 'famosissima regina Saxonum', that most famous queen of the Saxons.
So when I got the chance to write a story for an anthology called Daughters of Time, a collection of stories about remarkable women from British history, written by contributors to the History Girls blog, it took no thinking at all to decide whom I would choose. I wrote about Aethelflaed at a time of transition for her, when she went from being princess of Wessex to wife of the Lord of the Mercians. It was an absolute joy to spend more time with her.
The only trouble is that the more I read about her, the more interesting she became. She had one daughter, Aelfwyn. She fostered her brother's oldest (but not quite legitimate) son, Aethelstan (who later became a great king of England): her brother was Edward, who succeeded Alfred. She fought alongside her brother; they must surely have been close. Yet after Aethelflaed's death, when Aelfwyn should have succeeded her, Edward rode in and carried Aelfwyn away into Wessex... and nothing more was heard of her. Edward became King then of Mercia as well as Wessex. Maybe she was put into a nunnery - or maybe not.
How much conflict and conniving, triumph and sadness, lie behind those few bare facts! I'd love to spend more time with Aethelflaed - and with Aethelstan and Aelfwyn. I'd love to explore their stories and try to understand their lives. One day, perhaps!
Daughters of Time is published this weekend. My story of the Lady of the Mercians is in there, but so are twelve other fascinating stories, many by writers who have blogged on An Awfully Big blog Adventure: Penny Dolan, for example, has written about Mary Wollstonecraft, Joan Lennon about Mary Anning, Catherine Johnson about Mary Seacole, Dianne Hofmeyr about Elizabeth Stuart. If you don't know much about any of these - as I didn't - you know what you need to do!
With writing being a solitary business, it’s always a pleasure to be in the company of other writers for lunches, retreats and more. Yet one remarkable “meeting place” is almost invisible because it happens between the pages of an anthology.
Most of the anthology collections I’ve been involved with have been for youngish children, so the stories are sweet, despite the necessary brief but “moderate peril”. I enjoy writing a tale that an adult will share with a child or two on a lazy day, or making a comforting story for a child to read alone.
Sometimes I imagine the anthology as a small wrapped gift, a quiet thing hidden among the louder, larger presents, ready to be enjoyed by the readers when the moment is right.
Other writers contribute to anthologies of horror, or wacky humour or even gross-out-boy stories. Not me, not so far, although if asked, I’d always try. My author briefs evolve into furry or feathery creatures and maybe a child or two, with happiness at the end. I am an invisible writer. Aimed at the seasonal market, all the readers remember about the look of the book is the heart-warming picture on the cover. Just as heart-warming is the knowledge that – somewhere – another half-dozen or so unseen writers are working away their own versions. I won’t know who they are.
(However, I do know that, like me, they accept the fact that anthology fees are rather small, and they enjoy writing something more than nothing. And, also, that any editor, no matter how kindly analytic is likely to move on once the anthology iss done, leaving one feeling slightly adrift. Will anyone remember me for next time? Will the next brief get stuck somewhere, as it has done? And so on.)
Only when I get my own copy of those anthologies do I learn who the other story writers are, and see familiar names in the company. I do recommend this gentle word- partying within the pages.
However – and this is a loud “however”, with the sound of trumpets – there’s an anthology coming out in March and this time I do know the people involved. As the collection is for older readers too, I was able to step outside of my “sweet story” corner and reveal a few more story muscles as well.
What is this trumpeted anthology? DAUGHTERS OF TIME.
Some History Girls bloggers have been working on this collection for the last year. We’ve had big and small meetings. We’ve maundered over works-in-progress and muttered secretly ogether about deadlines – “Have you finished yet? Well, almost, but. . .” along with darker worries and collisions. In the end all went well.
We all know our Editor in person this time too: Mary Hoffman herself guided the project valiantly along. As well as being an astounding author, Mary was the originator of our blog home - the History Girls - and is a Book Maven in deed as well as name.
Now, with March beginning tomorrow, I’m waiting for the large package. (Soon, please?) Because all of us History Girls will be meeting on those pages. True, there have even been DAUGHTERS OF TIME events. This week some “Daughters” met at Aphra Benn’s tomb in Westminster Abbey to place a bouquet. Other “Daughters” will be at the Oxford Literature Festival at the end of March. It’s a very good anthology to celebrate.
However, there’s still that itch of mystery. I do know all the authors already. I even know the subject of most of the stories.
As a taster, there’s BOUDICA by Katherine Roberts, AETHELFED by Sue Purkiss, ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE by Adele Geras, JULIAN OF NORWICH BY Kath Langrish, LADY JANE GREY by Mary Hoffman, ELIZABETH STUART by Diane Hofmeyr, APHRA BEHN by Marie-Louise Jensen, MARY ANNING by Joan Lennon. MARY SEACOLE by Catherine Johnson. EMILY DAVISON by Celia Rees. AMY KOHNSON by Anne Rooney, and the GREENHAM WOMEN by Leslie Wilson. (Me, I'm MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT.)
So what I haven’t done yet is the best, the important, the most interesting bit. I haven’t yet read the collection. I don’t how the stories are told, or how these fictional moments have been imagined, or how these writers have written finally their stories. That's all to come.
So the author party I am looking forward to right now is reading everyone’s stories! That’s the best meeting, the best celebration for all anthologies, especially for welcoming the DAUGHTERS OF TIME.
Penny Dolan
www.pennydolan.com
DAUGHTERS OF TIME is published by Templar. March 2014
Today is an April Fool of an Easter Monday, when the sun should be shining and daffodils dancing and all should look right with the world.
Once the days might have been perfect. Once the cheery sunny days returned after they'd gone, recaptured in pictures projected on machines that had to be balanced on handy bits of furniture.
The projectors had plastic holders where the slides/pictures had to be packed, by hand, in the right order and the right way up. (Or was it the wrong way up?)
The images of happy childhood - and more - appeared as if lit from within, as if their world was the bright truth.
There's a dim echo of that prestigious device in the “ show slideshow” button of every computer image system, but I do feel the showing lacks the drama of the past. People rarely huddle round in well-fed but slightly bored darkness to await the click and the next over-bright image. Or are in danger of a good slap for commenting on Aunty Aggie's visible bloomer line.
Now back when slide projectors were in use, a wonderful and eccentric man was making stories in a large shed. The shed was large because he told his stories with drawings and with puppets.
His name was Oliver Postgate and - working with the technology of the time - he became the master storyteller of children’s television.
At least twice a week I give thanks to the Blessed Mr Postgate, because time after time, while struggling through a piece of writing – whether the construction of the whole thing, or the order and arrangement of scenes or even the phrasing of a sentence so the image in my head becomes clear to the young reader - I remember the words found in his not-entirely cheery autobiography “Seeing Things”.
Although he was talking about film making, his explanation of how writing works seems incredibly apt and true.
WRITING A STORY IS NOT SIMPLY
A MATTER OF WRITING LINES OF WORDS
BUT CALLS ON THE WRITER
TO ASSEMBLE SENTENCES IN SUCH A WAY
THAT THE READER RECEIVES THEM
IN THE RIGHT ORDER FOR STACKING IN THE MIND
Think on it and its wiser advice.
Have a Happy Easter Monday!
(And are you doing Clanger whistling yet?)
Penny Dolan
www.pennydolan.com
Images from Wiki Commons. Thank you.
I am very grateful to the person who planned the new rota for An Awfully Big Blog Adventure. She gave me the hard-to-forget day that is the “first of the month”.
Along with remembering the blog-post comes remembering a rhyme, and making sure I’m there before himself.
PINCH, PUNCH! FIRST OF THE MONTH!
It’s gentle fun, the way we play it, but it isn’t always so for authors.
Writers get plenty of pinches and punches and have to get used to them or give up, I guess.
PINCHES are the tiny moments when something nips at your confidence unexpectedly. They are the moments that make you feel silly and/or needy for even having had expectations.
For example, there are the following:
The Prod of the Poisonous Pen: That negative phrase in a review that brands itself across the brain for far too long afterwards.
The Pinch-You-in-Passing Person: This is the librarian or teacher who dismisses your latest book while oozing & enthusing about another book or author. “What we’re really looking forward to . . . “ (And to dismiss a book is to dismiss the writer, my friend.)
The Nip of the Book-Non-Buyer: This one picks up your book, sniffs, and puts it down. The extreme version takes your book out of their child’s hands and offers them one by a tv tie-in or celebrity.
The Sad Smile of the Un-Chosen: There are lots of awards around now, and I am very glad of that for many reasons. Occasionally comes the good moment: one’s book is chosen and listed and one is very grateful and happy. Then comes the down-side when one is not THE Chosen. Even when you didn’t expect to be, it might have been nice to be Surprised.
Ah well. Just a mini-pinch, because it was an honour all the same. Though pity that stoical author whose serious novel on a heart-felt theme was pipped at the post by an amusing book about a farting bear. To those who have to smile bravely in public when such announcements are made: we salute you!
In lots of ways, pinches are good for the writer as a person. They are the moments that remind us not to get too grand or vain about our work, to think about others. The moment might smart but the pain can be licked away.
PUNCHES are the serious stuff, the blows that can knock a writer down.
The worst is when a book that one’s heart and soul has gone into goes Out of Print. This news is often discovered by chance. It rarely comes from an editor or the publishing house.
My toughest Out of Print moment punched out at me from nowhere, just as I was setting off on a very happy tour of school visits. The eager bookseller rang to say that, if I agreed, the publisher’s warehouse would release ten of my last twenty “author copies” of a title for her to sell at the event. I rang the warehouse, feeling sick in the stomach, mumbled my agreement and smiled all the way through the tour.
Inside, I was hurting. What I knew was that now that title had gone out of print, the rest of the series would go too, like a run of dominoes.
The fact wasn’t anything special. Lots of people go through it, sometimes as they are still writing the series. The moment was just one of those re-shuffles, those occasional clearing of the lists, aka the wiping of my entire backlist. That was a punch, that was, and I wasn’t wearing my iron corset that day.
I’ve learned to have that trusty garment ready more often. Even in the fine world of kindle and e-books and being in charge of your own publishing destiny, I’m sure pinches and punches happen.
“Courage!” is all one can say, and perhaps remember that at least we mostly live where many of our words can be published without truly serious or vicious reprisals . . .
Enough. End of this rambling. The sky grew darker than I expected when I began.
Meanwhile, back to more comfortable territory.
I’m ready for tomorrow, as long as himself doesn’t read this post over my shoulder and as long as Blogger scheduling works around 6.30am.
For what I’ve found out, while researching this saying, is that the words should be delivered between dawn and noon, and with an extra line for luck.
A PINCH AND A PUNCH! THE FIRST OF THE MONTH!
WHITE RABBITS AND NO RETURNS.
Wishing you No Returns, especially from your books.
Penny Dolan
www.pennydolan.com
Earlier this week, I went to see a musical concert.
I wasn’t wildly keen to go. In fact, for several days before I’d been doing that kind of inner writer grumble about how I needed to be working – though I wasn’t - on the currently struggling tome and how what I needed time and space and peace and quiet and . . . . You know the sort of thing, I’m sure. It was a mild internal strop that might have appeared as a huff and glower every hour or so.
However, I went, and two things happened. The concert was actually enjoyable, enthusiastic and funny. And - which is why I am not going to tell you the name of the band - I found just the face I’d needed for ages. (The one below isn't it!)
Please don’t start thinking about truly gross tv makeovers or transplants. The face wasn’t for me personally. I needed it for a significant character in the above-mentioned tome.
I had searched around for images on the web. So often the faces offered there are not quite right, or too full of an established or celebrity persona to be truly useable. For example, even if one chose Johnny Depp in his quiet and thoughtful J.M. Barrie mode, I am sure that Captain Jack would come swashbuckling into the writing before very long.
There were difficulties about the look I required. The face (and head) needed to have a certain lean, bony elegance but also be capable of being disguised for more than a midnight moment. So there’d be trouble if I’d added a prominent purple nose, or shock of bright ginger hair, or flashing emerald eyes or a crooked scar running from forehead to chin, or worse, all four, even if I was writing him like that. (I wasn’t!)
But now I’m feeling peaceful. I’ve seen The Face. It’s a good, malleable sort of face and I’ve seen the build and the movement of the body that goes with it. The face I saw is strong and thoughtful (and probably a deeply wonderful and caring person) but not so strong that I can’t layer nasty intentions and a cunning mind upon the poor innocent chap.
Of course, he won’t be the same. I will – as one does – take that flicker of memory, transmute that image into someone else entirely, and add all the nuances and personal history that this entirely new fictional person requires. All that will be left is the faintest echo of a face possibly once seen across a crowded hall. The Face has become something and someone else entirely
So today, returning to the tome, I am pleased. Now I have the face, a certain part of the struggle might become easier. He’s important: the main antagonist in an exciting adventure. I’m just sorry he can’t take his musical instrument along with him.
So that’s how it works for me, how a fictional character grows in my particular head. Sometimes I’ll stitch together – seamlessly – fragments from more than one person: a gesture here, a tone of voice there, a clothing detail from somewhere else.
I’m always fascinated by the way that other writer’s work. Some have amazing scrapbooks of postcards and cuttings, or artist’s notebooks filled with drawings of characters that are good enough to be illustrations. I even recall, ages ago, the author Anne Fine showing the Christmas magazine cover that gave her the idea for the central character for The Angel of Nitshill Road.
So, if you aren’t off scanning the scurrying crowds for the face you need, where do you get your characters from?
Penny Dolan
www,pennydolan.com
A BOY CALLED M.O.U.S.E, (Bloomsbury)
Writer’s Problem Number 93
Dear Aunty Enid,
Help please! It is so easy to get disheartened. I am just back from an inspirational week with some wonderful writers. My confidence was up on its feet again and I truly felt it was time to attack the Recalcitrant Tome for once and for all. (I confess I am not a one book a week person like you. )
I have found so many ways to avoid the large, lumbering thing. So - especially as Himself is to be away for a few days - I decided to go for the Big Writing Slog. I was feeling very excited about my plan. I am sure you would understand.
Now, I did realise that the Big Writing Slog would be all about sitting at the desk all the time doing all the writing. It’s a bit like Nanowrimo, but lonelier, and with less cheering and whooping and maybe with slightly more sensible writing at the end of it.
I was getting things arranged for the Big Writing Slog.. I was going to stock the fridge with the kind of food one can munch easily, whenever. (Note to Self: Not all in one day.) I was going to warn the postman that I would be in my dressing gown continually. I’d begun playing with post-it notes and cards and all that analysing-the-story sort of work. I’d even got as far as getting a new real-world paper file for my running notes. (“Running” being a loose term here and referring to the Work In Progress not Parcour.)
Then a mighty storm-cloud of Public Information arrived. I know it was possibly intended to nudge people towards buying up those few unsold Olympic tickets but my Bright Shining Scheme is now totally Darkened
Emblazoned across various media headlines, came this big loud message:
INACTIVITY IS DANGEROUS!
It is as dangerous as smoking (I don’t) and probably as dangerous as eating ten cream buns at a time (I don’t, but only because nobody’s brought me any) and definitely much more dangerous than tiger-wrestling in tights. Now there’s a thought . . .
14 Comments on Writer's Problem Number 93 by Penny Dolan, last added: 7/24/2012
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The second in our new series of Sunday guest blogs by booksellers who work with children’s authors. These guest blogs are designed to show life behind the scenes of a crucial but neglected relationship – the one between a writer and a bookseller. These days, such relationships are more intense and more important, as increasing numbers of authors go on the road to promote children’s books – a goal shared by the booksellers who will contribute to this series. The Bookcase is a ‘small independent bookshop with a big imagination’ situated in the village of Lowdham, eight miles north of Nottingham. The Bookcase’s proprietor is Jane Streeter (second from right), who runs the shop with a friendly team: Louise Haines, Jo Blaney, myself, Marion Turner and Kendall Turner (pictured left to right above).
Three years ago I (as one of the assistants) began a reading group at our local village school. This coincided with our 10th Annual Book Festival. So, to celebrate, I went in once a month until we had read 10 books. The 12 children read each book and then wrote a review, which formed the basis of a display at our book festival. We read all sorts – from contemporary authors to Enid Blyton and Richmal Crompton – and one poetry book. I have used a few different poetry books, but the first was Carol Ann Duffy’s The Hat, which was very timely as I’d handed it out to the children just before she was announced as the Poet Laureate! We’ve also used Gervase Phinn’s There’s an Alien in the Classroom, and others over the three years we’ve been involved in the project.
Each month I went into school so that we could have a discussion, which made the youngsters feel very grown up!
The idea became so popular that I have been approached by other schools, so this year I am working in four schools – always with Year 6 children. The group is aimed at the more able readers. (The thinking behind this is that so much is done to encourage the less able readers: those who are keen readers need some sort of outlet for their enthusiasm.)
This year, I have found a real difference in ability from one school to another. Not only is the reading ability markedly higher in one school, but the children are much more mature. This makes it harder for me to choose appropriate books, so I’m always keen to hear of the experiences of others who work with children of a similar age.
Michael Morpurgo is, of course, unfailingly popular, but I’ve also had real success with Michelle Paver’s Wolf Brother and Morris Gleitzman’s Once. In both cases, several of the children have gone on to read the sequels. We have offered a discount to reading group members who have ordered sequels.
After Christmas I will be discussing David Al
Last Friday I met a lovely friend who is a writer and illustrator. We spent hours in a café, talking over a coffee. Now that festivities and tax are both neatly out of the way, it was a real delight to indulge in writing chat about each others possible new ideas and work, as well as the usual moans.
At one point, she mentioned listening to music while she worked. Interestingly, she could only do this while working on some piece of art, not while she was writing.
Now I know that some people write with music constantly in their ears. Some say they select soundtracks to serve their work-in-progress, which makes me wonder.
Do gritty teen/YA novelists work with hard metal and anarchism pounding through their head-phones? Or people writing for pre-teens opt for sugar-pop and Justin Beiber? Or do the big brave souls – Mr.Pullman, I may be looking at you - tackle such large grand themes with Beethoven blasting out from their stacks? I don’t know, but it makes interesting thinking
Somewhat sadly, I can’t listen to music while I’m writing. The stuff worms into my head and ears, messing up the flow, the rhythm, the music of the words. How on earth can I hear how this or that phrase sounds if there’s an alternative sound obliterating it? How can I fix the emotion in this part of my story securely into words when there’s a different emotion hammering loudly at the door? I’m glad some people can work happily that way but – rather annoyingly – it’s not a thing that works for me.
Even writers of fiction need to be able to hear the music in their work. One thing that does restore my ears – again, though not while writing – is poetry, which I’ve recently re-discovered as an activity.
I re-shelved my random collection of old poetry books in beside an odd armchair, far more conscious of making space for a large seasonal green tree than insightful workspace planning.
Yet, ever since, I’ve found myself snatching odd moments among the anthologies, greedily grabbing several writing voices at a time. It’s an amusingly mixed experience. Some poems are boring, some dreadful, some so embarrassingly of their time the should be wearing duffle-coats and some are still as breath-taking as ever. I’d recommend it as a way of waking up your writing head or even, as I did, finding a new idea.
So, are you a muso or a muser? What’s your sound of choice while you’re working? Or are you another one who needs word-whispering silence to get the work done?
And if anyone knows the name/location of the brilliant Arts-Council-funded poetry site that I glimpsed recently on Facebook but now cannot find, please, please add it to the comment box. Thanks.
The section I saw showed a soulful John Hegley speaking "Without You."
Unfortunately, I am "Without You-Tube".www.pennydolan.com
A BOY CALLED M.O.U.S.E, published by Bloomsbury.
I don’t go in for Writing Competitions, which is far more my laziness than an ideological position. Yet many people, including published writers, find them fun, possibly because of the attraction of a deadline. Nevertheless, I have just been the Secretary for a small, local writing competition.
The whole thing was organised by a newly formed Friends of the Library group and was publicised through the library, the local paper and other contacts. It was quite a success, especially the social evening when the Top Ten Ghost Stories were read aloud by a trio of experienced readers.
(Before you ask. While it can be important to honour writers by letting them read their own work, this library is large and has no microphone system. So it was far better to honour the works by letting the words be heard.)
Back to the Secretary role. We had fewer then a hundred entries but by the time the pile of envelopes had been emptied, I was very sure of what entrants to all postal writing competitions should know.
So. Things Not to Do when sending in to a Postal Competition.Do make sure you put on the correct value of stamps for an A4 envelope so that it reaches the destination. (Yes, I went to the nearby Sorting Office, because I wanted this first Competition to be a success. Yes, I got the envelope. Yes, I found it was from an elderly writer I actually knew. No, it didn’t win.)
Those impressive named judges are very unlikely to receive your entry directly, so any ”wow” factor such as decorative coloured envelopes will not reach them, let alone affect the judging. Stationery, in such quantities, is not as amusing as when one is idly luxuriating in stationery shops.
Be aware that triple-sealed envelopes will truly annoy the competition secretary. She or he may have to use scissors to get the wretched envelope open and might, by then, be in a very bad mood. You think your work is so precious? Then use a better quality envelope in the first place.
Come to that, use a better size envelope anyway. Do not fold your A4 story to fit into something designed for a notelet. Haven’t you just spent time on this story? Relatively, is this envelope a fitting choice? And you did use A4 paper, didn't you?
Use a cover sheet with title name, address and so on. However, do put the title of your piece clearly at the top of the first page too. And when you do, give the poor title a bit of room. Don’t cram it right at the top of the page and start your story a single line space below. You need to show you value your work.
Do put those page numbers on the top right hand corner. Please. Your story may be photocopied among several others as part of the judging process. Copying machines are erratic creatures, liable to break down at odd moments. It is very easy to (almost!) lose an un-numbered page - especially if the story is an informal dialogue between two un-named characters. If your story becomes a chosen piece, any numbering at the foot of pages will make it harder for performing readers to lightly check through the order of your story when reading.
Yet, after all the above, do not put your name on the top right hand corner of every page as well as numbering it. You can place the title there, but do make sure the page number is to the right and clear. Redacting those documents took a long time – and this was a small competition that I wanted to succeed. .
Finally. Never, ever, ever include any photograph or illustration when entering for a writing competition. Even if you have been taught extreme cut ‘
If you haven’t come across it yet, you will: the problem of weight.
I don’t mean the thickening of the person known as Writer’s Bum. “New” writers can often be identified by their sylph-like figures and some “older” writers are rangy, athletic type because they intersperse their writing with gym sessions or six-mile runs. However, well-worn-in writers are usually distinguished by a certain roundness of physique, plus a space on their desks reserved for chocolate and drink.
No, the weight problem I am talking about is to do with writing, to do with keeping the manuscript moving in the right sort of shape. For example, my current Work in Progress has developed an over-weighty beginning that currently eases off into a very tiny tail. Structure wise, the WIP is like one of those big blobby tadpoles that will somehow vanish from the jar or a cartoon whale.
This may well be to do with the computer as tool. How can this be the fault of a bit of machinery?
Simple. Seeing something on screen is not the same process as flicking though the pages and carrying on from where you last put down your inky brass nib. Whenever I get the current WIP up on screen, the opening appears in all its sudden dreadfulness before my eyes.
Even if I resist and skim on swiftly for a few pages, it’s not long I spot something that urgently needs my attention. Yes, a word or phrase is shouting out at me from a chapter I’ve already done. Heavens, this plot of mine thickens but it does not blooming well lengthen. Well not hwere it should.
Of course, I could and I do print the manuscript out, even though I can’t help feeling that “printing it out” is a kind of honour granted when I feel the pages are good enough. When. More usually I print the WIP out whenever I get totally desperate about the structure so I can make notes and do the analysis and the breakdown – and go back to the beginning again.
I honestly do know I should move on, on, on. I should work on the section at the end where there are slight traces of the intended story, such as “Chapter 29: Something Really Interesting happens to Marmaduke & Leticia in Grizewold Alley. Or Does It????”
Those later chapters are the places that should be my destination Those thin ghostly apparitions are where I should be adding weight. The misty unidentifiable-as-yet regions are where I need to go with my word-grappling hook and my haversack of Dolan’s Essential Word Supply and Super-Bonding Glue.
So come on, people. Why don’t I? Why do I think "Better see to this little bit first"? It is a mystery.
Off to make myself some hot buttered toast and honey. At least that will go towards building a weightier end.
Penny’s current novel for older juniors, A BOY CALLED M.O.U.S.E has been praised for its excellent finale..
www.pennydolan.com
Two weeks ago I was out on the road on a publisher organised tour. No doubt many Awfully Big Authors have done many such trips and tours but this was my first “official” time on show.
I am not new to the game. I’ve been doing school & library visiting for year – and still do if asked - but this was the first time I felt part of somebody else’s plan. Usually I’ve been a big part of the organising chat so have picked up some sense of what I’d been meeting, and been able to spread the events out to give some recovery time. This time, the knowledge was just a five-day paper schedule.
The trip was – with due respect- a low-key version. It wasn’t me swanning about among the venerable stones of Oxford, Cambridge, Bath, Cheltenham. Edinburgh. There were no hotels away from home, no glam meals and not even a Hogwarts express to whirl me along.
This was me, alone, driving to Lytham St Annes, Rotherham, Leeds, Stockton and Preston version, and not truly the worse for that. My publicity manager came all the way up from London to support me on Day One and Two, as well as meeting new on-the-ground contacts with a view to future visits by other authors.
So what do I know now that I didn’t before?
I know that having a kind of ”visit uniform” - no matter what style this takes - to put on in the groggy time after the alarm rings get greater as the week wears on but also that the putting on the "Showtime Coat" - as we call it home here - gets easier as the rhythm of the week goes on.
I know now that the sand dunes of Lytham St Anne’s are closer than I thought. I love learning the landscape, even when there are gale warnings across Lancashire and Yorkshire. The A59 has wonderful early morning views unless you get so dreamy about the hills (and the hour) that you forget to watch out for the pushy lorries, erratic tractors and slow tankers.
I know that a using a fixed book talk with powerpoint – rather than segueing through various titles as I have usually done - makes it much harder to edit down a talk when you must cut twenty-five minutes or risk book sales because the visiting schools arrive late and want to leave early and the kind bookseller is sitting there with piles of books on view.
I know that technology is definitely not all. The power behind the lamps of projectors is very, very variable which mattered when some of the images in my talk were archive photographs. One morning I had brand-new double screen clarity and brightness. That afternoon, even the best images could only be seen in the front row on a tiny unfolding screen. Ah, bless those 60’s plate-glass libraries with their daylight! So back to the original version, the "plain" author talk complete with a large display book of illustrations carried around the corners of the audience.
I know to check the tour sheet well. The schedule had a blip, a cut and paste address sent in that didn’t match the named school. If I hadn’t neurotically googled all the venues, we'd have lost one of the most positive and delightful schools of the week.
I know now that Publicity Managers need special skills. They need to be full of energy to cope with the early mornings, long days and late nights; full of calmness when not everything is as they had been told by their contacts and full of diplomacy when they have to witness the usually private witterings of pre-session authors. Time after time.
I know that I have met some brave people out there working as independent booksellers: the Storytellers Inc bookshop and creative space in
Last Saturday I had a great time. I was able to sit through three sessions by illustrator Lynne Chapman. I've always really enjoyed the energy and colour in her work, and have a special fondness for the books she's done with SAS writer friends such as Julia Jarman and Damian Harvey.
So it was an almost total pleasure seeing Lynne working with children small and big and hear her talk to adults about her work.
Almost total. Because I'd also been involved with setting up the day.
It was a useful reminder of the work behind such events. The visitor - Lynne - and the date were easy choices once I'd made sure to avoid Wimbledon finals weekend. There was all the publicity - local press, radio, and flyers and display materials for the library. There was arranging the times on the day, the travel and the pick-up.
There'd also been several long meetings and emails about the venue with the other organisations involved and the people who'd be there - or not be there - to help and when, and small emergencies. All important stuff.
I mustn't forget the collecting of materials for the workshop, the lunch for Lynne, the evalustion forms & photo permissions, the books for the booksales (not forgetting the float), the refreshments and so on. There has been more and there is still more to do to finish the event off completely.
The day was joyous, and I didn't mind a bit (though may have muttered darkly at times) but it did consume so much of my time.
No sympathy needed here for me, though.
I just want to raise a huge huge cheer of thanks for all the people, especially librarians, teachers, festival arrangers and bookshop owners who so often do all this work for US!
By the way, if you are interested in illustration, look up Lynne's website and the images on her amazing blog, An Illustrator's Life For Me!
A Boy Called M.O.U.S.E out in paperback this August
www.pennydolan.com
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Great stuff Penny - so true! And hurrah for the amazing and wonderful Mr Postgate too: my review name on Amazon is nogginthenog! :-)
And aaaah for the nostalgia of the slide show - it was a family event, brought out as a special occasion and everyone came together to watch and comment ... the ritual of the hanging of the white sheet, or finding a blank wall (and later the expense of the specially bought screen)... the comments ... the snacks ... the upside down ones ... it brought us all together in a way that TV programmes never did, for all that they were smarter, cleverer and had moving pictures. Books did much the same unifying effect - in our family anyway, as we all wanted to read the same great books ...
And hurrah
Blimmin' Blogger cut me comment off in mid sentence. Never mind, I was starting to waffle anyway!
When I was still teaching creative writing, one of the assignments was only 1500 words long. I used to show Postgate work to prove that it was possible to produce something layered and sophisticated.
Good choice, Noggin the Nog! Those slide shows did have an almost dramatic unpredictability about them.
(Note. I am now trying not to think of the inherited boxes of family slides that must be sorted through. One day.)
And, Farah, that sounds such a good choice for your creative writing classes too. They sound as if they were fun. Did you have a favourite episode or character?
With the date being what it is, I'd wondered about putting up something funny and satirical about the world of books or education but so much is becoming unbelievable anyway.
Ah, have a sudden urge to rush off and find my DVD of Ivor the Engine...all with be well with the world!
I hadn't realised how prolific Oliver Postgate was! Oh, those slideshows... "Now here's Dorothy on the steps of the caravan... oh, and here's me on the steps of the caravan..." But we did used to get lovely snacks as a reward!
And then there would be the fatal animated moment when the slide changed into a sunset picture before your eyes as the projector overheated and the slide finally blackened into nothing.
I have a scanner that converts slides to images on your computer, Penny, but its a tedious business. Perhaps just save them for your children to throw out one day!!!
But Dianne, it's not about the pictures, it's about the whole ritual ... :-)