You Know You’re Stuck When…

I wish I hadn’t put ‘…a Little Bit Rock’n’Roll’ in the title of the last post because every time I read it I think of this song. Anodyne and sickly as the Osmonds were, there’s nothing worse than them also pretending to be rock’n’roll. Which means I have to write another post, and that’s hard because I’m in a fallow phase. You know your brain’s getting stuck when you get a song going round inside it; in the last few days I’ve had the Gentleman Jack theme song followed by this one, which I don’t even like. In my experience when the mind goes round like a record on repeat it’s trying to make sense of something and the best thing is to leave it alone. Get on with something else. So that is what I shall do.

As far as work goes I’ve finished Chapter 34 of the Tapestry novel. Chapter 34 is the ninth chapter and will be followed by the tenth, Chapter 55 which in theory should be 55,000 words long but won’t be (if you’re confused, imagine how I feel.) Not wishing to try the patience of the reader the final chapter will be fragmented just as our world is fragmented, with pieces tailing off, unravelling, lost…

The novel aims to be a portrait of modern Britain centring on Brexit. It’s a book of voices, everyone giving their own account of themselves, their thoughts and experiences. From the Queen to a homeless man, from a refugee to Tommy Robinson and including some famous ghosts, these voices make up the Tapestry of Britain today.

And that’s me up to date. Today I shall be mostly… tinkering with things, going for coffee and catching up with the weeds which are always one step ahead…

Kirk out

Aaaaaaaaand it’s Back to the Novel-Face

I’ve been taking some time out – a very valuable and useful thing to do – to walk and to decorate; but there comes a point in the life of every writer when she must go back to the laptop and face The Novel once more.  It’s no good waiting for Inspiration to Strike – you must seize it by the throat or at least go to your desk and try to write something.  So here I am.  I’ve read through a couple of the early chapters and made a few changes, and they don’t seem so bad; so the plan is to forge ahead (interestingly I typed ‘forget ahead’ which may also be good advice) and finish the damned thing by doing NaNoWriMo in November.

NaNoWriMo, in case you haven’t been paying attention, is National Novel Writing Month.  All sorts of people do NaNo as it’s a great opportunity to get your arse in gear and write (or finish writing) that novel you always meant to get around to creating.  In my case I shall not be starting from scratch but I will be writing 50,000 words in a month (which is only about 1700 a day, roughly 5 pages) which may or may not take me near the end of the damned thing.

I can’t decide whether to stick to the Fibonacci sequence of chapters (see here for an explanation of the idea:)

https://lizardyoga.wordpress.com/2018/03/03/nice-shell-suit-was-it-designed-by-fibonacci/

or to abandon it.  On the one hand it’s totally impractical as the chapters get exponentially longer.  On the other hand I can’t seem to get it out of my bloodstream, so we’ll just have to see where it leads us.

And that’s today.

Kirk out

Black Dog

OK well it’s not going away so there’s nothing to do but write about it – depression, that is.  Quite unexpectedly along with a chest infection I was recently plunged into a most unpleasant depression: not the kind of blank, grey blanket which descends like a fog, but a squirming black horribleness which threatens to engulf my consciousness and, though the infection has receded, refuses to go away.

I’ve not been so prone to depression in recent years, though I had plenty of it in my twenties: thanks to a firmer footing in life, a grounded family, a reasonable work life and a daily yoga practice I was able to keep myself on a fairly even keel.  And although I had some psychotic episodes about a decade ago I’ve barely suffered an hour or so of depression since I got married.

But lately certain things have been spiralling downwards: a lack of material success in spite of huge daily efforts to make it as a writer; persistent poor sleep, struggles with my thyroid, a partner with gender dysphoria and a son with mental health problems have all taken their toll and I’m sure prepared my system to host the infection in the first place.  I have never been so wiped out by a bug as I was by this one: I was completely exhausted for days.  But as soon as the steroids and antibiotics kicked in, the depression made itself felt.  I haven’t felt like this since my twenties when a promising career and love affair went completely into free-fall.

But this is different – and although I know what it’s about, I don’t know what to do about it.  When I was eight I started to write a novel: that novel got squashed by huge and inexplicable forces which I still don’t understand.  I’ve been trying to get back to it ever since and now I’m there: I just never expected the process to be so deeply unpleasant.  I thought it’d be a kind of liberation but instead it’s utterly horrible, like opening the door to a deep dank hole with all kinds of monsters living in it.

All I know how to do is keep writing – and to believe that things are working out.  As Marcus Aurelius says, ‘love only what happens.  No greater happiness.’  In other words, believe that everything happens for your good, even though it may not feel like it.

http://www.great-quotes.com/quotes/author/Marcus/Aurelius

I find great comfort in Marcus Aurelius when things seem grim.

Kirk out

The Horror! The Horror!

What a grizzly and unpleasant occupation writing is!  How many other jobs could you have where you go to work, slave for six solid hours and come home feeling that you’ve sweated blood and achieved nothing?  True, today – my first day back after a break – I did write a few spoof headlines for ‘Newsjack’ (they’re looking for contributions) but then I discovered that I’d missed the deadline for my headlines so now I have to scan the real headlines so that I can make more spoof headlines ahead of the deadline.  It’s making lines in my forehead…

Contenders for next week include the Trump ‘wall’ story latest and the ongoing Brexit saga.  Watch this space…

I find it difficult working in the library because of the other people coming and going and because I don’t have a space that is mine.  Unreasonably I regard the table at the far end as my space and get irritated if someone else bags it first: it’s also quite limiting that you only get three hours a day up to a total of seven a week on the computers.  But when I work from home, is it any better?  I get distracted by phone calls; I go in the kitchen to make a drink and end up loading the dishwasher.  It’s hopeless.  And when people say to me, as they sometimes do, how wonderful it must be to have a creative gift etc etc, I want to jump up and down and scream and say, ‘have you any idea what hell you go through to produce even the minutest piece of perfect prose?’  As Michael Caine used to say to people, if you wanted to do it, you’d be doing it.  If you really wanted to be an actor you’d be out there doing it; working in rep, am-dram, street theatre – whatever, just so you could act.  So if you want to be a writer, write.  After all it costs next to nothing: what could prevent you?

Anyway, even though I got entangled once more in the impenetrable thicket that is my novel, the day wasn’t entirely wasted.  After all, at the end of it I got to write this blog post…

Kirk out

 

 

 

So This is All Good

It’s been a beautiful day here in blogland and I’ve been as busy as a pollen-gathering insect.  This morning I wrestled with the novel whose first two chapters I intend to send to Cinnamon Press

http://www.cinnamonpress.com/competitions/annual-debut-novel-or-novella-prize/

then I wrangled somewhat less successfully with the Sing for Water poem, before remembering that I needed to fix my bike for tomorrow when I shall be at Westcotes Library to protest its possible closure.  Come down if you can – the Mercury will be there:

http://www.leicester.gov.uk/your-council-services/education-lifelong-learning/leicesterlibraries-home-page/locations/westcotes-library/

Having fixed an awkward puncture and discovered that the inner tube of our wheelbarrow is beyond repair, I started to make soup while listening to the Afternoon Play.  This was based on the TV series ‘Silk’ which I enjoyed and probably mentioned on here.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b040hx6n

Then at three o’clock a sadly diminished Spanish group turned up for their first session.  We learned to say ‘hola’ (hallo), ‘soy Liz’ (I’m Liz), ‘quien es?’ (who’s that?) and to count to ten with the help of Sesame Street.  Sadly I can’t find out how to do the upside-down question marks on here, but they practised writing those at the end of the session and seemed to enjoy it.  So that’s all good.

Damn, I must stop saying that!

I then dashed to the Co-op to buy cheese, Gromit,* and managed to squeeze a couple of lemons and some sugar into my shopping basket.**  These are to make my first batch of wine this year, which will be nettle: the blackberries and elderberries will have to wait until I can get some raisins.

Mark did a herb walk on Aylestone Meadows which apparently was successful – and he’s had a couple of people take up his offer of weeding their garden.

So that’s all good.

Argh!

Oh, and I’m slightly concerned about how the neighbours will react to being invited to tea.  I saw one of them today and she looked a bit embarrassed and didn’t mention it.

So that’s me up to date.  How about you?  How was your day?

Kirk out

*Gromit wanted to come in there so, in the true spirit of Winnie-the-Pooh, I let him.

** not literally

 

 

Another Day, Another Acceptance…

I thought I’d better post something before you decide I’ve forgotten you all.  I’m still here – it’s just that settling in and writing the umpteenth draft of my novel have taken precedence.  the novel is turning out to be a tapestry or patchwork affair, where I insert bits here and there to build up a pattern.  Still, at least I have some inkling of what the overall pattern is, which is more than I did before.  So that is good.

We went to Tomatoes this morning and returned to the old house to find a most unwelcome letter informing me that I need to pay a penalty for driving in a bus lane.  Bloody annoying… the other post wasn’t too bad, though I am now entirely of Mark’s view that nothing good ever comes in the post.  Trouble is, not much comes via email either apart from promotions or updates on campaigns I joined years ago or petitions I signed last month or groups I am marginally interested in or other groups I am not quite uninterested enough in to unsubscribe… RANT ALERT

incidentally I can’t go on without commenting on the difference, so rarely observed nowadays, between ‘uninterested’ and ‘disinterested’.  Uninterested means ‘not interested.’  I am uninterested in golf.  Mark is uninterested in tennis.  Etc.  ‘Disinterested’, on the other hand, means ‘not having a stake in something’.  Such as a disinterested observer at a meeting or a disinterested view of politics.  So get it right!

RANT OVER

However, today I did have an email saying a book review of mine has been accepted by Thresholds.  Thresholds is a site which specialises in the short story, and I have written the review about three times for them and FINALLY they have accepted it.  So that’s a relief.

As I write there is a rather tremendous thunderstorm over Leicester and it’s raining quite hard.  I’m glad it didn’t do this earlier as I cycled over to Tomatoes and back.  I am getting better at cycling; once I reach this stage of proficiency (incidentally I always wanted to do cycling proficiency as a kid but we couldn’t afford a bike.  Or else our mother thought the roads were too dangerous.  Anyway…) I usually think, ‘I must keep this up and get better and better.’  And invariably something happens to prevent me.  Usually a knockout bout of apathy…

But! since it’s too far to walk into town from here, and since buses are expensive, I will probably cycle more in future.  So long as it doesn’t thunder.

Incidentally, when I go over to the West End I pass a gym where I am treated to the surreal sight of a bank of people all cycling towards me and getting nowhere.  I feel vastly superior to these people as I pass by on my real bike, actually going somewhere…

We are doing a bunch of entertaining at the new house, having people over for lunch and dinner and all sorts.  On Wednesday we had eight of us round the table for dinner, and yesterday Mark’s mum came for lunch.  And tonight Mary and John will turn up bearing wine and will be served curry and stir-fry with rice and chappatis.

It’s great!

In other news, I am reading Joyce Carol Oates for the first time, and I have finished the Kathy Reichs I was reading for the second time.  Sadly I have failed to interest Daniel in her books for teenagers.  Daniel is UNINTERESTED in them.

OK?

Kirk out

Can’t get the hang of weekdays

I keep thinking it’s Friday today.  In fact most of this week I’ve been a day ahead of myself, so tomorrow I shall probably head off to Tomatoes and wonder why nobody’s there…Thursday!  That’s today.  Thursday!   Interestingly, I’ve just finished the chapter called ‘Thursday’ in my novel; it now runs to 120 pages which, with 3 chapters to go probably means it will end up a reasonable length.  A novel shouldn’t really be less than 200 pages or it just looks very thin – don’t you think?  So – what happens on Thursday?  She falls in love is what happens.  Each chapter has a different colour and the colour of Thursday is green, which also happens to be the colour of the heart in the chakra system:

http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=chakra+system&hl=en&tbo=u&rlz=1C1CHMO_enGB507GB507&tbm=isch&source=univ&sa=X&ei=5J_JUKuHL-7Y0QWe84HIDg&ved=0CDwQsAQ&biw=1600&bih=799

So in this chapter she falls in love and it ends badly.  On Friday she has a bad time – any reference to Good Friday is entirely intentional – and over the weekend gradually pulls through and comes to understand exactly where she is and how she got there (in the real world she is in a nuclear bunker or disaster shelter; but there are important psychological and – dare I say it? – spiritual dimensions to this.)  So… I now have to tackle Friday which is going to be the hardest chapter of all because it deals with breakdown and mental illness.

I’m not feeling terribly fascinating this morning, so just to warn you this post will probably not scintillate much.  Unlike the Christmas tree at the Ale Wagon, which, although tall and spindly, is quite wonderfully decorated.  A bit like Mark when he wears a suit… and how do I know this?  About the tree, I mean?  Yes, I was there, last night, sitting under the tree with Peter and Andy and (for a half) Lynne.  My body is  a lot less tolerant than it used to be – after only 2 1/2 pints I have a hangover.  Or had: it’s more or less gone now.

*Sigh*

There was a good sprinkling of people in the Ale Wagon last night though, which was cheering to see.  It’s a great pub and just down the road from the station so pop in some time:

http://www.alewagon.co.uk/

Today I shall be mostly… getting to grips with Friday.

A day early.

LOL

Kirk out