Never mind the bollocks, just write!

I love writing: it soothes, invigorates and challenges me, and allows me to disappear into my ‘creative mind’, where I can magic words into whatever order I choose. It is the only way I can capture what life puts infront of me. How else could I honour the pure ecstasy of devouring a somerset cream tea, other than with words?

Writing is me. I have kept a diary since I was eleven, and many, many moons have passed since then. I have notebooks bursting with my poems: reams of A4 paper covered in hand-written or typed short stories: ideas for stories: discarded stories: a trail of letters dotted around the world with friends and family, and a hard-drive loaded with story-filled Word documents.  

I have written, and self-published, a novel, Spaghetti Head. The idea for the book flew into my mind and out onto a sheet of paper in 2006. Twelve years later I got around to self-publishing it. I wasn’t working on Spaghetti Head during those entire twelve years, as I’m not a full-time writer. Life took me on various other journeys, and it was only in 2015 that I re-visited my first draft. I read it through, and thought ‘what a load of rubbish, but, with some good bits here and there’. I highlighted the good bits, and started re-writing. 

They say Rome wasn’t built in a day – they should have tried writing a novel!

 The entire process of writing a novel is long. Fleshing out your initial idea and writing it in detail to form some sort of storyline or plot, can takes ages, and I love this creative stage. I love making time-lines and interlocking characters with Venn diagrams, drawing arrows and circles, using various coloured biros, post-it notes, highlighting pens, and scribbling across endless sheets of paper.  

Once that stage is over, it’s down to business, and by comparison, writing the first draft can take eons compared to fleshing out the plot. But finally, you have it – your first draft! However, before you rush out and buy a new trouser-suit for receiving the Booker Prize Award, there’s more work ahead:

Reading and re-reading. Editing. Re-writing. Chopping text out. Moving text around. Remembering what impact moving a chunk of text has on what comes after where it used to be. Printing your draft out. Crossing bits out – sometimes entire pages! Then there’s finding beta readers. Collecting, collating and incorporating their feedback. Re-reading. Re-writing. Re-editing. Creating a cover design. Writing the back-cover blurb. Writing a synopsis. Writing a cover letter. Writing to agents in the hope they may think it’s brilliant and want to publish it. Realising no-one wants to publish it, so entering the minefield of doing it yourself. And finally, and the part I have found most painful: figuring out how you’re going to market it once you have self-published.  

And that is where all pleasure for me ends, as then we move on to the endless posting on social media so that people will know a book called, Spaghetti Head, exists, and that they need to read it.  

So, I joined Twitter, and enjoyed it to begin with and made some good writing friends on there. I quickly acquired 1,500 followers and found it exciting. But I grew tired of it – after all, everyone was posting on there for the same purpose: promoting something. I found it false and didn’t feel comfortable with it. I created an Author Page on Facebook, and soon grew bored of posting writing-related info or witticisms on there. I created a website for which I had to write blogs, so I wrote some, but my heart just isn’t a blogging heart. I joined Instagram thinking it would be quicker than tweeting, but didn’t enjoy that either. Little by little I realised that the time I was spending on blogging and social media posts, was turning me away from ‘real writing’, and finally, putting me off opening up a blank Word document ever again. So, Spaghetti Head, bobs around in the amazon ether with no-one knowing it’s there, and it has now been a few years since I have felt even slightly enthusiastic about writing, which is tragic, because I miss it. But I have more motivation to go outside and turn over my compost heap using a teaspoon, than I do to write anything for social media. 

Am I purely suffering from a severe case of Writers Block?  

I don’t think so. I can best describe it as, ‘Can’t be Arsed’ syndrome. Like the momentous effort it would take to get up and manually change channel on the TV if the remote control broke, I can’t be arsed to write another novel, because of a) the time it will take, and, b) the dread of having to go back to meaningless social media postings. I ask friends how long they spend on social media to increase followers, and they say up to 2 hours a day. Two hours a day! My God! If I had 2 hours a day spare, I certainly wouldn’t want to spend it on Instagram! I cannot do it to myself. I will not do it to myself.

 These days when you write to an agent, you have to declare what kind of audience you have on the social media platforms. I hate that. So I don’t contact agents – which is actually a godsend because it means I don’t have to write either a synopsis or cover letter! I feel an agent would need to drag me feet-first through a bramble patch growing in quicksand before they’d get me back on the social media bandwagon.

 I cannot be arsed with any of that bollocks anymore.

 Yet the need to write has not left me. My inner-writing Gnome (I wish it could have been an angel, but no, I’ve got an inner-gnome), is constantly tapping on my shoulder, and feeding me good ideas. I am avoiding Gnome.

 And yet I love writing, I always have. Maybe the problem is that I have not yet found my writing medium? Maybe I should talk rather than write? That would be a lot quicker. Post it on YouTube. Job done.

 And that begs the question of why do I want to post anything anywhere? Why do I want anything I have to write or say to be heard? Why not write just for me? Because I want people to know that I have lived a life? Because I want to make money? Because I want acknowledgement? Because I believe I have stories worth telling? Or something worth saying? Because I’m sure there must be others feeling what I feel?

 And what will happen to all my writing once I am no more than a dust particle that settles on your glasses?

 You know: I think writing this has helped. I think maybe I have a plan. I shall ponder these questions, and once I can be arsed, I’ll write my answers down: in a brand-new notebook, in different coloured biros with circles and arrows and bright yellow highlighting pen. And at the top of every page, in massive writing, in, I think, red ink, I will write FORGET ABOUT THE BOLLOCKS, AND JUST DO THE BITS YOU LOVE. And stuck to the wall behind my laptop, so I’ll read it every time I sit at my desk, will be a pale-pink post-it note, saying FORGET ABOUT THE BOLLOCKS AND JUST WRITE: written in, I think, dark green ink.

 I must never forget that I write because I love it: it challenges me: it inspires me: it energizes me, and I must not let social media disconnect that spark. I will not do it to myself. I will write for me. So, Sarah, forget about the bollocks, and just get on with it!

 Now. Should I post this?

Ways to sell your paperback.

Bonnes, a beautiful french village that runs along the banks of the river Dronne, held an 'Art au jardins' weekend on the 21st and 22nd July. 

Thirteen years ago when I came to France for 6 months armed with my diaries, my bike, a pair of wellies and my computer, I rented a studio in one of the houses in Bonnes.  For those 6 months I went through all of my diaries from the age of 11 and typed them into my computer.  It was incredibly therapeutic - I was re-united with people and places that I had completely forgotten.  I walked Charlotte's (the studio owner) two dogs every day for two hours and had a productive and fantastic time.  I decided to buy a small house in a neighbouring village, pack up my life in the UK and come out here to write.

So it was fitting that thirteen years later I should set up a stand in Charlotte's garden for the art weekend selling Spaghetti Head.  I felt as if I had come full circle.

We had a steady stream of people enjoying the open-gardens and I chatted to most of them.  I was bowled over by how interested and friendly people were and how easily they bought a copy of S Head.  I sold 20 in all - which I thought was amazing.  And it was an invaluable exercise for me because I realised that the creative side of setting up the stand, chatting to people, smiling, laughing, is what I really enjoy doing, and so at every opportunity I will attempt to keep Spaghetti Head out there on a road-tour. 

If you have a paperback to sell I can recommend getting out amongst your readers and saying hello.

My how my life has changed!

Two months ago I could sit infront of my laptop in the evening, browsing properties in SW France and Somerset: dreaming.  Now, however, my evenings are a whirl of tweeting, scheduling posts on Hootsuite, trying to understand how to use LinkedIn, noting down my passwords for gmail, mailchimp, website, godaddy, createspace, wordpress, onedrive and so on.  I'm finding everything that needs reading, researching, joining or liking overwhelming. The  crazy-looking Emu in the photo looks how I feel.  But I mustn't complain, because apparently, such is the life of a writer. 

Tonight, however, I'm taking the time to only write this blog and then celebrate.  Why?  Well, Spaghetti Head has been available as a kindle eBook for the last 6 weeks.  Today it became  available as a PAPERBACK!!  It feels like a massively monumental moment: a story that I have held very close to my heart has jumped through it's final hoop. 

Tomorrow evening I'll be back on my lap-top trying to figure out how to let people know that it's out there, waiting to be discovered.

Until then, cheers!

Future Writing Plans

I realise that all my efforts have gone into realeasing Spaghetti Head into the world, and I have somewhat neglected future planning!  I think this is because for years I have had two book titles swimming around my mind, and it's just that Spaghetti Head shouted the loudest and so was written first.  Now that it's been published, and all I have to do is fifteen hours of self-promotion and social media every day (!) I feel it's time for the second title to come to life.  To bring it to life I am going to go and sit under an Oak tree in South Somerset with my notepad and pen and see what happens.  Three trees will definitely play an important role in the book.  This poem is getting my creative juices flowing - I wrote it in Mali in 1997:

In a village in the middle of nowhere
sit twenty-five African men and me.
Surrounded by chickens and sand,
we discuss what their women's future will be.
But there's no women around -
they've no choice,
and they've no voice
in what passes in the shade of this tree.

Designing the Spaghetti Head Cover

Hello, I’m Laura, Sarah’s Niece, I had the exciting job of creating Spaghetti Head’s front cover!

After reading Spaghetti Head I was excited to ask Sarah if I could give the front cover a go, and luckily she agreed! Because I’d already read the book I had a few ideas of what I thought would be suitable. We wanted something feminine but not too chick flick; colourful but not too in your face; and it needed to be a little bit ‘out there’ because Spaghetti Head isn’t just any old novel!

I guess I started with a ‘mind map’ of ideas, I put a few of these together and sent them over to Sarah to get her thoughts. Luckily, she really liked some of the designs so we narrowed it down.

Below you can find out how we chose the title font and the spaghetti strand that runs across the cover:

Spaghetti Head Title

Obviously one of the most important areas!

We both agree that a bold font was best to make the name stand out, but to also emphasise the bold statements that Spaghetti Head makes throughout the book.

We wanted a fun font to represent the tongue in cheek personality that the lead character, Nell, has throughout the book.

The pink semicircle on top of the ‘i’ represents a Pink Coconut Shell. This Coconut Shell plays a large role in Nell’s therapy sessions. As part of the therapy, Nell has to revisit past memories to understand them in order to let go of the issues she still holds onto in adult life.

You might be asking what a pink coconut shell has to do with that? Well, you’ll have to read Spaghetti Head to find out!

The Spaghetti Strand (my favourite part)!

What’s the relevance of Spaghetti you might be wondering? Well, here’s Sarah’s description for you:

“I was in a relationship with a man who wasn’t entirely honest, and one day I got to the point where I felt I couldn’t think clearly anymore. My head and my heart were one big jumbled mess. I drew a picture of a massive pile of squiggly lines, and named many of the lines with my emotions. I then tried to figure out how I could get from all of the jumbled squiggles to a nice tidy pile - which I hoped would lead to a calm mind and a calm solar plexus."

As I looked at the drawing, I thought of a big pile of spaghetti - and Spaghetti Head was born!”

Sarah and I both agreed that we liked the idea of having a Spaghetti strand across the front cover.

As you can imagine, it felt like there was an infinite amount of Spaghetti shapes and we were finding it hard to pinpoint the shape we were looking for. I’m based in Dorset and Sarah in France so most of our communication about the cover was done via email or Skype. This made the process of agreeing on the perfect stand a little more time consuming!

Here’s an email snippet so you can visualise how rubbish we were at deciding what spaghetti pattern we liked the most:

“Thanks for adding more squiggles, but that doesn't feel right - and it's an optical illusion - but it makes the page look much wider than the others - bizarre.”

“I like it, but I think the strand is a bit bold, and maybe a bit fat?  I think it looks a bit like a snake! I like the left hand side with the loop - maybe follow it with another smaller loop and a twist - something a bit more chaotic.”

So Sarah decided to take it back to basics! Oh how I chuckled when I found this in my inbox on Monday morning:

“Morning, and a Happy Monday to you, it’s been pouring here since Friday evening.

Now then, are you sitting comfortably? At the risk of you disowning me as any blood relation, and being branded totally anal, I have to admit to spending a very happy half hour with a strand of Spaghetti on Saturday night.

The strand on the cover design has been niggling at me, so I threw my Saturday night strand in the air and took photos of my favourite landing configurations. Below is one. I’ll send the other one in next email.”

Here are our finalists:
 

And how did we narrow it down to one? Here’s another email extract to explain:

“The more I look at the one on the right, the more it looks like a stick figure doing a kind of bicycle-in-the-air gym exercise.”

The squiggly bendy one was the winner! We moved it around a little, but doesn’t it look proud!

So there you have it, the regimented and rigorous process of putting together the Spaghetti Head cover! If you’ve read the book, I think you’ll agree that Nell Greene wouldn’t of had it any other way!

A writer's life

I’m disciplined, so forming a writing routine was easy.  I’m also self-employed, so I can keep at least one day a week free to write.  I write either in my office, surrounded by photos, pendulums, pictures and post-its, or in my caravan out in the garden – depending on the weather!  My cat is never far from me, and neither is a cup of coffee. 

I sit down to start writing at around 10am, trying not to get side-tracked by social media.  I’ll write solidly until lunch, and then do another hour before going out for a walk. It does me good to clear my head – and I’m never more inspired than when I’m sweating out in the fresh air!

Once I have an idea, I just need to get it out, so I could probably write 3,000 to 5,000 words in a day.  Once I have the initial idea onto screen, I then start the process of editing.  In a previous life as an overseas development worker, I wrote many many reports, and so developed a logical approach to managing a lot of words.  When I received feedback on Spaghetti Head, from my first wave of readers, I felt overwhelmed by having to figure out how to make changes to 85,000 words without losing track.  I sat down in front of the manuscript and stared at it, and stared at it, until I figured out the most logical approach.

I never write at weekends.

I find writing therapeutic – so I’m never happier than when I’m tapping away on my laptop.

How did I know I was a writer?

How did I know I was a writer? 

That’s an interesting question, and one I thought I would never be answering on a blog.

I have never (until recently) thought of myself as a writer, even though I have written for most of my life.  I have kept a diary every year since I was eleven, and written poetry since I was seventeen.  None of which I shared, none of which I put forward for publishing - so I didn't think I was a writer.  But then, a few years ago, I was asking myself what I really love doing, and the one thing I kept coming back to was 'writing'.  As I said: I have always written.  So, that must make me a writer, yes?

In 2006, I wrote 90,000 words in 30 days as part of Nanowrimo, and there I had my first draft of Spaghetti Head.  It was at that moment I realised there was a huge leap I needed to take - from writer to author.  I can be a writer and nobody will ever read it.  If I'm an author, the whole point is for someone else to read it.  To me, that was a very scary prospect. But the story needed to be written.

Am I a good writer, or a bad writer?  I'm just a writer - it's what I love to do.  Good or bad.  Being an author is a totally different thing - that takes hour and hours, years even, of re-writing, editing, formatting, perfecting the same piece of writing.

I do not judge myself as a writer, as I do as an author. I am a writer when I am scribbling how I feel about something in my diary.  I am a writer when something inspires me to make up a poem.  Freeing my emotions through my pen is always what has kept me sane, so I will always be a writer. 

Bumble goes to France

Bumble - my mini, Tracey and I, set off on our big french adventure, with a tape player/radio on the dashboard: a tent, which, we discovered at 11pm one evening in the middle of nowhere, had no pegs: a bottle of cider, and not a lot else.  We sang Lilac Wine by Elkie Brooks into the antenna of the radio, and braved narrow mountain passes that terrified both of us. 

We were nineteen, it was our first adventure together, and it was when my mind started to really thrive on the inflow of sights, sounds and smells.  Somehow I needed to capture all of it - and so my usual diary-writing routine moved up a gear, and I added poetry into the mix.  We started our trip grape-picking in the Loire, and this is a poem I wrote whilst there:

GRAPES

Little green ones,
little red ones.
Big green ones,
big red ones.
Mouldy green ones,
mouldy red ones,
all for me to pick
and squash
and cut my bloody finger
and get bloody back ache
and bloody dirty hands.
But, oh, how I love you, Grapes.