Fiction, feminism and old flames

As anyone who knows me will attest, I am fascinated by romantic relationships. It's my favourite topic of conversation and the inspiration for pretty much all of my poetry, so it makes sense that I would choose to write fiction about the subject as well. And I have done, twice.

My first novel, Once Upon a Pony Tail  was written when I got divorced at the tender age of twenty-six. It's a kind of intelligent (I hope!) chick lit novel about a young woman rediscovering herself as a single woman post-divorce. Not autobiographical at all ;) Interspersed with the narrative of the main protagonist are various revisionist stories about fairytale heroines. The myth of the one true love/handsome prince rescuing his victim, erm princess, and locking (looking after) her in a tower or castle is another aspect of romantic relationships that has interested me since the days when I discovered feminist criticism at Leicester university.

My friend and fellow novelist, Stacey Sampson, described me as a paradox (with "oceanic depths" no less) the other night and back then, I probably embodied some of the same paradoxes that I do today, one of which is the romantic, heterosexual feminist. In those days I floated around like some kind of nostalgic Bronte-esque figure in petticoats, hats and pinafores, with my only nod to feminism being my steel toe-cap Doc Martens. Nowadays I've swapped my Doc Martens for my Fly boots and my petticoats for slightly shorter, pretty dresses but I'm still basically a girly girl on the surface with a steely independence underneath. Regardless of my tutor's opinion that I couldn't be a feminist without wearing trousers, I believed it was okay to be a pretty feminist back then and I still do; feminism has nothing whatsoever to do with the length or existence of skirts or hair in my humble opinion. I was then and still am, desperately independent and just a tad eccentric, but at the same time I longed to be rescued by a handsome prince and, whilst I vehemently rejected the misogyny of my family background, I still spent most of my university years passively dreaming of  my own handsome prince (aka my lovely archaeologist  friend from the veggie table of Digby halls) hoping that he would notice me. In the spirit of not buying into those fairytale cliches, he ran off with a different princess to whom, I have recently discovered, he is still married, damn him!

Everybody has somebody that they never quite got over and he is mine, although I was oblivious to this fact until recently when I realised that I'd named the male character in my young adult novel, Tag, after him. I recognise him now in the description of Tag walking away from Lorna who is, to some extent, my eighteen year old self. And, it is the joy of being a fiction writer, that, in that novel, Lorna gets to kiss Tag (and then some....) whereas the object of my real life affections came within inches of my lips in 1992 before pulling away and telling me about the girl who is now his wife.

I know she's still his wife because I foolishly contacted him via social media recently and embarked upon a long and tortuous discussion about love, life, marriage, monogamy and fulfilment. It is a conversation which has been fascinating and heartbreaking in equal measure. I haven't done a word count on our messages but it is probably nearly long enough to make a novel and the subject is certainly interesting enough. So, I've decided to reincarnate him as a character in a second novel which, this time will be for adults. It will be a novel about what happens when the one who got away comes back and about how the decisions we make at pivotal points change the course of our lives forever. It will also be about the relative merits of monogamy and marriage versus freedom, autonomy and variety and somewhere in there will be the exploration of those grey areas of when flirtation becomes infidelity and how much our morality is fixed or subjective.

Although I've seen myself mostly as a writer for children and young adults in recent years, that first book that I wrote in my twenties was very nearly picked up by Ali Gunn at Curtis Brown who said that she believed it could be a bestseller. She phoned me and said that she was only interested in the kind of novels that could make her 'hundreds of thousands of pounds' and, eventually, she got too busy with those kind of projects and forgot about my little beginner's novel. But, as a person who had that kind of encouragement, who is still fascinated by love and marriage, it makes sense to go back to the subject.

I'm 43 now and single again for the first time in a decade and, whilst I haven't stayed with one man for as long as many people, I've had experience of lots of different kinds of relationships and I've had a lot of thoughts on the subject. I'm still not sure if I'm any wiser about how to make relationships last but I'm certainly more experienced. I've still got no idea if the free spirit in me (the part that is the writer) can function in a traditional relationship and yet the romantic in me still wants to believe that there is someone for everyone and still has to hope that the person for me didn't marry someone else back in the 1990s because that would really suck. So, I'm investigating the subject and writing the novel and hoping that I might work it out whilst having some fun along the way. I've started by chatting to men I know about their relationships and their views on marriage. I'm targeting men because I already talk a lot to women about this kind of stuff and I'm figuring that getting to understand men better might help me choose more compatible partners in future.  So far, I have the conversations with my long lost love and I've now added to them with the musings of a random stranger on the train to London and a friend who is in an open relationship. All very interesting stuff.

If you want to talk to me about your own relationships and your views on marriage, freedom, monogamy, fidelity or anything else, please get in touch and I will buy you cake! If you don't want to talk about this subject and you are my friend, you might want to lay low for the next six months because I could become even more single-minded than usual.

How do writers write?

I've just started a new novel. It's exciting for me because I've not started a new novel for a while. I love setting off on a voyage of discovery with the characters. I have a vague idea of the theme of the book and a vague idea who the characters are but, for me, the process of writing fiction is very similar to the process of reading it. I write in order to work out what will happen, in the same way that anyone who knows me will confirm that I talk in order to work out what I think. Which doesn't always go down well with some people!

This morning I dropped my six year old at school and the tables were already set out with today's story-writing task. The school employs Pie Corbett's WALT system which, when I read about it, sounds like a really effective way to get children writing, but I couldn't help feeling faintly depressed when I saw the grid of writing prompts. What is your setting? Who are your characters? What will happen? If I saw that, I would immediately have writers' block. I didn't know where the male protagonist of my book lived until I described his garden. I didn't know where the female character worked until she walked through the door of the library that, it turns out, she manages. If I had to know everything about what's going to happen in my story, I wouldn't get off the starting blocks.

Lots of writers I know do plot their novels carefully and maybe it works for them but the joy for me is setting out with an unknown destination. And maybe six year olds need a bit of structure for their writing sometimes. But when I watch my daughter with a pile of cardboard and scissors, glitter and glue, she doesn't have any idea what she's making and she's utterly enthralled by the process of creative discovery. Writing doesn't have to be any different. All you need is the material of words, the glue of grammar and the glitter of imagination. It would be nice to see a bit more of that in schools.

I would swim more rivers

Last time I came to Ty Newydd two years ago, I packed my swimsuit but never swam. This time I promised myself I would, even though it is April this time and not June. I was going to do it yesterday when the sun was scorching but I got absorbed in my writing and vowed to swim today. And today it was grey and rainy. But I knew I couldn't live with myself if I didn't go. So I did. I swam in the sea on the North Welsh coast in April in the rain and it was glorious, freezing, but glorious.

As a writer to say that something takes your breath away is a cliche and really, how often does that happen? But, diving into the sea in April really will snatch your breath and invigorate your senses and free your mind. I'm going to do it more often :)

I have had a wonderful week here on the NAWE and Lapidus retreat. I always do. I have sent off one novel and started another, written loads of poems and chatted with fascinating women (apologies to the men but they just weren't so cool). And, just now, I found this stone on my windowsill.

We did one writing exercise about why we write and the piece I wrote seemed to resonate with the women here. So I'll share it with you and maybe it will mean something to someone else. And it features those daisies again.

Why do I write?

I write because what else is there but the flow of ink on paper?

Because, sitting here with this pen in my hand,

hearing the pens of neighbours pouring forth, I feel at home.

I feel whole. I feel this is where I belong.

And sometimes, all of life feels a distraction from this motion

of pen on paper, of fingers on keyboard.

I write to give voice to the secrets of my heart,

to be voluble and free like a babbling brook flowing

out into the endless ocean.

I write to heal, to hear, to be understood.

Maybe I write to be loved.

I write to explore, to travel, to wander and wonder

into the places that others can't reach,

that others fear to go.

I write to jump naked into the abysss, knowing that words

will catch me.

You say my life has been interesting,

Yes, I say, but not happy.

I follow the interest and it leads me to places a wiser person would not go.

But it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Better to say it, do it, live it, than regret it.

Better to pick daisies while we still can.

And maybe happiness is not something to strive for.

Maybe interesting is enough. 

Maybe life provides the spark, the food, the material.

And writing is my joy.

I would pick more daisies

At the moment I'm on a writing retreat at Ty  Newydd in Wales. It is the most beautiful day and I have been for a walk by the sea. On the way back, I spotted a dandelion clock. It made me think of my children and how they would squeal and fight over it. I walked on past. And then something made me remember this poem. And I went back to pick it. And I blew the seeds into the air like fairies. And felt better for it.

So, I thought I'd start blogging again and I thought I'd start by sharing this lovely sentiment.

If I had my life to live over,
I'd try to  make more mistakes next time.
I would relax.
I would limber up.
I would be sillier than I have been on this trip.
I know of very few things I would take seriously.
I would be crazier.
I would be less hygienic.
I would take more chances.
I would take more trips.
I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers and watch more sunsets.
I would burn more gasoline.
I would eat more ice cream and less beans.
I would have more actual troubles and less imaginary ones.
You see, I am one of those people who lives prophylactically and sensibly and sanely
hour after hour, day after day.
Oh, I've had my moments and if I had it to do over,
I'd have more of them.
In fact, I'd try to have nothing else.
Just moments, one after the other,
instead of living so many years ahead each day.
I have been one of those people who never goes anywhere
without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a gargle, a raincoat and a parachute.
If I had to do it over again, I would go to places
and do things and travel lighter than I have.
If I had my life to live over,
I would start bare-footed earlier in the spring
and stay that way later in the fall.
I would play hookey more.
I wouldn't make such good grades except by accident.
I would ride on merry-go-rounds.
I'd pick more daisies.

Nadine Stair, 85, Louiseville, Kentucky    

Back to school

It's that time of year again. Autumn leaves crunching underfoot, nights drawing in. Everyone's back from their holidays and back to school or work.

For me the break has been longer than most. Partly because we've only just returned from a fantastic jaunt to sunny Spain and partly because my baby boy has recently turned one and, finally, after a nightmare year, we have his health problems mostly under control. My last blog post hoped for a baby who slept from six weeks old; no such luck! Instead Douglas has a rare condition known as Eosinophilic Gastro Intestinal Disorder which basically means he's allergic to just about everything (including breast milk!) and which has kept him up for most of the night screaming with pain for much of his little life. Thankfully now that he's on a ridiculously restricted diet of butternut squash and potato along with some helpful medication he's a happy boy and I can get back to work.

But then there's the question, how to start? The world of Tag and Lorna seems a long way away now. The worlds of young people, agents, publishers and literature professionals even further away. I've spent more time in hospitals than libraries over the past year and the only books I've read have been about food allergies. To add to the feeling of dislocation, the landscape in the arts has changed in fairly major ways, leaving me wondering (along with much of the British population) whether I'll ever work again and slightly worried about the state of my finances. So, I guess I just need to begin putting one word after the last and see where it leads me.

This is me committing to that process again in some small way. Wish me luck!

When life gets in the way.....

I had it all planned. I was going to re-write my novel, polish every word and have it safely deposited with agents and publishers in September. And then I got pregnant and my mum (and main source of childcare) was diagnosed with a particularly nasty cancer and it all became a bit harder than I'd expected. Morning sickness plus the demands of a toddler who hit the terrible twos have taken their toll so it's all been delayed somewhat. Now I'm finally have to concede that trying to write another 15,000 words in a week whilst ticking off everything on my 'baby - to do' list is not realistic, so I'm allowing myself to rearrange cupboards and clean skirting boards in true nesting fashion. Who knows, I might even allow myself a little afternoon snooze.

I'll be back to the book and the blog once the new baby is settled and I've got over the horror the of being up all night again. Hopefully I'll have of those angels that sleeps through the night at six weeks and I'll have the book finished by Christmas.....but maybe not.

Thanks for reading.

Beverley

New chapters available on my website

I've been meaning to post the latest version of my opening chapters for a while and I've finally mastered the technology to post them on my website (or at least, I've finally got round to getting Tim to do it.) You can find them at http://www.beverleyward.net/page4/page4.html They are also on www.groupthing.org under the group called Writer in Residence.

There have been some changes since the last time I posted them. I decided that Tag's opening chapter didn't make a strong enough opening and that there needed to be a clearer link between the two characters from the outset in order to get the reader interested. Hopefully by beginning with Lorna's character and voice and establishing her intention of volunteering at the literacy project, it sets the reader up to know how the two characters will meet, thus making them interested in reading on. That's the hope anyway! I've also done some work on the voices of the two main protagonists, although I still think I'll need to go back and work on these early chapters again, as the voices have become more convincing as I've gone on.

I was hoping to have a polished draft of the novel done by September but, because I've essentially done a total rewrite, and not a redraft as I expected, when it's finished it will still be a rough draft. I may send the early chapters (once I've polished them) to agents and publishers in September though while I work on the redraft. If I do, the chapters on the website are what I would send: usually they ask for 3 chapters (double-spaced, printed on one side of A4) and a synopsis which should be as close to one page as possible.

I've written a few books but this is the first one I've rewritten and redrafted over and over. I don't think I'd quite appreciated before just how much work goes into getting something to publishable quality.