Stay a while..

Beautifully put – how fleeting are those precious moments with our little ones. Our greatest gift is to to raise them to enable them to touch the moon.

Notes from a busy Mum...

Stay a while my little one, my arms will hold you tight.

Stay a while my little one, I’ll watch you sleep all night.

Let’s talk some more about your plans, an Astronaut you say?

Let’s walk some more, across the fields, let’s watch the lambs at play.

Wait a while my precious one, this life moves all too fast.

Wait a while my precious one, how can this moment last?

Give me a moment , one more day, we’ll read your book of Space,

Give me a moment, one more night to kiss your sleeping face.

Stop a while my Angel boy, a story I will read,

Stop a while my Angel boy, you go at such a speed.

Let me have a moment more, before you take your path,

Let me have a moment more to listen to you laugh.

Sit a while, my little boy, tell me…

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A Birthday

My beautiful Grandson. He came to us after a long dark winter of the heart and brought light, love and laughter into our broken hearts. Thank you Amelie, darling child, for this dear boy; your legacy. God bless my brave daughter and her partner for their strength in overcoming one of life’s toughest challenges. You are an inspiration.

an angel mummy

I Am Max!

This week we prepare for a Birthday. A very special day in the calendar for this family. A day where we not only celebrate a ‘new number’, but a day where we will be forever grateful to be given the privilege to celebrate.

Perhaps a Birthday in your house is all about presents, cake, balloons and ice cream? Well in our house it is indeed about all of these things, but also about a silent ‘thanks’. A silent prayer that we make another happy year. That our dreams aren’t shattered, that our hopes can be realised.

It is on this day, in particular, that I have to give special thanks to our Angel who gave us this gift. Without her we’d never be able to celebrate our Rainbow.

We are nearing four years since our dreams were realised in the shape of our precious Boy. I remember…

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How To Turn Anger On Its Head.

Image courtesy of jesadaphorn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

RIGHT NOW I’M ANGRY.

LIVID

SEETHING

INCANDESCENT

…and just a teensy bit cross.

Normally I am pretty easy going; tolerant of others and non-judgemental, a good listener, blah-de blah-de blah … I hope.

But not right now.

NOW NO MORE MRS NICE PERSON!

She’s gone out for a while.  She’ll probably be back later but right now she’s not at home.

Just like the Incredible Hulk, I am, figuratively speaking, you understand, bursting out with raging emotional muscles, a strange, tooth baring grimace (Not pretty.  Please look away now), and sporting a rather odd, sickly complexion.  I feel sick.  I look sick. I need a little lie-down.

I hate these feelings that are rampaging around inside me.  They make me uncomfortable, irrational, upset and a bit sorry for myself.  I can’t focus on anything except my hurt, indignation and fury. Can’t sleep either.

And on top of all that, there are those angry mental conversations and rants that fill my head, to the exclusion of everything else.

You know the ones.  When those clever, pithy remarks and Churchillian put-downs that you never manage to think of during a real confrontation, are tripping off your tongue with scintillating brilliance. You are stunned by your own grandiloquence. Those empowering fantasies where you get to do all the talking and the object of your wrath is struck dumb by your eloquence, command of language and pure righteousness.  He/she/it – I don’t want to appear discriminatory in this – doesn’t stand a chance against you.  He/she/it  quakes; trembling in a pathetic, whimpering heap on the floor of your mental dungeon; a single unforgiving spotlight trained upon him/her/etc…

He/she/it- you know the rest – is nothing.

A lowly worm.

He etc. accepts without argument that his is a lowly place in this world and you are Queen – or King – and what you say goes.

Oh! The power! You are indefatigable in justified fury.  You are victorious.

OK.  So that’s the fantasy, but you know what I mean.

I am in the right.  Of course, I am.  (Actually, in this particular instance, I am. Obviously).

Kind, forgiving thoughts can keep out.  There’s no room for forgiveness here.  I will not soften.  Well, not yet, anyway.

But I haven’t, in this particular instance, had a confrontation with anyone.  Thank goodness.  And I don’t intend to because family harmony will be put to the test in a big way if it does come to that.  And I can’t afford for that to happen.  There’s too much to loose.  So I have to bite my tongue.  And that hurts.

But that’s the thing with anger isn’t it?  It can come at a terrible cost, sometimes, if you let it.  And I’m not prepared to pay the price of wreaking my wrath on the object of my anger.  I have to keep it bottled up.  And I know I’ll calm down in time and it will all blow over.  But right now I have to deal with it. Somehow.

Which led me to consider how I could direct this uncomfortable emotion which scratches like a hair shirt, to some more positive use.  OK. So I have never actually worn a hair shirt, but I can’t imagine it sits softly on the skin.  It’s fine that I am stomping around the house, eating less and burning up unwanted calories with white hot fury.  I can’t object to that.  But there has to be something more constructive to be gained from this highly uncomfortable emotion.

Which is what brought me here.  To these pages where I can let off steam and hopefully turn it into something more constructive.

And now that I am focussing on my anger in a more analytical light the solution becomes obvious.  I can write it out.  I can use these feelings to better effect in my novel.  When my protagonist gets angry, and I know she will – she already has when The Wild Hunt wrenched her from all that was familiar and kidnapped someone she loved – I now know exactly how to write it out for her and she’ll feel so much better for my understanding exactly how she feels, and how she should react.

I now find myself directing my attention to exactly what I am feeling in a more analytical way. Trying to take the ‘personal’ out of it.  Watching it as if from a distance.  Feeling the heat of anger and drawing from it; controlling and not letting it own me.

I’m taking note in a more dispassionate way, of those hot rage-fuelled impotent tears that are ever close to spilling down my face.  Objectively noting the sensation of the cold sweat breaking out on my skin and the sickly churning in my stomach;  my trembling hands and tightening, dry mouth and clenched jaw;  the headache, and the tension across my shoulders.  That feeling of wanting to run and hide.

Strange how it feels a lot like fear.

I can write a scene that uses these emotions and physical feelings with much more understanding now that I am channelling my fury in a positive way, instead of just letting it take me over and cause me heartburn and sleepless nights and a whole range of other uncomfortable feelings.

So here we are, and I do, actually, feel a whole lot better for that, in a strange sort of way.

And maybe that’s a useful thing to remember;  if you can take the personal out of a negative emotion like anger; turn off the rant and switch on the analyst, you can turn a huge negativity into a lesson in creativity and use it to constructive effect.

Which brings me on to all the other more positive emotions:  love, passion, tenderness, kindness, compassion, sympathy…

The same can be applied here. They’ll be a lot more comfortable to explore in a more dispassionate fashion – for a little while. We wouldn’t want to get too distant from the warmer side of life, after all.  Take a quick peek at how they make you feel, then get back to enjoying them.

I don’t want to be constantly analysing things.  I’m no psychoanalyst, psychologist,  or any other armchair ‘ologist’.  That would put a cold scientific spin on things, which is not what I want at all.  I’m simply a normal person like any other, who feels deeply and often painfully.

But as a writer, I want to be able to redirect these feelings in a constructive way.  I want to get something positive out of the anger.  It can only improve my writing, surely?

And that tight knot in my stomach has eased at last.

Catharsis.

I feel better already.

Ah, look!  That’s good.

Mrs Nice Person’s coming back home.

#Writing a Novel: Planning

Bulls Eye (well, nearly)

At last.  I have finally overtaken (just) my self-imposed target of 80,000 words.  And what a journey that has been, full of uncertainties, dithering, procrastination (I am particularly skilled in that area), self-doubt, self-loathing, utter terror and blushing embarrassment at the very idea that I should aspire to becoming a proper novelist.  Just who do I think I am? There was a whole bunch of other defeatist stumblings along the way, but I won’t bore you with those.  However, I’ve made it, well nearly, but with only a chapter, at most, two, to go I feel the need to celebrate and pat myself on the back.

Now the real hard work begins.  Re-writing, editing, re-re-writing, scratching my head and wondering what on earth made me want to do this in the first place. Still, it’s a start and who knows, maybe one day I WILL step out of the door as a published author. Wish me luck.

(Photo by sattva. Image courtesy of Freedigitalphotos.net)

An Ancient ‘New Forest’

After struggling to find my way with’ The Earthlights Saga’  (working title, as ever, subject to change), I was looking for inspiration;  a kick or a nudge that would set the creative juices flowing again, and I found it in the ancient woods and heaths of The New Forest, in Hampshire.

There is a magic there that pre-dates its near thousand-year history as a royal hunting ground.  King William 1st, called the Conqueror, declared these wild acres to be his hunting preserve and woe betide anyone who would presume to take a deer, pheasant or even a wild rabbit.  To be caught was a crime punishable by mutilation.  A harsh price to pay for trying to stay alive. The days when a peasant could be hanged for the taking of the King’s deer, and could only gather fallen wood for their fires, risking punishment should they chop down a tree for fuel, are long since over and the animals and people who now inhabit this lovely place can live in peace, their rights protected by a more benevolent law.

But the magic from pagan times when elementals held sway and the  folks of myth danced in the dappled glades and played in silvery brooks, still lingers for those who would take the time to be still and listen and open their eyes to see the wonders.

Spooky tree in The New Forest

Seek out the mysteries in those dark forest pools, where the swaying trees are reflected in the shivering waters, cradling the dreams of naiads;  in the sleeping ancient trees where dryads sway and delicate deer and their dappled fauns tremble in the shadows as you pass.  Wander the broad sunlit heathlands, dotted with golden gorse and home to wild ponies, and sleek wandering cattle and hear the songs of the Fae in the whispering breeze.  A sensitive soul will soon become aware of the ancient magical folks of legend who dream in another older plane that drifts alongside our rushing, hurrying times.  They are heedless of the tarmacked roads, cars and noisy lives.  They have no need of cell phones, power lines and the trappings of the 21st Century.  They just wait for the curious questing soul to sit quietly and listen, and they will whisper their tales and tease and beguile, and, if they deem you to be worthy, you will be blessed and inspired and gifted with their magic.

I pray that I have been so blessed.

As I was saying . . .

Ok.  So I’ve done it again.  Another year on and still no published book and pitifully few blog posts.  Why?

Procrastination.

That’s why.

Wretched thing.

It creeps up on me every time I sit down to write and whips the keyboard out from under my eager fingers.  I do want to write.  Honestly, I really do.  But suddenly there’s something else far more pressing, that needs my full attention.  Like emptying the bins, cleaning the sink and folding the tea towels.  You know how it is . . .

You know how it is . . .

Having said all that, regardless of whatever it may be that takes me away from my desk, the tale is continuing to unfold in my head and this ‘procrastination’ can actually work to my advantage – sometimes.

I have found that on occasion some mindless task which does not require my brain to be in attendance,  gives me the mind space to sort out my protagonists’ rather pressing problems.  Or better yet, my busy brain cranks up a gear and creates a crisis for her/him to get themselves out of.  Now that can be a whole lot of fun, for me anyway, even if my weary characters throw dark looks and even darker curses at me.  They just want to go home and lead a quiet life.  But I can’t allow them to do that just yet.  There’s stuff to do out there in fantasy land, and they’re the only ones who can sort out the mess I’ve made of their lives.

Either way, when I do manage to wrestle the ‘p’ word to the ground, I go back to my keyboard with renewed enthusiasm and happily tap away again.

That is until Procrastination gets up off the floor and creeps up behind me again.

Procrastination

It just doesn’t know when to give up.

Shameful!

I cannot, really cannot believe that it is a whole year since I last posted.  I am deeply ashamed of myself, and try as I might, I can find no plausible excuse for so neglecting my blog.  I promise to be more attentive in the future.

However, I’ve not been totally idle and I have been working on my fantasy novel and have managed to increase my word count to a little over 56 thousand words. Hopefully, some of them at least will survive the editing process if I ever make it to that stage. I have found that even though not all of my time has been taken up with the actual writing process, I have been spending hours on research and to my delight the story is now following a more cohesive course.  I feel my characters and background have far more substance now, and my protagonist(s) have better direction.  They seem a lot happier now too, despite all the problems that beset them. The writing process is a fascinating one for me, as my characters take on a life of their own, developing little quirks and habits that may sometimes irritate me, but make them more believable.  They are becoming scarily independent and frequently make choices that I hadn’t foreseen, or stubbornly refuse to go in the direction I want them to move to.  Or sometimes a new character will introduce him/herself and demand a role in the story.  A debate then ensues regarding their importance or lack of, and do they move the story on or are they just a distraction.  All of which leads to a whole lot more thinking on my behalf.  Do I need them, or do I not? Am I right?  Or are they?  At this stage, it’s often difficult to tell but all of which is leading to rather more interesting (I hope) results.

I did start out in November – as I have done for the past three or four years – with every intention of completing NaNoWriMo. But as usual I fell at the first hurdle after completing only a couple of thousand words.  The fireworks at that time of year caused one of my dogs to go into a complete panic and injure herself rather badly so my attention was on her and her ongoing veterinary treatment, rather than my fantasy world. It has all been rather traumatic, but nobody loves you quite like a dog does, so she has to come first right now. She is my darling fur baby and deserves no less.

* * *

Once again Christmas is creeping up on us at a rapid pace (Creeping?  Galloping, more like!) but for once I have managed to get ahead of myself and have bought and wrapped the gifts, written cards and have started filling the freezer with goodies. This was helped somewhat, by my re-discovering gifts that I had bought a few years ago and had hidden away and forgotten all about. Wonderful!  That meant I was actually 2 years ahead of myself and rather less shopping to fit into my schedule.  All of which leaves me more time than I usually have at this time of year to put fingertip to keyboard and get tapping, although it also indicates that it really is time I sorted out some cupboards.  Who knows what other goodies I might find hidden away?

Anyway, with all that, and Christmas coming too, I’ve been rather busy.  However, that does not excuse my lack of input here over the rest of the year.  I really should keep this up as it does get the creative juices flowing, and I can’t wait to see what is going to happen next.  Even though I would love to be published – as would most people who write, I am thoroughly enjoy the journey my characters are taking me on, so whether a book deal ever happens or not, I’m having the time of my life.

And on that note, I shall now replenish my coffee cup and move over to Scrivener and carry on.

Nearly there…

…By which I mean we are nearly into yet another New Year.  This year, or rather next, I am absolutely determined to concentrate on my novel. I have made such promises to myself in the past and precious little has come of it.  That is why I have stuck my neck out and gone public with my intention to publish in 2014.  I am hoping that having popped my head above the parapet and admitted my dreams to the world (or that small part of it that reads this stuff), that I shall force myself to continue to write, and to actually complete the project and see it published, since to fail yet again would be rather embarrassing.

There is, I think, some inner fear in me that, even though I am over 27000 words in, I don’t have whatever it might take to carry on, and I have used the ‘Oooh! Christmas is coming…I have so much to do…’ excuse to stop struggling with plot and characterisation etc and sit folding bits of paper over oddly shaped objects.  It’s easier to wrap a chocolate teapot by an open fire than it is to write the next line, particularly as lately my characters have been going ‘off piste’ all by themselves and acting in a very peculiar fashion and I have no idea how to get them back on track.  Does that happen to you?  If so, please tell me how to discipline them.  I don’t want to squash their imaginations, and I admire their creative spirit, but I would like them to do what I want occasionally otherwise the story that I imagined will turn into something else completely.

Which on reflection, might not be a bad thing…I digress!

So, that said, how do you discipline yourself to write?  What advice would you give to a dreamer with the attention span of a gnat and the self discipline of a two year old 😀  

Do you have a nagging parent, spouse or significant other who lovingly reminds you of your resolution?  Is your muse/conscience sitting on your shoulder like a dead weight, or does he/she/it give you wings?  Do you have some wonderful technical gizmo that goads you into action without any urging on your part?  If so, please let me know what it is and I shall download it immediately.  I do love a gadget. But whatever means you use to stick to your keyboard and produce your words, I would love to hear how you stay motivated.  

Or perhaps you are just superbly driven, disciplined and motivated.  

Oh, how I envy you.

I wish I was.  

Happy New Year, one and all.

 

 

 

 

The Muse at Christmas

 

 

For the last few days, being taken up with all the preparations for Christmas, I have been elbow deep in flour making pastry for sausage rolls etc, knee deep in wrapping paper, and up to my eyes in tree decorations, which has not left very much of me free to write.  I have been inwardly bemoaning the necessities of Christmas preparations taking me away from my keyboard, and given that I have been itching to carry on with both blog and novel,  it has all been a bit frustrating and I have even found myself on the odd occasion, looking forward to an end to all this festive stuff – I know, I know, ‘Bah Humbug!’  I hear you cry – so that I can put the metaphorical pen to the virtual paper once again.

That is until it occurred to me this morning that actually, all the preparations, time consuming, and enjoyable as they are, have been anything but a hindrance to the creative spirit.  For although I have had little time to do other than change the occasional word here and there in my novel, dot the odd ‘i’ and cross the errant ‘t’, my mind, whilst being overtaken with the practical, has been off on a wonderful flight of fancy and I find that I have garnered quite a few new ideas.  Suddenly my protagonists have taken on a new dimension and the plot does indeed thicken.  I am really excited now, and have made use of my Kindle to jot down notes and ideas as they have come to me and I realise that far from being a hindrance to the creative need, the Spirit of Christmas has actually proved to be my Muse.

I wish you all a very Happy Christmas, whatever your faith, and a peaceful and productive New Year and as a famous literary small boy once said  ‘ God Bless us all, everyone!’