Forget Me Not, my book of short stories, is free as an e-book until midnight UK time on 18th February. Forget me not is available from Amazon.
New year, new cover. Much as I love Jhinuk’s design, it got a bit lost as a thumbnail which is how most people will see it. If you bought it with the original cover you have a collector’s edition!
If you are anything like me, when browsing books online you totally judge a book by it’s cover. This cover (hopefully) tells people what they need to know about the book – that it’s got mining and kissing!
Of course the other way people buy books is based on recommendations – if you’ve read the book and enjoyed it then please leave a review or tell a friend.
If you haven’t yet read the book it’s available from Amazon, it’s currently just £1.99 for the Kindle edition.
You can read parts one and two at https://kittycampanile.wordpress.com/home/working-title-lost-and-found/read-lost-and-found/
For more info on the project see https://kittycampanile.wordpress.com/home/working-title-lost-and-found/
Lost and Found (that title may well be ditched) is a story set amongst the backdrop of the mid-seventies Northern Soul scene. I’m going to post it part by part as the year goes on . I’m doing this for a couple of reasons:
- I thought it might be fun
- It worked for the guy who wrote The Martian
- I can get feedback as we go along
I really do want feedback, the more the better. I’ll be turning comments on non each page (If I don’t, ping me).
If you are enjoying the story and want to help out, there are a couple of things you can do:
- Share with your friends. You saying “I like this”on Facebook is worth a good couple of quids worth of advertising
- Buy one of my books
- Tell me you’re enjoying it!
When the book nears completion, I’ll close up the mailing list offer and release it as a full novel! You can be a part of it from the start!!
You may have friends who are doing NaNoWriMo, or you may be doing it yourself. or you may have no idea what it is.
NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month. It’s a bit of a misnomer: it’s international, and you won’t get a novel written in one month however hard you try.
The aim is that in the month of November you try and write 50,000 words. That is possible, although not easy. Like anything with writing, it has its champions and its critics. Criticisms include tales of agents spending December deluged by hastily written crap. Another is the focus on word count, rather than quality.
I like the idea of NaNoWriMo, although I have never managed to hit 50,000 words in one month. Mighty Like a Rose started off as a NaNoWriMo effort, although I don’t think I had even 10,000 words by the end of it. Its focus on word count rather than quality is its strength – it gives you opportunity to turn off the inner editor. There’s no time to search for the perfect phrase, you need to get the story down.
Of course that doesn’t give you a novel, it gives you at best a first draft. But it’s a lot easier to polish 50,000 words, to expand on the ideas and firm up the plot, than it is to write thousands of words of perfect prose.
I’m trying again this year, and I very much doubt I’ll “win” by getting 50,000 words. But I’ll have some words, which is better than none.
NaNoWriMo isn’t somethign that works for everyone, but if it does work for oyu go for it, and have fun!
I’ve been quiet of late as I’ve been moving house. We’d been in the old place for 14 years so as you can imagine, we’d amassed a huge amount of stuff. Pint glasses, CDs, a huge stash of Manic Street Preachers posters that I’m saving for when I have my own study, and notebooks. So many notebooks. There is a packing crate filled with nothing but blank notebooks. It is embarassing.
I wish I could say that I’d been bought them by well meaning relatives who know I’m a writer and thought that they might be useful. I can’t though. I bought the vast majority of them myself. Bit by bit I have filled a whole box of notebooks that I don’t write in. Even knowing I have possibly literally a lifetime’s supply, I am still tempted when I walk past Paperchase.
I like the idea of writing in notebooks. It sounds like the kind of thing that a writer should do. When I was still at school I went to see the poet Simon Armitage speak (he’s a very good speaker, by the way). He said he always wrote on paper, never on computer, because otherwise he wouldn’t have piles of first drafts to sell to American universities.
Poetry is a different beast to writing a novel though. It’s one thing to re-write twenty lines in longhand, quite another when you are tipping 100,000 words. Many writers do write longhand to begin with a treat the typing up as a first edit. I can’t. There are a couple of reasons for this. One is that I’m terribly disorganised. I have a tendancy to be working on several things at once, and without a system of tagging I can never remember where I’ve put something. I plotted something out in a notebook once, then spent half a day looking high and low for the book. When I found it it was less of a plot and more of a series of disjointed phrases – school, argument, ferry incident? – I realised I had no idea what the hell I’d “plotted”. The second is I have really awful handwriting. It’s terrible. While this means I don’t have to worry about anyone reading over my shoulder and nicking my ideas, it means that there are frequent occasions where I genuinely cannot decipher what I’ve written. Even my neatest handwriting is a mystery to others, when I’m in full flow it’s just a page full of squiggles.
What do I write on then? For short bursts I use my tablet – an Asus Transformer with a built in keyboard. I’ve even managed to write blog posts and short stories on my phone although I have to be careful of autocorrect. The huge majority of Mighty Like a Rose was written on an elderly laptop running Ubuntu, on the dining table. The laptop is soon to be replaced but I still don’t have my own desk at home, I write where there is space for me. I keep a small notepad in my handbag for noting things down: overheard conversations, sudden flashes of inspiration, shopping lists.
How am I going to fill the box of notebooks then? I really don’t know. I have been dabbling in poetry, but not to the point of filling pagess and pages. I’ve done a few zentangles which was calming, but each only fills one page!
At some point I’m going to have to bite the bullet and give them away, in the hope that others will be inspired to write in them. And try and get myself banned from Paperchase.
I had a lovely present from my mum over the weekend, a card and mug from the Bronte Parsonage gift shop. The Brontes have always been part of my life. I was named after Catherine Earnshaw, wilful and stubborn heroine of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. As a child visits to Howarth were a regular family trip, as well as the Parsonage museum we would go on the steam trains on the Worth Valley railway and walk on the moors.
I don’t know how old I was when I first read Wuthering Heights. I had a child’s version of the book (which simplified the story and cut the framing device of Mr Lockwood listening to Ellen Dean. At some point I graduated to the full version and then worked my way through Jane Eyre, Agnes Grey, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Villette… everything. The poetry and even the juvenilia. The three sisters, and their ill-fated brother Branwell, produced a huge body of work, written in tiny handwriting in tiny, hand-made notebooks. What began as playing games with their toy soldiers evolved into complex sagas of imagined lands.
Emily Bronte only wrote one novel. She would die soon after her brother. Part of the enduring appeal of the Brontes is that the family story itself is so compelling and tragic. Like many female novelists there are continuous background rumblings that she could not have written Wuthering Heights herself. Most rumours suggest Branwell wrote it. One piece of “evidence” that keeps coming up is that Wuthering Heights is a dark, passionate story – how could a sheltered parson’s daughter write something so emotionally intense and darkly passionate? Well let me explain how fiction works. You make stuff up then write it down! It’s not autobiography. The Brontes were very well read, and their life was less sheltered than many imagine (Emily and Charlotte went to school for a time in Brussels, where Charlotte fell in love (unrequited) with the married professor of the school). While Charlotte did use experiences from her own life (Lowood school in Jane Eyre, her obsession with her married teacher in Villette and The Professor) in her books, as did Anne (her time as a governess inspired Agnes Grey and Branwell’s drinking influenced The Tenant of Wildfell Hall), where is no reason to think that Wuthering Heights is grounded in reality any more than Emily’s imagined kingdom of Gondal, the setting for her early work.
It seems to me that it is women writers who are assumed to write from life, whether it’s prose, poetry or songwriting. There are a lot of women (and men) writers who do write from their life, but many (including me) who don’t. People seem a bit disappointed when I tell them Mighty Like a Rose is from imagination, as if they’d prefer it if I’d gone through some of the traumas Mary has. I should take this as a compliment – something must be ringing true with people. But for the record – none of it is autobiographical.
Mighty Like a Rose begins 31 years ago to the day, on Valentine’s Day 1984. I didn’t particularly mean for the story to start on Valentine’s Day, the more important thing for me was that it was the day it was announced that Princess Di was pregnant with Harry. The fact that it was also the day Torvill and Dean won gold at Sarejevo with their “Bolero” (possibly one of the most 80s moments of the 80s) and it gave me a chance to show that all was not well in the Ryder household was a nice bit of serendipity, and felt like the story trying to write itself.
Valentine’s Day has run away with itself over recent years, back in ’84 Mary could just be mildly disgruntled that Nigel hadn’t bought her a card (it’s not the worst thing he does) but now I know for a fact that tomorrow Facebook and Twitter will be a tidal wave of pictures of flowers and chocolates, and meals in skyscrapers, and #loveyoubabe, and it’s all got a bit competitive.
I’ll admit, I’ve been very grumpy at my partner for forgetting Valentine’s Day on more than one occasion (including our first Valentine’s Day together). His initial defence was (not unreasonably) “I didn’t think you’d care about that crap”, but after a few tantrums he’s got the message that I do care about that crap. It’s no guarantee of a card though. He’s not great with dates, or with shopping. As I’ve got older I care a lot less. A well-chosen card on a very commercialised day is less important to me than what happens every day. One thing I hope that comes across in the book is that big, expensive gestures alone are meaningless, or worse. What is important is a mutual respect, a willingness to support each other and respect each other. I probably don’t tell my partner enough (and he doesn’t read the blog) how much I value his support, his understanding and all the things he does for me.
I still want some chocolates though.