As everyone reading this blog probably knows, it's next-to-impossible to earn a living solely by sitting down and writing the books you want to write, let alone the stories or the poems. There are probably only a handful or two of authors in the UK who can, and failing a higher-earning partner the rest of us have to keep the roof over the family's head with other work. Much of the time that's teaching of one sort or another: running workshops freelance, landing a part-time staff job in a college or university, doing editorial reports, one-to-one mentoring, and so on. Because it uses up the same kind of energy as one's own writing, as well as making life more complicated, sometimes I dream of not having to do it, or wonder if I'd be better off doing something completely unrelated.

But actually I've realised that even if I could, I don't think I'd want to give up this side of the writing life.

Read Full Post

Lord H and I have spent a day at Pulborough Brooks on their Beginners' Birdwatching course today. Well worth it - especially for the tips on field craft and quick lesson in birdspeak. I've learnt not to rush up to open fields yelling where are the birds then? Don't they know I'm here? and to hide behind things to watch, rather than standing in a clearing and jumping up and down whilst yelling ooh look a bird! I'm just so excitable, you know ...

Read Full Post

"Brianna. you know that isn't good for you. There are other ways that you can outlet your problems. Don't take it out on your wrist.."
That is what I had said. My own words. That was before it started. Before I started.

It was just a simple rubber band at first, snapping it and feeling the sweet tingle on my wrist. There was nothing bad about that...right?
And everyone around me was doing it to...it was just a game.
Then that began to escalate, and before I knew it friends began to resort to even more unhealthy things. Cutting;;

I was horrified at first. I didnt understand how that could make you "feel better"
Until one night, when i was all alone. Just me and a tack.
I didnt go deep. Just enought to cause a scrape, and a little bit of crimson to spurt from my wrist...
It was just once. I wasnt going to do it again. Just a tiny slip..

But it didnt stop there.
I began to resort to the razor to solve my problems,
The horrible stinging felt me feel better.
I hated the feeling, yet i loved it to.
I didnt want to do it. The logical part of me didnt want to
But more oftent than not, the side that wanted to won.

Friends knew about it. They said they would be there no matter what.
That I didnt need that. And maybe I didnt. Im not sure how many people told me not to, but I couldnt make that promise.

I was always careful about it. I never went to deep.
Until one night i did.
It wasnt on purpose, I didnt mean for it to happen.
And it scared me.
It got infected and got a scar.
One that is still on my arm.
When people asked what it was from, I always had an excuse.
I hanvent done that for quite some time.
And dont mistake a cutter for someone who is suicidal.
Maybe they were just like me.
Someone who was unmercifuly exposed to the world of crimson.

Well, it's better than being egg-bound, I suppose. That's a nasty condition for sure. Anyway, today I feel as if I'm living slightly outside my own life. It's strangely hard to put into words - something like woozy but not quite. Definitely distant. Perhaps my poor old system doesn't quite know what to do with the extra inrush of oestrogen which is suddenly being added to the gloop? I can imagine all my little blood cells going: Good God, George, what the devil is that? We haven't seen this for a while. Can anyone remember what to do? Equally strangely, I've also developed a stiff neck, but I can't see that in the hugely long list of side-effects this gel I'm using is supposed to produce. Apparently, the big worries are stopping breathing and pains up the arm. Hmm, I think I'd notice that. If the pain moves down from my neck, I shall endeavour to act accordingly. In the meantime, if anyone else out there is on Sandrena Oestrogen Gel, do get in touch and tell me if it gets better. Or not ...

Read Full Post

Managed to do a few words (about 500) to The Bones of Summer today - which was something of a breakthrough as I've not done anything to it for a fortnight and I was dreading getting started again. Mind you, I feel Craig and I are still on slightly dodgy ground as we attempt to get to know each other again. Yes, don't laugh - it is like that if you leave a novel for a while. Even two weeks. Like seeing an old friend you used to know quite well but you wonder if you have anything in common now. It's been made rather worse, I fear, by the fact that I left Craig in the middle of a sex scene - bloody hell, does the poor guy do nothing else in this ruddy novel?? - and I've now suddenly opened the door after a fortnight of ignoring him and he's giving me distinctly unfriendly stares. I suspect he ran out of his repertoire of moves by the 2nd day and has been winging it ever since ...

Read Full Post

I've been having an interesting interchange with David Morley on his blog (and thanks to Nik at WriteWords for pointing me there in the first place). If you scroll down past the dead Chatterton and a very alive and gorgeous wolf, you'll see that David's post 'The Creative Writing Industry' or The Company of Wolves is about creative writing teaching. In it, he makes the distinction between learning to write creatively, which can be fun, and becoming a writer, which is a much scarier and wilder thing. You can't teach that wildness, but you can teach the craft which shapes and expresses it.

People sometimes say, 'Oh, I couldn't be a writer, I haven't done anything,' and though the implication is complimentary, I can't say I've done much of the kind of thing they mean either, wild or tame. (Mind you, it makes a change from the ones who say they've always wanted to write a novel, they just never get a chance to sit down.) But undeniably you have to have experienced something, and be conscious that you have, before you can be a writer.

Read Full Post

While Unrequited gets to see New York and Sydney (mainstream reviewer requests!), I get to sit and forge ahead with the increasingly obese new novel. Have to say I’m a little green with envy about the novel’s journeys, but pleased at the response so far.

If it continues, I may have no choice but to write a follow up. I have an idea. You have been warned…

Read Full Post

Trogged through today, not really functioning on all cylinders. So no changes there then. Didn’t get much sleep last night and felt wiped out, which probably explains it. Must attempt to get an early night at some stage – sleeping hours are becoming distinctly squeezed. I must say all this isn’t helped by the irritating and long drawn-out focus on the wretched Children in Need charity on Radio Two. Bring back a normal Terry Wogan slot – please! Very sorry and I know it’s totally non-PC these days, but I can’t abide all the talking about bids and children – it’s soooooo dull. I’m having to listen to Classic FM or Radio Three – whichever plays the nicer tunes …

Read Full Post

I finally got to the doctor on Monday morning. I actually tried to get an appointment on the way home on Friday last week. I said they had a three-days-in-advance thing, didn't I? Despite the fact I felt like shit and should be given priority because I am asthmatic, the earliest they could get me in was Monday morning at 9.30. I did mean to go into work straight afterwards but, having been told I have a 'viral infection', plus the fact my throat was sore and my head felt like it had ten tons of rock rolling about in it, I realised as soon as I left the surgery that I really couldn't face the office. So I turned round and went home. Spent the day snuggled up on the sofa with a quilt and Cat and daytime TV (Loose Women. Bargain Hunt - quite sad really). I felt a bit better by Monday evening so wrote my scathing criticism of Sky, but then went into work yesterday morning feeling really rough again. I must have looked it, too, the amount of comments people made.


Read Full Post

Rushed around this morning sorting out papers for meetings and changing agendas until my brain imploded. Mental note to self: it is a bad thing to arrange two very similar meetings within two days of each other, particularly with the same Chair. I am guaranteed in such circumstances to get the wrong papers in the wrong meeting or worse – have two lunches turn up on one day and none on the other. Sigh. I can see I’m going to have to stock up with my Rescue Remedy spray for the end of November, not to mention Quiet Life pills ...

Read Full Post