making time for coffee_sept14On the way to work last week I heard a Nickleback song  on the wireless. I hadn’t heard it for a while, but singing along to it in the car (as I do) set me to thinking about life, the universe and everything.
… If today was your last day / And tomorrow was too late / Could you say goodbye to yesterday? / Would you live each moment like your last? / Leave old pictures in the past
Donate every dime you have? / If today was your last day…

I wondered what I would do / think / feel if it was my last day? Are there regrets and unfinished business / people I need to see / bridges I should mend / projects I haven’t completed? These thoughts preoccupied me on and off for the rest of the day, until I eventually concluded that the answer each of the questions I was asking myself was a reasonable approximation of No.

Essentially, I have few regrets / my unfinished business such as it is could easily be resolved (by others) if necessary / I try to ensure that the people who are important to me know that they are / bridges untended (if they exist) will fade with time / and life is full of projects at various stages of completion – but that’s okay.

It might be an age thing, but I think that life – however long we are in it – should be about living, about being in the moment and finding joy in it wherever possible. This may seem like a Pollyanna response, but it’s really just pragmatism. I simply don’t see the point in bucket lists or regrets. Things are what they are – so I try say goodbye to yesterday every day, to live each day for what it is and to make the best of what I find in it.  It takes a little determination at times, but seems to work for the most part.

I hunted down the rest of the lyrics later on and read through them while I enjoyed a cup of coffee and listened to the song again, going back to the part that resonated most strongly. Clearly I’m not the only person who thinks this way.

… every second counts ’cause there’s no second try / So live like you’ll never live it twice / Don’t take the free ride in your own life…

I remember editing my dissertation a few years ago, reading and re-reading over eighty five thousand words. This equated to about 1,370 paragraphs (excluding footnotes) that I had to check for formatting, typos, spelling, punctuation, syntax, grammar, references and more typos. After I’d stared at the words on the screen and on printouts for way too long, my treasured band of proofreaders stepped in to try to ferret out what I’d missed. They went through the whole thing with fresh eyes, providing me with a bit of distance from it all and some invaluable feedback that I could put too good use. The whole process took months; it was a long, hard slog, but well worth it in the end. (Thanks again, guys).

To date I’ve had five sets of eyes (other than my own) run through my current manuscript. Four were those of friends or colleagues, their remit simply to look for flow and coherency in the story line and to let me know if anything didn’t make sense. Changes were made and then the manuscript went off for a more comprehensive review, to elicit specific editing feedback.

This brought me to the end of the first two phases of the edit process (self-editing and outside assessment) and has left me squarely in the middle of the formal revision stage. When that’s done I plan to call on some more of those fresh eyes before taking the next step.

Meantime the typos are easy enough to fix, the layout likewise, and even moving the prologue to the end of the story and repurposing it as an epilogue had turned out to be okay. Adding content for context is quite a bit more challenging. Not because writing the content is difficult, but because there is so much I could add – and only a small percentage of that is really relevant.

So I’ve taken to reading the new sections out aloud to see if they fit, or if they sound awkward. The dog gnaws on carboard and looks on patiently as I drone on to myself; the chickens watch me warily through the window with their beady little eyes. It’s a writer’s life.

HHF2_2014

I see some editing (however minor) in my immediate future…

A few weeks ago I read an essay by George Orwell in which he suggests that a ‘scrupulous writer’ should always ask the following of every sentence s/he writes: What am I trying to say? What words will express it? What image or idiom will make it clearer? and Is this image fresh enough to have an effect? He adds that the writer should also consider whether what they’ve written is concise enough.

I’ve been mulling these questions over while waiting on a critique of my memoir (elsewhere referred to as Epic Tome #1). Is what I’ve written clear enough, succinct enough and, most importantly, interesting enough to engage readers? It’s become more and more difficult to answer these questions, particularly since I’m so embedded in the narrative. I’m prepared to confess to a smidgeon of obsessing on the issue, actually.

Then, this weekend, I found a most delightful surprise in my inbox. After weeks of worrying about the manuscript assessment, I finally received feedback in the shape of a very encouraging email and a comprehensive report from Tom Flood. I bounced around for the whole weekend after reading the email, feeling rather like I’d had too much sugar – or caffeine – or both. I didn’t even read the report until this morning – a combination of nerves and that Christmas-morning feeling of anticipation before all the gifts are opened.

Essentially what the report says is encapsulated in the email itself:
“…congratulations on a well thought out and executed manuscript. Not much to do to bring it to a publishable condition…You could have this ready for submission in a very short time… If that is the track you’re interested in, I would eschew agents and approach publishers directly, working from large to not so large.”

happy danceIf I had a picture of me doing the happy dance all over again, it would go here – and would quite a lot like this!

(Oh, and if you’re interested in the Orwell essay, you can find it at http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks03/0300011h.html#part42)

orange blossom_23aug1410 weeks ago I came across a 12-week online programme called Write your book in 12 weeks. It sounded promising – and it only cost $99. What a bargain!,  I thought, and signed up immediately. I waited with an-tic-i-pation for the first of the 12 weekly modules to arrive in my email inbox, confident that this programme would help me to pummel my notes into a good rough draft of my next book within three months.

But here’s the thing – and it’s scarcely new news: writing – or even editing content already mostly written (that’s me) – actually takes a bit more than $99, following instructions and scheduling time. Not exactly a revelation, but it still a bit disappointing to realise that 10 weeks out I’m not a lot closer to that first rough draft than I was at the start. It’s also a bit surprising since I’m usually pretty focused once I set my mind on something. So I guess that this isn’t (currently) something I want badly enough.

So what have I been doing instead? Well, I prettied up Epic Tome #1 a bit and finally sent it off to Flood Manuscripts for a manuscript assessment. That’s a big step all on its own – and I’m anxiously awaiting feedback as to how much rewriting I’m in for before I try sending it off to a publisher. That aside, I’ve been blogging. Yup, instead of editing/rewriting sections of Tome #2, I’ve been cobbling together regular slice-of-life posts as a way of regaining my joy in writing. It’s spontaneous, random, creative and moves me to think about the world around me differently. Coming up with topics each week can be a challenge, but it’s also fun. I head out to work, play, shop, walk and drive with one part of my mind paying that little bit more attention to the odd and the ordinary – and to my responses to them.

Things that made me smile this week: driving through rain puddles and creating giant sheets of water – wearing bright orange socks with my new red shoes – a bedraggled sunflower on a wintery morning – a girl with scarlet hair on the train – watching 100 school kids learning how to draw an emu – the smell of orange blossom.

On reflection, I don’t think it matters all that much that I’ve fallen behind on my 12-week writing programme. It’s still there, ticking away in the background, and I can – and probably will – pick it up again later on. I’m satisfied that I’m writing – and doing so regularly and with enthusiasm.

calvin-and-hobbes-on-writing

This is part of a strip that appeared between May and June, 1992. For the whole comic strip, check out http://blog.writeathome.com/index.php/2012/03/sunday-comics-calvin-and-hobbes-on-writing-a-short-story/

I wonder what other people do when they’re feeling unsettled? I usually go for a ride on my bicycle, peddling away any pent up angst or uncertainties, the wind in my hair and – with luck – no bugs in my teeth. Even a short ride usually leaves me feeling cheerful and more able to cope with whatever it was that sent me out on the road in the first place.

But winter in Perth can really put a spanner in the works as far as that goes. Days of drizzle and cold winds tend not to inspire me to gear up and head out – and somehow the exercise bike sitting in the corner of my games room doesn’t have much appeal as an alternative. Staring at the wall or the pool table while I pedal and the dog tries to chew my feet simply doesn’t compare to the open road.

So last unsettled week I just kept busy with work, chores and errands – until I found myself pulling in at a local cafe en route home one day. It being that time of day, I ordered something to eat, although I was slightly bemused to find myself out for lunch – alone and on a rainy afternoon. Neither of these things is my idiom – I tend to enjoy lunching out al fresco – which indicates warmer weather – and usually in company.

To add to my bemusement, my spontaneous solo-lunch venue selection was the South African shop a couple of kilometres from my house. This is not somewhere I’d lunched before, although I had been in for coffee and cake with friends a few times. So why here? Why now? And why did I feel so relaxed and comfortable about being there? Probably just a surge of nostalgia at the end of what feels like an endlessly long week, I thought.

Whatever it was, sitting there surrounded by sounds and smells from my childhood felt safe and comfortable. The background chitchat in a combination of English and Afrikaans was relaxing and the vetkoek smelled wonderful – and tasted even better. I’ve never tried making it, but vetkoek is essentially deep fried bread dough, drained and filled with some or other tasty filling. It may not sound too appealing, but I can assure you that it’s remarkably moreish, real comfort food. The outside is crisp and not at all oily and the inside is soft and fluffy, like hot bread. I chose a curried lamb mince filling (traditional) and enjoyed every finger-licking morsel of it.

The serious business of eating dealt with, I sat back with my latte and thought about how I was feeling. I’d arrived tired and slightly directionless and had ended up feeling as though I’d been wrapped in a warm snuggly blanket, looked after and cared about – even though, in reality, none of those things had actually occurred. The staff had made me welcome, certainly, and the service had been efficient and pleasant – but that was all. Nevertheless it was, well, nice to sit there – surrounded by hints from my past.

taste of nostalgia_august14I love Australia and wouldn’t swap my life here for quids, but tiredness and stress do strange things to people. No doubt I was experiencing no more than a sentimental connection to the simplicity of my childhood and to Africa, which is part of my core identity. But sitting there, with a taste of Africa still on my lips I felt at ease. As I gazed absently at the chalkboard  and started reading the names of places I’ve been to and through in the past, the words I-AM-FROM-AFRICA made me smile. Yes, I thought, yes I am.