Reducing the Death Count

I just submitted a story that I've been working on for weeks. I have no idea if it's any good or not and will only know if a) the person I've submitted it to says they like it or b) I squirrel it away on the laptop and revisit it nervously in the future. It's a bit of a thoughtful one... a puzzle that doesn't just unravel for the reader; it needs a bit of mental tweaking to get to the heart of it. I like stories that require a tweak to fully reveal themselves.

But I also like stories that fall beautifully open in your hands like an advert-ready Terry's Chocolate Orange. I've been working concurrently on one of those. They are a delightful treat to write, and read. It is for Woman's Weekly who are an utter joy to work with. This type of story is not easy to write - it has to feel true, has to have sincerity, depth and a heart that the reader will relate to, but must be accessible at their point of need. Reading the magazine is their indulgence, perhaps the small portion of time they have carved out of a busy week to relax. Or the five minutes grabbed between meetings / appointments / life demands... so it has to deliver big. I love this challenge.

BUT. Both these stories have a bit of a high death count. Dead mother, dead baby, dead hamster (again), dead girl... The bodies are stacking up. And most of the stories I've written in the last few months seem to have some death element in them. I blame my subconscious mind.

So, my challenge for next week is to write something that has no dead people in it. Only living souls allowed. Wish me luck.

Fresh Air

I don't like to be innapropriately personal. I shudder slightly at the vulnerability in the status updates some people feel inspired to write; like bait waggling to social media sharks.

But I do feel I want to share this, not angling for sympathetic comments, but to mark the end of a silence in my writing.

It's been a tough year. And it has been a particularly tough three months. My dad passed away at the beginning of January after a long illness. He wasn't that old. So it wasn't a particularly good innings. There are the repeated phrases. People say things like 'I'm sorry you lost my dad'. It sound trite, like he wandered off in Tescos or he slipped unnoticed down the back of the sofa or something. Death really does inspire some peculiar words and deeds...  You'll know the kind of thing I mean.

But it also shows you who really is there for you when it hits the fan. I am incredibly lucky to have amazing friends, who seem to know the right thing to ask and say, and where to leave pans of sustaining vegetable broth / fish pie... where I will find them at just the point of need. I also have an incredible husband. I wouldn't have managed without him.

This is going to sound whingy - sorry. But I haven't been able to write properly for about 6 months, and I haven't written anything for about two. This isn't because of emotional turmoil, or grief (I'm a bit cynical about writer's block - just get on with it.) I just logistically haven't had time. If you are in a position to be able to drop everything to help out, you do, don't you? And I'm really glad and lucky that I could. I know not everyone has that luxury.

But I didn't realise 'not writing' had affected me so badly until in the pub the other evening Mr S asked gently about it. I've come to appreciate 'not writing' makes me very unhappy. I feel like a part of me is clawing to get out, make itself heard.

And so here I am, immensely glad I've been able to spend time with my family and see dad off with dignity, pleased I will still be able to support and help as needed. But it feels like fresh air to be back sitting at my laptop with my notebook open beside me.

I'm full of ideas. It's going to be a great year.

Lancashire Writing Hub

I have just finished a three month stint as guest editor on The Lancashire Writing Hub. You can see what I've been up to here. Thank you to all the fantastic writers who have contributed during my time there, and They Eat Culture, Jane Brunning and John Rutter for your support. I'm delighted to pass the baton onto Carys Bray who will be guest editor through December.

Flax 030 The Language of Footprints available on ereader

Looking for something new (and free!!) for your ereader?

Flax 030, The Language of Footprints published by Litfest is now available in ereader format. I am delighted to have a short story in here 'The Key Safe', alongside Naomi Kruger's story 'Causeway', and Ian Hill's piece of creative non fiction "Instar'. To read them, click here. You may need to download Calibre to do this successfully.

Sarah Jasmon, who was the brilliant reviewer for Litfest 2012, has written a lovely piece on The Language of Footprints collection on her blog here.

New Writing Cumbria also reviewed the collection.

It is such a delight to be involved with this project, and to play a small part in Litfest 2012.

Bio Punk: available on Amazon in ebook or paperback

Programmable memories, fatherless reproduction, nano-tech implants, amphibian-powered scar treatment, full body modification, brain-scanning lie-detectors, inter-species reproduction, self-determining synthetic ‘green goo’… 

All of this and more in Bio Punk; a true science / fiction collaboration, published by Comma Press and supported by the Wellcome Trust. Bio Punk anthology of short stories, (including one by me and my wonderful collaborator scientist Angharad Watson) is available on Kindle now, too! See Amazon to purchase a copy in paper or ebook format.

Bio Punk: Stories from the far side of research

I am really proud to have a story in this.

Bio Punk is an anthology of stories, commissioned by Comma Press, from established and emerging writers. The premise of each story is for writers to partner up with scientists or ethicists at the cutting edge of their field of research. They get together and the scientist shares aspects of their work with the writer. The writer then goes away and creates a story based on factual information about that particular area of scientific research. Each story is carefully checked and followed in the book with an afterword by the partner scientist to verify the content of the story. It's a dynamic, stimulating idea, bringing perceived disparate subjects, literature and science, into close quarters. Bio Punk is the third and final book using this scientific collaboration, following on from When it Changed and Litmus. Having admired both these titles and their premise, it was an honour to be commissioned for this one.

Dr Angharad Watson, (or 'my scientist' as I affectionately claim her in my head) has been a brilliant collaborator in this project. We met up at her laboratory and I couldn't make notes quickly enough. She is really inspiring, and her passion for her work is infectious. The 'what if...' questions just kept coming and Angharad was fantastic at answering them. Our particular area of discussion was over-the-counter remedies; the stuff you can buy in chemists or supermarkets without a prescription or consultation and that doesn't have to go through any clinical trials but can still be marketed as having medicinal benefits. The story, 'Shake me and I Rattle', came out of this.

Bio Punk was launched last week as part of the Manchester Literature Festival, with readings from authors Jane Feaver and Gregory Norminton, and scientist collaborators Dr Melissa Baxter and Dr Nihal Engin Vrana on Skype link. Well done, and many thanks, to the Comma Press team, especially Ra Page; a brilliantly encouraging and perceptive editor to work with.

To purchase your very own, gorgeous copy of Bio Punk, click here.

Ainscough's Revisited

I'm delighted to have completed the piece of fiction for the Litfest 2012 commission based on Ainscough's Flour Mill (see more here). 

I am a bit rubbish at self reflection. I wonder if other writers are like this - you get your piece finished, send it off and then just press on with the next project. I think maybe it's because the thought of having nothing 'out there' is a bit terrifying and I just want to keep writing, not reflecting. And also, I am hesitant to trespass on a finished story. Like it's not really mine anymore. If it's good enough it will be fine on its own, without me explaining, chewing over the roots of it. Once it's there, I would usually rather build a fence around it and leave the thing for readers to explore without me following them round pointing things out like a National Trust volunteer. I am an idiot, though. I know writing about the creative process is far more than this. And my hesitance is silly and unfortunate because I absolutely adore reading about other writers processes and getting an insight into how they've shaped their text. I actively seek out this kind of information in blogs and conversations. So this time, when I was asked to write a bit about the starting points for the landscape project by Lancashire Writing Hub, I climbed over the fence and had a go. The other two commissioned writers, Ian Hill and Naomi Kruger also wrote about their process in creating the commissioned landscape pieces. They are really very interesting. It is a joy to be involved in this project with writers I admire. 

It was lovely to be invited to take some images of the mill for some artwork to go alongside the story. Returning, after completing the commission was an interesting experience. I tried to see how my main character, Abi, would see it. What would she focus on? How would it look through her eyes and experiences? Would she stop and take photographs of the ducks like I always do? (No, I don't think she would.) The way I see the mill building now is slightly different. I've explored it in my head obsessively. I have repossessed it, inhabited it and although I've never actually been inside, I feel like I know it intimately. I know my version of it. My version of the truth of it. It was lovely to compare notes with Claire Massey on this, who has been the most wonderful editor throughout the process. Claire said "I always feel like I've layered story over places I know with indelible ink and the stories become more like memories than fictions." 

All of my characters in this story (bar the landlord and lady) are fictitious. Only the landscape, I thought would be 'real'. Although I wonder if the landscape is now fiction, too. As soon as we begin our narrative we can't help but fictionalise what we think is really there. And all in the story that we think is made up meets in the middle and slowly becomes more like memory.

Naomi, Ian and I will be reading our commissioned pieces at LICA, Lancaster on 21st October 2012, at 12pm, as part of the all day prose shindig. There are so many fantastic things happening throughout the festival. See the full Litfest 2012 program here.