And The Winner Is…

First up, thanks to all who entered. I loved reading everyone’s entries and I know Kate did too.

But there could be only one winner (who would win a signed copy of this)

And the one person Kate has chosen is

(drum roll please…)

Joanna.

Joanna said:

I think immediately of Jerusalem. 

I remember singing it for the first time when I started at junior school. I wondered how everyone else seemed to know the words. Someone sensitive to my bewilderment nudged me and pointed up to the huge, blown-up hymn sheets hanging from the ceiling. I was so short-sighted (undiagnosed at the time) that I hadn’t spotted them. My eyes were, sadly, unable to focus on the words. It was all a blur.

However, I listened hard to the lyrics and loved them. Every time we sang it, I was moved by the way it began with ‘And did those feet…’. We were told not to start sentences with ‘and’, so I was amazed that this was allowed. The fact that it used this device and also referred to ‘those’ feet, suggested that something had gone before. Something had already happened before the hymn began. It was a sort of mystery that I was being drawn into.

It also made me feel patriotic in a way that brought tears to my myopic eyes, both then and now.

I loved the way it built up, line upon line, and stirred emotions. My favourite line was ‘I will not cease from mental fight’. It made me think I could accomplish anything. Despite the myopia.”


Congratulations!
Joanna, if you could email me your address (or where you’d like the signed book sending) then I’ll pass it on to Kate. You can mail me here.

Kate Long: How I Learned To Love Words

It’s a genuine thrill and pleasure to welcome the lovely and talented Kate Long back to the blog. I interviewed her about her previous book ‘The Daughter Game’ here, and today she’s going to talk about how she learned to love words.

PLUS.

Yes. There’s more.

There’s the chance to win a signed copy of her latest novel, ‘A Mother’s Guide to Cheating’.

Enjoy!


‘Writers love language, and they love it for itself: that’s a given. But have you thought about exactly how you came to be enchanted by words, by the sounds, shapes,  rhythms and cadences of the English around you? Lately I’ve been mulling over my own very early influences, the lines that hooked themselves into my brain as a kid and bothered me for years afterwards.
The very first rhyme I can remember learning is the one quoted at the beginning of my novel The Bad Mother’s Handbook:

I’ll tell thee a tale
About a snail
That jumped in t’fire
And burnt its tail

I’ll tell thee another
About its brother—
Did t’same
Silly owd bugger.


Except when my grandma taught it to me, she used a proper Lancashire dialect so she’d have said “brunt”, not burnt. I can still recall the lowered tone with which she finished, her conspiratorial giggle which suggested I’d better not repeat the poem in front of a teacher.
At my church infant school we sang a lot of hymns, and a couple of those had a powerful effect on me. The devil might have all the best tunes, but those Christians can turn out a mean lyric. Favourite was:

Daisies are our silver,
   Buttercups our gold:
This is all the treasure
   We can have or hold.
Raindrops are our diamonds
   And the morning dew;
While for shining sapphires
   We’ve the speedwell blue.

There was something fascinating about the listing of jewels like this, gorgeous as the illustrations in my Ladybird Cinderella, and the idea they could be found just lying about in a field for anyone to pick up. Which is, of course, the point. Then there was the more sinister:

Jesus bids us shine with a clear, pure light,
Like a little candle burning in the night;
In this world of darkness, so let shine,
You in your small corner, and I in mine.

The image I took from this was that we were, in the eyes of God, merely mouse-sized, to be found cowering in the gloom alongside giant skirting boards. That picture for me was as vivid as if I’d seen it in a book (engraved by Tenniel, I shouldn’t wonder). Though it’s supposed to be a cheery, encouraging sort of song, I never sang it without a sense of dread.

The next memory I have comes from when I’m in the juniors: I’m lying in the bath prior to having my long hair washed, and my mother says, ‘You look like the Lady of Shalott.’ ‘Who’s she?’ I ask. So that evening Mum gets out her Collected Tennyson and reads me the sad tale. It’s fair to say I didn’t understand it all, but I was absolutely fascinated by what happens at the end:

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken’d wholly,
Turn’s to tower’d Camelot.
What kind of a curse is it freezes the blood in your veins? Who’d cursed her in the first place? For what reason? The fact Mum couldn’t answer me made the scene all the more potent. Now I read that verse again, I’m struck by the remorselessness of that rhyme scheme, and the positioning of the commas in the first two lines which make the stages of the heroine’s death feel like a series of hammer blows falling one after another.
Because the Lady of Shalott had gone down so well, Mum introduced me to other Victorian narrative poems: Richard Harris Barham’s The Jackdaw of Rheims, Lewis Carroll’s The Walrus and the Carpenter, Christina Rossetti’s The Goblin Market, and Southey’s romping gothic horror,  Bishop Hatto , the story of a wicked man who gets eaten by rats:
 
They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop’s bones:
They gnaw’d the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him!
There’s something particularly creepy about that last tense shift there, as though again his fate’s inescapable.
As I moved into the top classes, I was lucky enough to be given an old anthology from 1946 – I think it must have been passed down from my cousin Mary – called ‘The Children’s Treasury’. Though the cover was a plain dull green, the pages contained some stirring stuff. There was Lars Porsena of Clusium, swearing by the nine gods that the great house of Tarquin should suffer wrong no more (Horatius, by Thomas Babington Macauley). There was Browning’s breathless How we brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he,
I galloped, Dirk galloped, we galloped all three

And most morbid of all, the tale of the wrecker who steals the warning buoy and then perishes on the same deadly rock he was using to bring others to grief:

But even in his dying fear
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell,
The Devil below was ringing his knell.
(The Inchcape Rock by Robert Southey)

It helped that the poems were accompanied by black and white illustrations of drowning men, stricken horses and people being put to the sword.
Meanwhile the hymns were getting grimmer, and, like Carol’s mum in A Mother’s Guide to Cheating, that was how I preferred them:

O God of earth and altar,
bow down and hear our cry,
our earthly rulers falter,
our people drift and die;
the walls of gold entomb us,
the swords of scorn divide,
take not thy thunder from us,
but take away our pride.
(G K Chesterton)
O come, thou Branch of Jesse! draw
The quarry from the lion’s claw;
From the dread
caverns of the grave,
From
nether hell thy people save.
(translated by John Neal)
Though the cause of evil prosper, yet the truth alone is strong;
Though her portion be the scaffold, and upon the throne be wrong;
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.
(James Russell Lowell)

Lyrics of Old Testament gloom and ire they may be, but every one of those still makes my hair stand on end. I learnt them by heart, and not for their religious content; for the construction of their poetry.
So I started secondary school, where, in my first year, I changed from just “liking stories” to being actively and intensely interested in English as a subject, and writing for myself, and wanting to understand how language worked. But now I look back, the foundations for that interest were definitely laid between the ages of 4 and 10. From suicidal snails to heroic Romans, all were busy shaping my brain to think like a writer.
So my question to you is, what were the earliest language influences you can remember? Was there a poem or lyric or line of a story that really had your neurons sparking? There’s a signed copy of my new novel for the best answer: I look forward to reading them.’


***

Entries in the comments please, folks. Competition closes this Friday (March 26th).

Busy, Busy

It’s been a busy week (or three) and to be honest I’m surprised I’ve found as much time to blog as I have. There’s lots to tell you about, and tell you I will soon.

In the meantime. A couple of links.

The fab folk over at Flash Fiction Chronicles have reprinted my short story writing tips.

I love what Roast Books have in their fridge.

A reminder that the ever-lovely Kate Long is interviewed at Sally Quillford’s blog – and there’s a fab competition running with it.

I’ve been really enjoying Kelly Railton’s blog of late – a splendid new addition to the blogosphere.

Err, and that’s it. For now.

There will be more soon.

Sarah Salway Interview

It is an absolute pleasure to welcome author, poet and creative writing tutor, Sarah Salway to my blog (click here for her website, and here for her terrific blog). She’s written two of my favourite books, (Something Beginning With and Leading The Dance – I’ve yet to read her third, Tell Me Everything, but I wouldn’t bet against it being added to the list) – she’s able to list Neil Gaiman as a fan, she temporarily joined the circus – and do you want to know something really cool – she’s agreed to be interviewed here.

So Sarah, tell us a little bit about your work.

At the moment, I’m just finishing editing my third novel which is due to come out with Random House in the States next year. It’s called Getting the Picture, and I’m waiting to see the cover right now. That’s always exciting, if nerve-wracking. I’ve also been moving back to journalism recently, and rediscovering my love for that. And then there’s teaching, of course. I really do feel lucky.
What do you hope readers get from your stories?
Hah, I wrote a short story this year called ‘Instructions for Reading this Story’ about just this! In reality, I’m not sure I’d be presumptuous to hope for anything, so it’s lovely when people enjoy my work and want to discuss it.
You’re a poet, a writer of short stories, a novelist and a teacher (and a princess, or so I’ve heard); which, if any, of these comes the most naturally to you?
Princess, of course.

Although, if I can remove the tiara for a minute, I would say I was a natural short story writer, if anything. There’s a rhythm to writing a short story that I’m aware of breaking if I write a poem or am in the middle of a novel. When I’m writing a short story, I don’t have to think about that side at all. Does that make sense?

And which demands the hardest work?

Probably the novels, in that you have to create and stay with your characters for a long long time. There are such highs and lows along the way – this is awful, this is amazing, oh no this is really awful, although maybe it could work… sometimes all of these on the same day, and then you still have to get up the next morning and carry on with it. On your own. I have great admiration for everyone who has finished a novel at all, no matter whether it’s been published or not.
Doing all you do, how do you manage to keep the writing process feeling fresh?
I think I’ve just come out of a stage when it definitely hasn’t been fresh, so this is an interesting question. However, I was a fellow at the Virginia Centre for Creative Arts (http://www.vcca.com/) this January, and will be going back next year too. This helped me think about my process a lot. I realized that I was inspired by other arts – music, paintings, sculpture – as well as by being in nature. But also that I needed to be around other people a bit more. Real people, not just ‘computer friends’, however important they may be. I was spending a lot of time sitting staring at my computer and worrying, spiraling inwards as it were. So I’ve made an effort to get out a bit and that’s helped.
How did it all start? Was there ever an I can do this moment?
I’m lucky in that both my parents wrote and published books – non-fiction, but proper books – so I grew up surrounded by it all. However, I don’t think I felt entitled to write fiction, so I studied writing at the London College of Fashion and worked in PR and journalism. That ‘aha’ moment came when I started going to a beginners fiction class at Edinburgh University’s extra mural department, although even then, I told everyone that it was just to help my journalism.

I still wonder if ‘I can do this’ though all the time. I’m sure all writers do. Some just might not say it out loud.

Your short stories are incredibly good. What do you think makes a great short story?
Aw, thank you. I like the idea of a short story as a ‘glimpse’ so there’s a feeling of something going on before and after the page. I’m disappointed when I read one that’s all wrapped up too easily. I like to keep on wondering.
Neil Gaiman complimented you on the structure of Something Beginning With (he said on his blog Currently reading Sarah Salway’s Tell Me Everything, because I really enjoyed her novel Something Beginning With, the kind of idea for book’s structure I wish I’d had, and written in a way that kept up with the structural conceit.”) – how did the idea for the structure come about?
Wasn’t that amazing? And it was you, Nik, I think who alerted me to that. He’s a really lovely man, and although I wouldn’t go as far as calling him a fan – I wish – he’s given me a quote I can use (as he said Stephen King did for him) and his continued support means an awful lot to me. He’s so busy, and yet he still finds time to help other writers. Wow. Now, where were we … I’m easily distracted when it comes to Neil Gaiman! Ah yes, the alphabet structure. This came about for two reasons. Firstly, I used to love those stories I read as a kid where you got to a point in the story and it said, if you want this to happen, turn to page 60, but if you want this, then turn to page 44. So I wanted to write a book that could be read in many different ways and still make some kind of sense. It felt like a really really hard jigsaw puzzle when I was putting it all together. Also, it started as a short story, and I felt the narrator, Verity, was someone who would say things like ‘it’s as easy as abc’ to describe the sometimes awful things she does. The trouble was she kept talking, and the short story turned into a novel, so I really had to work the alphabet format!
Lynne Rees aside, who would be your ideal writing partner and what would you write?
Lynne is indeed ideal. I’m working with several other people as well now, and each one feels like a different adventure. Carlos Ferguson, the artist behind the tiny circus concept (www.tinycircus.org) is pretty inspirational and has made me think a lot. When we were working on the narrative structures of some of the animations, he kept asking ‘why would this happen?’ or ‘why do they do this?’. It was infuriating at the time, but seeing how easy it would have been to drift into making a series of pretty images instead of a real story was thought-provoking. Anne Kelly, the textile artist, has helped me think in terms of collages and recycling, and I’m also working with the playwright, Jerome Vincent. We’ve been very good at bouncing ideas of each other so far, and that’s been fun so I’m excited about what we’ll do when we finally get our big commission, fingers crossed.

Absolutely ideal though, in a dream world, would be the American writer, Alice Duer Miller. She’s been dead about forty years so it might get a little surreal, but she was so smart, sharp and funny. I’ve just written about her on Vulpes Libris – http://www.vulpeslibris.wordpress.com/ [click here for the link– Nik]. Anyway, I would have loved to write and produce an evening event with her – reading poems and short dramas based on empowering women, and hopefully making both men and women laugh. Perhaps I should do it by myself… now you’ve got me thinking.

As a writer myself, I think one of the most important things I’ve learned is that I’m always learning. Who, or what, do you learn from? Or do you disagree?

Oh no, I agree. It’s one of the things I love about teaching too. Now, don’t laugh, but I think I’ve learnt a lot from watching live music. While a band is playing, nothing else matters. Everything they have is poured into that moment and you feel they are completely open to it. I do wonder if, as writers, we can be too polite. Perhaps we need more hair swinging and sweat dripping off us. What do you think, Nik? [Um, I think you’re right. Let me come back to you with an answer another day when I’m feeling more intelligent. And when I do, I’ve a feeling I’ll be talking about rehearsing in writing. Or something. – Nik.]

Is there a downside to doing what you do?

I don’t know if this is a downside really, but I was very aware when my first novel was coming out, that everyone expected me to be punching the air with delight the whole time. And I was of course, but if I could have afforded to buy the whole print run up so it never came out, then there were times when I would have done exactly that. Getting published is more complicated emotionally than I’d dreamt it would be, and when you get a book deal, somehow you can’t talk about these kind of feelings because you’re aware of how many other people would like to be in your position.
‘Sarah Salway’ is going to be entered into the OED and you can write its definition. What does it say?
Anything but quirky, please.
If there was a Miracle-Gro for writers, what would it do?
I think we have it right now, and it’s called blogging.
If you were a musical instrument, what would you be?
Anything that gets me closer to Gary Lightbody.
Is there anything you’ve read that you wish you’d written?
Oh so so so much. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve put a book down, thinking that there’s no point in me writing anything now because I’ll never be as good. But then I listen to the advice I give others which is just to keep writing the world as you see it. At the moment, I’m really enjoying Rebecca Solnit and her combination of personal and public narratives about subjects I’m really interested in. She tackles her own curiosity with a courage I envy.
If you were queen of all the land, what law would you pass?
I would make everyone do something creative every day. I really believe we have a need to make things, and the ‘how to’ bits are getting lost. Also my friend, Paul, who is looking over my shoulder right now, has just told me to say, ‘do a good deed every day’. That’s a good one. Am I allowed two laws? I am a princess, after all….
I know a good many writers read this blog, anything you’d like to say to them? Any tips?
It’s patronizing to say ‘read’ because I’m sure all writers do. But yes, read read read. Also when I was whining once about how hard it was to write, Kate Long – I know you and I are both fans of hers – reminded me that in the overall scheme of things, and the other jobs I might be doing, I wasn’t exactly risking life and limb. She said it a bit nicer than that, but the sentiment’s stuck with me. It’s made me more conscious of acknowledging the fun, enjoyable bits – although (I’ll say it quietly, in case she reads this) it is hard work sometimes!
What’s next for you?
Well right now, I’m starting a course in Garden History in London tomorrow and I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. I’ve got myself a special new notebook (bliss!) and I’ve read the course book and I’ve already got my train ticket – it feels like the first day at school. Also, I’m starting to do a bit more private mentoring work.
Thanks so much for taking the time to answer these questions. It’s been a real pleasure and a super treat. Anything you’d like to add?
Just to thank you, Nik. You are a prince!
***
I’m sure you’ll all join me in saying thanks to Sarah, and wishing her all the best with her Garden History Course.
And Sarah, if you ever do put on that Alice Duer Miller show, you must let us know.

Wow!

Actually, there is more than one wow today.

Wow #1.

Alicia Silverstone is, according to here, going to play the lead in a US adaption of best selling author and lovely person, Kate Long’s The Bad Mother’s Handbook. I loved the ITV one which aired last year (Catherine Tate played the lead in that one – pics here). Fantastic news. You can see the interview I did with Kate a couple of months ago here.

Wow #2.
… would be this latest post from John Lenahan.

Wow #3.

I signed up to one of those stat counter wossnames a little while ago and I’ve been really surprised and thrilled to see just how many people drop by on my blog. Thanks folks!

(Interestingly and strangely, over fifty people have found their way here courtesy of this image of a Landseer Newfoundland I posted ages and ages ago.)

Wow #4.

Well this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pinched something from Sarah Salway’s blog. It’s her fault for posting such cool things. (They’re plastic bags tied to a NYC subway vent, by the way.) Enjoy…

Special Post

I’ve had this interview with Number 1 bestselling author, and all round lovely lady, Kate Long for a few days and have been wondering when best to post it. (I was trying to leave it so it appeared closer to the launch of her latest novel, The Daughter Game (Picador), which is March 7th. You can pre-order from amazon here.)

And what should the postman have for me yesterday? Why, my very own copy. I’ve read the first few pages and I have to say it’s terrific so far. I took that as a hint that I’d best get on and post the interview.

So here’s what Kate had to say about the new book (amongst other things, including otters and grandparents’ rights)…

So, who’s it for and what’s it about?

Although my books are sometimes billed as ‘women’s fiction’, I’d say The Daughter Game is aimed at a general adult readership. It follows the story of teacher Anna who becomes over-involved with one of her female students, a troubled and unstable teenager called Kali. Anna’s personal life is an unhappy one, and she gains temporary solace from casting herself as this girl’s special mentor, unaware that Kali is a highly manipulative young woman. As Anna’s marriage breaks down, Kali moves in and starts a series of events that throws Anna completely off course.

Why did you write it?

I’m always interested in the power balance of relationships, the swings and shifts, the capitulations and gains. Also, I was a teacher myself for fifteen years, and I know the strains put upon pastoral carers, and the tricky situations that arise as you struggle to mediate between students, parents and other teachers.

What do you hope readers will get from it?

An entertaining read, above all else. Though if there is a message to all my books, it’s that we should try our hardest to appreciate what we have rather than focussing on the things we don’t have. Easier said than done, of course, but essentially the secret of happiness is to be thrilled with the ordinary.

How do you think it compares to what you’ve written before?

It’s definitely more serious, though there are moments of comedy. The ending’s upbeat, but only by a whisker.

How long did it take you to write?

A year to produce the first draft.

Did you use a fountain pen to write it?

I always write directly onto the computer, though occasionally I’ll scribble prompts on scraps of paper to get me from one scene to another.

Tell us something about you.

Conventionally: married, mother-of-two, Midlands-based, ecologist manqué.

What’s next for you?

I’m currently working on a novel about grandparents’ rights. Last time I was on BBC Radio Shropshire I heard a woman speaking about her campaign to get access to her grandchildren, and I was deeply impressed by her arguments.

Anything you’d like to add?

Always report mink and otter sightings to your county wildlife group.

***

I’d also like to direct you to Jenn Ashworth’s blog. Jenn is most definitely one of my favourite writers at the moment. The stuff she writes for adults is tremendous. It’s bold and delicate and funny and, often, disturbing. Really fantastic. She’s one of these writers with a unique voice – and that’s something I don’t come across every day – let alone a voice that I like. Anyway, I thought her post on short stories was brill and definitely worth a read.
***
And huge congrats to Anne Brooke, whose latest novel, Thorn in the Flesh, was released yesterday.

Quack

I’m still beavering away here – writing, writing, writing. And listening often to an incredible Biber solo piece (THANK YOU KATE for sending it me!).

***

I was out with two thirds of Rambo and Leroy last week and was able to hear a couple of their new tracks. They sounded great. (Actually this was from their Special Project and as I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say about it I’ll have to say nothing for the time being…)

***

Yesterday I went for a coffee with my beloved. We went to a cafe by a canal and we saw something quite unexpected – a mandarin among some mallards. What brilliant colours! Gorgeous. It was nice to see that the mallards seemed to have adopted him as their own. You never know, they might have just fancied him.


***

And of course, happy anniversary, Liz.

What a lovely gesture
I wanted to thank the very lovely Kate Long for sending me the above book. I’ve been dipping into it frequently since it arrived and think it’s very funny indeed. It’s filled with, as you might have gathered from the title, writers’ stories of their public shame. It’s a must for any working writer. And it’s nice to know that even the big names have suffered – in a nice way of course!
So thank you Kate. You are one of the nicest people I have never met. I hope our paths will cross at some point soon.