A Safe Place

John Lewis. The smooth swish of the escalators, the white linen, neatly folded, the very white bone china in simple pale grey and white boxes, the friendly staff, the odd bits of household equipment you never knew you needed but which now seem imperative to your happiness....ahhhh.
I find it very soothing. In fact, I am beginning to think that John Lewis (or Peter Jones...I love the view of London from the cafe) is my 'safe place'. You know the place that therapists and yoga teachers tell you to find when they are trying to get you to relax, unclench the jaw and take your shoulders out of your ears. I'm not sure if I prefer the china department or the linens. I wonder if it is my age, or a stage in my life where a department store can evoke such a feeling of well being.
People who know me are surprised, 'I would have thought it would be a Shoe Shop, if anything.' Well, yes, it is true I love shoes, I love buying them, trying them on, going to shoe sales - but it isn't the same. I've been thinking about my sister today, she is in Khartoum, working 12 hour shifts in a huge cardiac unit, the heat is so unbearable she says she has forgotten what a chilly drizzle could possibly be. She is out there as a nurse for Medicine Sans Frontiers, she is incredibly brave and I admire her hugely. I am also grateful that I have never had the slightest wish to do what she does. Where she is working is probably the least safe place on the planet you could fine.
When she gets back, I'm taking her on the tube to Sloane Square, I'm going to lead her through the quiet coolness of Peter Jones and I'm going to buy her the largest, gooiest cake and biggest cappuccino I can find. In the meantime, I'm checking the sales and buying an extending mop and four perfect white bone china bowls.

Cleaning and egg timers.

So far today, I have pulled up chapter five on the computer, cleaned out the kitchen bin, rearranged and cleaned the freezer, changed the sheets on the spare room bed, put a wash on, seen a friend for coffee, messed around with a lock that needs fixing on one of the doors and rented out said spare room to Korean girl for two weeks.
Writing? What writing? Obviously I have all day to write, so I'm doing everything I can think of that isn't. Oh and I just made out my shopping list and arranged to pick boyfriend and new computer at 3pm.
Facebook is dull today, the weather is pants, I'm running out of things to do instead of write. I may have to finally get on with it...arghh. But then I remember my blog and calm returns.
So, yes, I'm not writing, but it is up there in front of me and every so often when my brain doesn't notice, I have a little peek at a paragraph or two, make some edits. Yes, I'm editing - I hate and loathe and despise editing. It's like quicksand, if you get too far into it, the entire chapter disappears in a haze of delete, delete, delete. You look at your words on the page, the ones that seemed so shiny and bright not so long ago and now are dull and stupid and should have been written in crayon. So I need distractions, I need it to be dark outside, I need the promise of a glass of wine when it is over, I need a better chair, a favourite pair of tracky pants....I need to sit down and just get on with it. Back to the egg timer. Remember that? The fifteen minutes? (Not of fame, but hey, you never know).
When I teach the Nanowrimo method, I get students to write in 15 minute slots, the friendly ticking of the timer in the background reminds them that this is finite, it won't go on forever and 15 minutes feels doable, you can fit it in between other stuff. Soon they are writing 15 - 20 sometimes 40 mins at a time. So I'm going to dig out my egg timer and set it to 15 mins and I'm going to just edit in that time what I can.
Let you know how it goes.

Writing and Organizing

As the Summer School term ends I am getting back into the Novel writing and starting to make notes for my PhD thesis. First though I need to spend some time sorting out the admin hell of resuming study. This will involve filling out forms and finding funding from somewhere. However, needs must. I am more and more convinced that in order to work I am going to need to complete this PhD and that the PhD needs to be written for its own sake.
So, mornings will be novel writing and afternoons are for admin and thesis notes as well as paid work/editing and all the other stuff that makes up life.
It seems as if just as everyone else closes down for the Summer I'm just revving up. That's fine with me, I can't stay out in the sun for too long anyway and I'm not taking another holiday until September, by which point I hope to be well into this draft, if not nearly finished with it.
So watch this space. First six chapters are mapped out. First three have gone off to supervisor for a read. I doubt he'll make any comment until I'm officially on the books, but it makes me feel better to be sending stuff out. Next three chapters should go off by end of next week.
Meanwhile, I had a wonderful weekend and the words 'Oh My Gawd' will from now and forever bring a smile to my face.

Parenting by phone

'Mum, you are nagging.'
Youngest daughter complains, two days after Glastonbury and our first phone conversation since before she left.
What she doesn't understand is that when you are parenting by phone, text and email, you've got a limited window of opportunity. I had a ten minute phone call in which to get in nagging, love and information. I needed her to know it was unacceptable not to call and let us know she was safe, tell her how much I missed her and how proud I was of her, pass on bits of gossip and find out what her plans were for end of term and summer holidays. Oh yes, and get her to chase up a Summer job opportunity I'd heard about before someone else got it. This is modern living I guess, we abbreviate in order to try and pack it all in. Things get lost along the way though. Because I don't think she realised how much I admire her managing to stay up all night dancing, how jealous I was that she got to see Tom Jones, Blur, Bruce Springstien and Kasabian, that I laughed myself silly recalling that she crept into the only cool tent on site and woke up to find it was the church tent and people were praying at her - loudly and in song!
Time passes, kids grow up, we all get a bit older. This is a summer we will remember, because it is so hot, so I hope it is a good one. I hope that both my kids hang around a bit this summer and chill out, that we get a chance to go shopping, have pizza nights, a laugh, and just a bit of nagging in there too. C'mon - it's my job, like doing embarrassing dances at family weddings.
By September, they'll be a blur heading back to college and uni - life whizzing by - decisions to make - futures to forge. I hope they enjoy the summer though.

Bloke has decided he doesn't like being referred to as 'Bloke' - not even 'The Bloke' - He wants to be a Geezer instead, but that doesn't seem right either. So, I'm going to call him by his name - Marc - because that's who he is and it suits him.
He's coming over later so I have to get on and write now, otherwise I'll be the one getting nagged!

Life of an insomniac

The trouble with sleep is that you have no control over it. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a control freak (well, not much of one anyway), but as I value my sleep I like it to be of good quality. Just recently I've gone back to the insomniac nights - wandering around the place at 2am in the morning wondering if there are any biscuits I have hidden from myself and rearranging furniture. When I finally get back to bed and get to sleep I've been having really weird and vivid dreams - sometimes they are upsetting and sometimes they are scary, but they are always deeply frustrating. Last night I kept losing things in my dreams, people, letters, money, places. It was very upsetting.
I woke up this morning cross, irritable and tired, the bedclothes were all over the place and the dreams were haunting me. It was supposed to be a writing day, but after several cups of coffee, a chat with a friend and a visit to the DIY shop, I still didn't feel refreshed enough to sit down and do anything constructive.
I thought I'd edit last week's chapter - no, that wasn't happening either.
I tried putting music on - nope. I rearranged the sofas - nada. Finally I wrote down all the things I hated about trying to write, and finally something started to emerge...a new chapter....hurrah. It's a bit rough round the edges, but it is down there, all 2,000 ish words of it, a draft of chapter 4.
So, another day and another night. I'm in my pj's, I have a book, a glass of milk and a cookie (the last of the homemade ones). I'm not going to think about youngest daughter going to Glastonbury still mad with me, or the horrible weekend we had. I'm not going to think of the teaching, the money issues or the rain promised for Friday. I got a chapter done, it was a writing day - I deserve a good night's sleep.
night night
x

Sara Bailey is away

From Friday, I'm off on a much needed, well earned break. I have two wonderful friends and colleagues taking my classes over for a week while the bloke and I head for the sun in Spain.
I am up to date with the Nanowrimo word count, in case you were wondering - 8017 words to date and taking the laptop with me.
I've had a couple of glasses of wine too, mainly to celebrate eldest daughter being viva'd for the Dean's Prize. She didn't get it, but was in the top 10 Medical Students in her year, so well done babe!
Will check when I'm back and hope that I've heard from Supervisorman by then about update report - I need it to get financial support. Then I just have to find the rest of the money for my PhD and I'm laughing. Meanwhile, I'm packing a bikini, a dress and factor 25 alongside the laptop. The rest can wait.

Drag me to Hell and back

Title is partly to do with film I went to see last night, Sam Raimi's 'Drag me to Hell' and partly to do with how I feel about writing at the moment. The film first - brilliant. One of the scariest films I've seen for ages, but compelling at the same time. So that rather than not wanting to watch you cannot help but get out from behind the jumper/jacket/sleeve/armpit of person next to you and keep your eyes on the screen. Came to conclusion that most films are moralistic tales - in this case, be nice to old ladies, they are really really strong and really really scary. In a way, the modern day horror movie takes the place of religious tales or fables - maybe this is why teenagers are so attracted to them. Just a thought.
So, that's the horror film dealt with. Now for the horror of writing. It has been a bad week for me, the first chapter felt limp, the second was fine and bounced along, the third chapter got written then deleted in a fit of pique. Head got put in hands, then under the duvet. Eventually I resorted to sulking and rearranging cupboards. Not my finest hour.
How you feel about your creative work is always going to affect your mood. It is human nature. The book is like your child, you want it to be perfect and you will defend it without question, but you are also its biggest critic and will have a tendency sometimes to just see the bad bits and not the good. Which is why I am going back to the unconditional love of Novel in a Month with this particular book. I think after being hauled screaming and kicking out of the cupboard (where it was put after a bad supervisory experience - more on which another time) it deserves to run around naked for a bit, have some fun, see if it is a book or maybe movie? Who knows - I did come up with a possible movie title for it last night, 'Take Me With You'. Not sure if that's a book title as well.
So it is back to writing without thinking too much. Instead of a daily output of 1000 thoughtful words tearing out the hair and wondering why it reads as if no thought went on at all), I'm going for the 1600 daily output of Nanowrimo. The weather is good, the egg timer is primed. Time to get out of the hell of writing and back into the fun of it.
I'll let you know how it goes.