Weird Ramblings about Pennies and Jigsaw Puzzles at 2.30am.

Writing the first draft of a novel is a funny old business.  It feels to me like I’m doing the trickiest jigsaw puzzle in the world.  Except actually, that isn’t really a very good analogy because I’ve never understood the point of jigsaw puzzles.  When you get to the end, you never have anything that you’re ever going to keep so you just smash it all up again and bung all the pieces straight back in the box.  Writing a novel is much more rewarding than that because a novel has the potential to hang around forever.  Even if it’s just on my bookshelf.

But it does feel like I’m fitting together fifty or sixty thousand different pieces.  And whilst some parts of it are all coming together nicely, other bits are still totally blank.  Or I’m asking myself questions like: Where can I slot this little chestnut into?  Or: Where is that vital missing piece which I just can’t find? 

 And then, sometimes, I have that experience where I’m well into my Work In Progress and I have a sudden moment of clarity.  That proper cartoon light bulb moment.  A massive penny drops inside my head.  Or perhaps it’s more like a massive penny drops on my head and makes me see something obvious that I somehow missed.  Something which ties all the ideas in my head together in a very satisfying way.  Anyway, I had one of those moments the other day.  It meant that I had to go back to the start and make quite a few changes.  But, you know what?  I really didn’t care.  Because it felt flipping lush J

By the way, Senior Editor Truffleoilym at Macmillan’s Children’s Books asked me via Twitter to draw what this penny dropping moment looks like.  So in my very own personal dodgy drawing style, I have done.  It is called Self-Portrait with Dropping Penny.

Anyway, I’m off to bed now folks.  Night night x

January 2012

I thought I’d start this year off by addressing a question which I get asked rather a lot.  It’s this one:

How do you get your ideas?

The short answer is this:

I wish I knew!

But I don’t.  They just sneak into my head and pop up in my brain at completely random moments.  One time I was pushing a trolley around a massive branch of Tesco in Cardiff and as I by-passed the racks of women’s shoes, I was reminded of when I’d worked as a Saturday sales assistant in a cheap shoe shop as a teenager.  And this got me thinking about the friend who worked in the shop with me and the fun we had every Saturday.  Somehow, from one row of shoes, an entire plotline for a teen novel grew in my head and soon after, I began to write the novel Lottie Biggs is Not Mad. By the time I got to the end, the setting and characters were all established so the next two books about Lottie sort of just wrote themselves.  But don’t get me wrong!  I’m not saying they were easy to write because they weren’t.  Weeks and weeks of frowning at a screen were involved.  But during those many weeks, the voices of my characters bounced around continuously in my head and I wrote down their conversations and tried them out in various different scenarios and bit by bit those books got written.

And since then, I’ve written a whole other book which will be out this June.  What’s Up With Jody Barton? is set in London and it’s about twins.  I’m not a twin and I don’t live in London – although I did once.  But the truth is I haven’t got a clue how I came up with the idea for this novel.  I just know that I started writing, managed about a paragraph or two and then scratched my head and thought, ‘Hang on, this is boring.  What about if….?’  I can’t tell you anymore than that or I’ll give the plot away.  But I can tell you that Jody Barton is in some ways a very personal book.  Because it’s a complete melting-pot of ideas and references which are important to me.  Central to the plot are a couple of admired American singers.  And two of my favourite films get a mention.  And inspirational graffiti spotted on a wall in Brooklyn last summer is transported – by the magic of imagination - to a wall in Willesden Green, London.

So I suppose the long answer is that I get my ideas from everywhere.  And then I sit down for hours and hours and hours and shut myself in a room and weave new worlds around them.  And I can’t manage one stage without the other.  In order to write, I need to live a little.  And in order to keep paying the bills, I need to write.  So it’s a tricky old balancing act.

But before I go, I’m going to point you in the direction of another blog I stumbled across just before Christmas.  By total coincidence, I discovered http://sherlocktales.blogspot.com and after reading, intrigued, for just a few minutes, I realised that the blog’s author and I were in Felixstowe Sixth Form together at the same time.  Unlike me, Jilly Sherlock does not sit in front of a computer and weave stories out of random bits of graffiti and fleeting remembrances from the past.  Her whole life is a story.  A remarkable one.  Last April, she left Felixstowe on her bike and began cycling east.  She is now in China and still pedalling.  Her blog is one of the most informative, inspiring and incredibly funny and well-written blogs you will ever read.  I urge you to have a look at it.  Especially if you are a publisher or a literary agent!

Thanks to everyone who emailed me over the Christmas holidays.  If I haven’t responded yet, I will.

See you next month. 

On Writing and Libraries

I’m a little quiet just at the moment.  Not in a down, depressed and nothing to say kind of way.

Oh no! 

I’m quiet in an ohmigodohmigod, I must keep writing because I need to meet my deadline kind of way. 

And that is a marvy, cheery and totes lush feeling to have.  And also a bit of a leery-sceery one too.

[Apologies for the 40 year old person speaking in a totally teen-tastic and worryingly word-up way but… um… I’m very much a method writer, you see, and it’s proper hard to shake.]Because writing is pretty much what makes me tick.  I don’t know why.  It’s a fairly odd and mysterious business.  I don’t even know exactly how those novels appear.  Other than with a lot of thought-control and hours and hours of frowning at a screen and a very critical eye.  But once that ‘special idea’ has registered, the words start coming.  And this is such a relief that I’m more than happy to sit up until three in the morning and just roll with it.  I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.  In fact, I’m doing it now.  For some reason, my brain works better at night.  My house is all silent, my mug is full of rocket-fuel and my head is totally, totally focussed - something I struggle to achieve during the day - when there’s light coming through the window and a bunny hopping about outside and a shop around the corner which sells Pringles and Diagnosis Murder on the telly.   

So here I am typing while the world sleeps and I can’t tell you anything much about what I’m working on right now but I can tell you this.  I’m really into it.  And I’m writing stuff which is making me do a little secret smirk now and again.  Even though it’s blatantly bad form to smirk at your own jokes.  But, hey, I’m being truthful.  And then yesterday, I had one of those weird moments where I made myself smirk and then, half a page later, realised that I’d made myself feel so sad for somebody who doesn’t actually exist that my eyes were leaking.  And if laughing at your own jokes is bad – moving yourself to tears is just plain wrong.

Except that it’s not really me that’s doing it, is it?  Because anyone who writes fiction will know what I mean when I say the weird creative pixies take over and the characters start writing themselves.

Having said that, it’s still brain-knackering, so I wish they’d hurry up and finish the job.

Before I shuffle off for a rocket-fuel refill, I just want to say a few words about Kensal Rise Library.  It closed today.  It was in a lovely old Victorian building and has been providing a local service to the people in that part of NW10 since Mark Twain opened it in 1900.  I read with a real sense of sadness that the local community came out to protest and shouted ‘Save Kensal Rise Library’ as workmen nailed boards over the door and windows.  For a couple of years in the late 1990s, I’d have been one of those people in the crowd.  I lived just around the corner in Buchanan Gardens and often went to that little library – largely to use a computer as I didn’t have my own.  Back then, with a student loan to pay off, rent and bills to find, a Zones 1-4 monthly travelcard to purchase and a newly qualified teacher’s salary, a computer was beyond my means.  Kensal Rise Library helped me out.  Sadly, it won’t be helping anyone else out.  Many more libraries in Brent are scheduled to close.  This is terrible, awful and shocking.  Our Prime Minister says a lot about this thing called the Big Society.  What I want to know is this:

How can we have a happy, fair and functioning Big Society if we take away the institutions which are the life-blood of our lovely little communities?

June Blog

I like free stuff.  And I like Pringles.  So when I saw that you could send off for a free MP3 speaker if you scoff 3 cans of them, I did it.  And I finally picked my speaker up from the post office yesterday.  It’s neat.  It fits into the top of a Pringles can and it’s LOUD.  But really, I don’t know why I wanted it – other than that it was free.  Because I actually bought a mini MP3 speaker the other month for £12.99.  But actually, this one is heaps better.  And, thanks to writing the Lottie Biggs books, I know precisely why it works so well.

At school, I hated science. But I was FORCED AGAINST MY WILL to do chemistry and physics and, for me, it was all a pointless waste of time. My only memories are of being constantly and deservedly told off for melting the lid of my biro in the Bunsen Burner flame, being given detention for accidentally breaking a Liebig Condenser (?) – ‘They cost over thirty pounds, you silly little girl!’ - and doing some very random experiments with a ticker-tape timer. At the end of 5th year – Year 11 in new money – I finished with a D in chemistry and don’t even remember what happened with physics. Which pretty neatly sums up my whole physics experience.

But bizarrely, when writing the Lottie Biggs books, I found myself returning to science.  And I’ve learned quite a lot of stuff.  Because Lottie hates science as well but she finds that Mr Thomas – her science teacher – actually tells her a lot of things which are interesting and relevant to her life.  One of these things is why Elvis Presley sounds so loud when he sings through a traffic cone.

Well, I can tell you that it’s the same reason as why my tiny speaker sounds so much louder when you pop it into a Pringles can.  And Mr Thomas would explain it something like this:

‘Well, Lottie, the most likely explanation is this. The small speaker is effectively using the Pringles can as an amplifier by making contact with it at one end and, therefore, causing it to vibrate. This then increases the efficiency with which the sound waves are transferred into the air and, thus, makes them louder. Does that answer your question? If you want to stay behind at break-time, I’ve got some interesting articles on the subject which you might like to read.

So physics is relevant to my life after all. And it’s only through Lottie Biggs that I’ve realised this. So thanks, Lottie. Now I understand why my free speaker works better than my £12.99 one.

On other matters, this month I had another visit to Liverpool where I met the lovely kids at St. Edward’s College. And again, I saw nothing whatsoever of the city so I’m going back in August with my mum and we’re going to go shopping and do the whole Beatles thing. Which is exciting. I also had another visit to London and caught up with Agent Yeeles and Editor Young again. And next month, I’ll be doing some stuff in a few Norfolk schools. But right now, I am writing. Thank Goodness For That.

Hello this month is to Thea Losa who lives in Macclesfield in Cheshire. A really lovely letter from her arrived through my letter-box today (25th June) but the letter is dated 30th November!!! I think it got lost in an office somewhere along the way. I am so sorry. THEA, I AM GOING TO WRITE BACK TO YOU ASAP.

April began pretty badly; I was tucked up in bed feeling like a Brontë sister.  Even for someone who writes, this is NOT a good thing.  Emily and Anne died of Tuberculosis and poor little Charlotte fell off a horse, never felt quite the same again and passed away a few months later.   So, ok, maybe I didn’t feel quite as rough and tragic as they did – but I did feel just about as rough and tragic as I wanted to.  After an utterly dreadful March, to then get immediately struck down with some minging chest infection seemed to me a bit harsh.

Luckily though this minging state of affairs cleared up just in time for me to enjoy the Easter holidays and so I waved a temporary goodbye to Mr Bloke, got into my little car and zoomed across the width of Britain to visit my old friend Lynda in South Wales for some serious rest and recuperation and creative inspiration.  Make no mistake, though, this was NOT a holiday.  Oh no!  This was strictly business.  Lynda is a freelance artist (that’s one of her paintings by the way) and therefore she understands the challenges faced by those of us who attempt to get by living on our creative wits.

I’m talking about challenges such as learning the art of self-discipline and finding new inspiration.

It’s not easy, honest.  Especially if you happen to be like me and self-discipline isn’t really your thing and inspiration can sometimes get swallowed up by a weakness for ‘Tombraider’.

Since finishing the Lottie books, I’ve had a (much needed ) break but breaks can’t go on forever.  I know that it’s time I got my fingers dancing around my keyboard again pretty smartish.  And hey, guess what?   THEY’VE STARTED TO!  Well… not so much as a dance as maybe a tentative shuffle but there’s definitely movement and I’m happy with that.  Perhaps it was the solitude of being in the middle of nowhere with a view of hills out of the window which helped me back into that part of my head which generates all the words and ideas.  Or maybe it was spending time with Lynda who spends hours and hours of her life looking at a square of canvas.  Or maybe it was chatting to Lynda’s inspirational mates, Garry and Amanda, who earn their money making music (him) and making skincare products (her).  Or perhaps it was just the late nights, big conversations and pub breakfasts.

I don’t know or really care what it was.  All I know is that the month started badly and it’s ending a lot better.  I’m getting ideas again.  Which means that I’m once again susceptible to that occasional weird vacant look as my brain ignores where my body is and starts to work out possible plotlines.  And, believe me, this really IS a good thing!

Hello this month goes to Karen Maitland, author of the wonderful ‘Company of Liars’, ‘Owl Killers’ and ‘The Gallows’ Curse’.  I met her last week at an event in Norwich and she is LOVELY.  Thanks as ever to all of you who’ve sent me sweet emails.   If I haven’t replied yet, I will.

Below are some links to websites I like:

My friend Lynda the artist:
http://www.lyndajones.org.uk/

Amanda’s brilliant skincare products WHICH CURED THE ECZEMA ON MY HAND:h
ttp://www.sensitiveskincareco.com/

Karen Maitland the lovely writer:
http://www.karenmaitland.com/

PJ Harvey:  JUST BECAUSE SHE’S SO BRILLIANT:
http://www.pjharvey.net/

Why I Love Sue Townsend

When I was in second year of high school (that’s Year 8 in new money), Mr Tanner, my form teacher, handed us all a leaflet for the school’s book club. Being the kind of kid who never passed on an opportunity to get her hands on new reading material, I examined the leaflet very carefully before putting a tick next to the book of my choice. It was something I’d never heard of. But it sounded quite funny. And also – and more interestingly – it sounded SCANDALOUSLY rude.

It was The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole aged 13 ¾

I chose well. It’s one of the few books from my childhood that I’ve kept.

Back then – 1984 – there wasn’t a huge choice of teen reading like there is now. The selection was pretty much limited to the boring stuff – often about nuclear war – which you were forced to read in your English lessons OR Wildfire Romances. These were imported from America and the plot always involved a highly-strung high school beauty in junior freshman year who dumps the baseball ‘jock’ to take a risk on an interesting bespectacled loser who only ever wears black. Fortunately, the risk always paid off because the speccy weirdo turned out- every time - to be a real nice guy with the looks of a Greek god.

I didn’t know what a junior freshman was. Or a baseball jock. But I read these books anyway. For a second year pupil in comprehensive school in Felixstowe in 1984, there wasn’t anything else to read.

And then – Thank God! – Sue Townsend wrote Adrian Mole. And I am convinced that she wrote it for ME. Instead of reading about beautiful rich kids in L.A, I had the joy and relief of reading about Adrian’s crap life in Ashby-de-la Zouch (Leicestershire) and his crap high school filled with crap people like the crap bully, Barry Kent. I understood all this perfectly. And then there was Pandora - outspoken, feisty and inflicted with dental braces. These were REAL people living in the REAL world. And they were MY age. In 1984, the pride of winning the Decorate Your Bike in Patriotic Colours competition at our Charles and Di street party was still fresh in my memory. I therefore recognised Adrian and Pandora’s own street party experience and I shared Adrian’s disappointment when his sparkler failed to work during the celebratory fireworks display.

And I’ve stuck with Adrian ever since. I feel like I know him. We’ve grown up together. And now, in Sue Townsend’s latest book, Adrian Mole – The Prostrate Years – he’s nearly forty and so, nearly, am I.

And Sue Townsend STILL makes me laugh out loud and engages me in a way that those predictable American teen romances never did and never will. The jokes don’t come easily though; poor Adrian is seriously ill at the moment and undergoing chemotherapy treatment. His hair has fallen out, he’s constantly knackered and – to top it all – his wife has left him for a rich floppy-haired idiot. I’m about two-thirds of the way through his diary and I’m almost praying for one of those predictably positive endings that always concluded the Wildfire Romances. And yet… and yet, amongst all this misery, there is magnificence. Sue Townsend’s eye for observation has not dimmed – even though her eyesight sadly has. When trying to book an appointment with his doctor, Adrian phones up at 7.59 and is told – before the receptionist hangs up on him- to ring back at 8.00. He does but is unable to get through again because the line is busy. Meanwhile, his mum is busy writing A Girl Called Shit - her memoirs of her miserable childhood in Norfolk, and his sister is about to appear on The Jeremy Kyle Show, to establish once and for all, the identity of her biological father.

This is Britain. Unsweetened and undisguised. Sometimes it’s weirder than fantasy.

When I was twelve, I was surprised, excited and extremely grateful that Sue Townsend thought it was worth writing about. I still am and I’ll love her books forever.

Before I go, I’d just like to say hello to Danielle and Demi who both sent me lovely emails this week and also to Pieta who WROTE ME A LETTER!!! Wow!!! I haven’t had an actual, real-life, written-on-paper letter for years. It took me back to the days when I was a student and spent half my time scribbling and drawing notes to my friends which I’d then put in the post. Mobile phones and email and Facebook is all well and good but NOTHING beats the excitement of a hand-written envelope with your own name on it. Thank you very much Pieta for reminding me of that.