Back to the Forties

Chapter 12 this week has sent me back to 1948, and any writing I do about that era means I have to do a ton of research to get my head in the right space, so its slow work. You can’t go make yourself a coffee, turn on the washing machine, and listen to miscellaneous music – (The Rolling Stones - Miss You, Bananarama - Robert De Niro’s Waiting and E.L.O - Mr Blue Sky) and then think right, 1948. Or at least I can’t. So I have a CD called Number Ones of the Forties and am currently listening to Tuxedo Junction, a slow swing band tune by Glenn Miller. It would be even better if it didn’t have the underlying hum of the computer twirling the disc. I could go and play it on J’s mega boom stereo thing but turning that beast on means the whole flat vibrates, and I quite like our neighbours.

It sounds so silly, but the main thing that has stumped me this week is what shoes my female character would have been wearing. Normal everyday shoes and I cannot picture them, which means in the bit I am writing; I can see everything in that scene apart from her feet. And because I cannot picture everything, I find it impossible to write about. But I am behind, so I really need to crack on today.

Attack of the Doubts

I had an attack of the doubts (like the clones, but worse) last night. This last year my confidence has plummeted, not on the book or writing side of things, but on the real world and being a non-nervous, secure part of it. I keep doing things to try and challenge this state, such as my writing for the local paper, this forces me in a way to go out there and try new things, to try and join in. If you met me, you wouldn’t think I have a problem with this at all. But left to my own devices I do have a tremendous problem with self-confidence; I really am my own worst enemy and I know this, yet I cannot stop listening to that little poisonous voice inside that whispers worries to me.

Being at home alone writing probably doesn’t help… yet it is the only thing I have ever wanted to do, so I just have to work through it, I think. And then I read other people’s blogs about their very real concerns over the health of their family, or they are ambulance drivers or physician's responsible for others, and I feel a bit humbled and annoyed with myself. I’m only really responsible for my own state of happiness and ok, I’m a bit wobbly at managing that, but I am relatively healthy and have a great opportunity here (even if it is flushing away my life savings!), so really I should zip it. Consider it zipped.

I find it hard to commit to things beyond deadlines, even my yoga class and me only manage to combine once every three weeks. But I am really considering volunteering some time to a charity, or seeing if there is anyway I can help somewhere down the line. It needs a bit of thought, but even if it is just cleaning, perhaps knowing I was helping a little would in a funny sort of way help me. Or perhaps I could volunteer with writing/editing/subbing a charity’s newsletter or something… Hmm, now there’s a thought…

Update

There is a local cancer charity that helps people in the community with that illness, and I got in touch with their main fund raiser this afternoon. The result is I'm going to pop over for a chat next Tuesday, and hopefully I will be able to help not only with their newsletter, but in a few other ways as well. Excellent!

Thursday thoughts

The writing has been cracking on at pace this week, 6,000 words so far, chapter five is done, and six is almost in the bag, which makes up for my tardiness last week. I think the Dig for Victory visit helped, so this weekend I am going to Ploughs and Propellers, which is a 1940s weekend at Rougham air field. Yup, more planes… but all for the greater good this time – research, see? And surely a whole weekend of *coughs* research will mean chapter 7 next week will motor ahead like Jeremy Clarkson with anything that has an engine.

I got good feedback from the first person I sent the book to, which gave me a boost. This is a lass is a cracking writer, although not yet published. It is really hairy sending your baby, as it is, out there to be criticised. Everyone I have sent it to has promised to be honest, and I trust them enough to be true to that. I haven’t given it to family or close friends just in case they’d find it hard to be harsh with me, especially if I am under their nose with a hopeful smile on my face.

I’m not sure when to send it out to agents and publishers… I know you can send books out there into the world with 3 chapters and a synopsis, but part of me wants to delay that process. What if I send it out and it is promptly returned by all and sundry as rubbish? I doubt I’d continue with it… and although some people might think that is better to know now before I waste any more time or money, part of me thinks I should finish it just for my sake, even if nothing more happens to it, I can rest easy thinking at least it is done.

I guess what I will do, is wait for the wizard editing, and then do a re-write myself of the first three, and then possibly send it out maybe November, as I will be 10 chapters down then, and nothing surely would make me want to stop? And maybe, just maybe someone will like it? Eek..

On another note, I watched the One Life documentary last night with the Another Brick In The Wall kids. How funny that one of the kids that sang on that record ended up being a bricklayer. There is something rather amusing in that… However, the documentary mainly ended up as a tribute to the music teacher who got the kids the gig, so to speak. What an inspiring man! He taught from his heart, sharing his passion for music in all shapes and forms. So it was a brilliant teacher that was the star, and the kids that ended up the bricklayers (well, one of them)… That made me chuckle as well.

Autumn joke
Q. What do you call a man with leaves on his head?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
A. Russell.

Dig For Victory!

Today I decided to take full advantage of the gorgeous autumnal weather we are experiencing in the UK (well, at least, in my part of it) and go to the Dig For Victory Harvest Fair in St James Park, London.

Dig For Victory was a second world wartime slogan, calling to all still at home to bolster their meagre rations with as many vegetables and salad items as their gardens could grow. The Harvest Fair was recreating what people would have been growing in the 1940s, along with a bit of a free food fest, to be honest. Hooray for free things!

Of course, this is all tied in with the book, as anything that can help me get some 1940s flavour is all good with me, and luckily I managed to coerce a couple of pals to wander along with me and peer at veg. Only the best days out when I am in charge...

But it was fab! I was particularly fascinated (if that is the right term) with broccoli. If I had ever thought of how it grew at all, it was as some sort of green cauliflower. But it is this huge plant thing, and the bit we eat is actually the flower. We marvelled at the lettuce, nodded at the beetroot, pointed out brussel sprouts... but as with all exhibition type things, you do the worthy bit first (read the posters, ponder the exhibits), and then you go in search of the fun bit.

Well, we could smell the fun bit – volunteers were cooking up a storm to the right of us, using fresh home grown ingredients. We had pumpkin pie (delicious) and hot corn on the cob, settling down on hay bales to eat, watching children make scary corn dollies and rather sweet paper flowers. It was one of those I Love London sort of days…