Art… and Self-doubt

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illustration, self-doubt, writing

Every writer knows the feeling of self-doubt that can strike towards the end of a writing project. I had mine on Monday. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that a long-term project is nearly complete that causes the wobble. After months of wondering how to do it, you begin wondering if you should do it. In a way, you don’t want to complete the work, to emerge blinking into the sunlight of real life and acknowledge that other people will be the judge of your handiwork. It’s distinctly scary.

I have the extra complication that The Herbarium is illustrated; the quality, appropriateness and interconnectedness of words and pictures have to be right. With just four more illustrations to complete, and a thorough edit and tidy of the text left to do – nearly there! – I suddenly felt paralysed. Does it make sense, I asked? Are my drawings too amateurish? Is it (take a deep breath) any good?

I suppose it’s a good thing to ask these questions – a kind of inbuilt quality control. I am not even trying to convince a publisher of the piece’s worthiness this time, which ought to make it easier. But it doesn’t. I was still paralysed with doubt.

So what did you do, Kathy, you ask, at this moment of crisis? I’ll tell you. I sat down with a nice glass of red and watched a couple of TV programmes on art history. Then I retired to bed with a book on the Arts and Crafts Movement. In short, I gave myself a break.

In the morning I felt ready to tackle the remaining drawings and finish the editing. Having spent the previous evening looking at other people’s artwork, of all kinds, I understood that the important thing is not that it’s done perfectly, but that it’s done at all. I was also reminded that people’s estimation of what constitutes good quality art changes a great deal over time. I may have to print that out in giant letters and put it on the wall.

So I’ll do my best, but I won’t beat myself up about it. It is what it is, and, good or bad, at least it will be finished. And that’s a considerable achievement all on its own.

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Beautiful Books

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publishing, self-publishing, writing

I received a timely reminder this week that three of my novels – the Larus series – will be reaching the end of their publishing contracts during 2019. A more organised writer would have plans in place for their future. But not me.

So what can I do with these books when the rights revert to me? Seek out another publisher? Publish them myself? Serialise them on this blog? Put them away in the attic and forget them? Or chuck them in the bin? All right, I probably won’t bin them, but the other options remain open.

With this freshly in mind, and finding myself in Dorchester with twenty minutes to kill yesterday, I wandered into the bookshop and asked myself which of its shelves would present my books best. Crime? Thriller? Sci-fi and fantasy? After a good browse I concluded my best bet would be to adopt the surname Pratchett (my stories have sometimes been compared to the Discworld series) and try to hitch a ride on the back of a far more successful writer. It wasn’t a specially helpful thought, and I made my way out of the shop.

But as I left, my eye was caught by a small section hidden away behind the door. Beautiful Books, it said on the sign. Beautiful Books! And they were, too. Physically beautiful with lovely cloth bindings. Nearly all were classics – Hardy, Dickens, that sort of thing. A throwback, I thought, to the days when books were treasured items, highly valued, treated with care and reverence. A far cry from the modern book-world of cheap bindings, read it and chuck it away, sell it or pulp it, read it on your Kindle for 99p, or for nothing, and forget it. A telling symbol of our throwaway society. Perhaps if we learned to value our books, savour them, re-read them, appreciate them again as objects instead of gobbling them up like fast food and discarding the wrappings in the gutter, we’d be taking a step towards a gentler and more thoughtful way of life. A backward step? Well, maybe. But I know which way I’d rather go.

That tucked-away, unconsidered shelf labelled ‘Beautiful Books’ spoke to me loud and clear. That, I thought, is where I’d like to see my novels!

Working with the Elements

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Dorset, singing, Song writing, writing

The Elements at Upwey Well Dressing, May 2018

A little update on my work-in-progress, The Herbarium. Apart from finishing the writing and editing and completing the remaining artwork, I have made a start on an accompanying song lyric.

One of the many enjoyable things I have become involved in via my local choir, Island Voices, is a little musical splinter-group called The Elements.

We sing only once a year – at the Upwey Well-dressing in Dorset, in early May. This is a delightfully pagan little event to welcome the spring, sometimes carried out in icy winds. Never mind, we’re a hardy lot! It gives us a deep sense of involvement with nature and with the turning seasons when we sing to the water as it gushes straight out of the ground at the base of a pretty hill and forms the bubbling little River Wey.

It is many years now since my friend Carol, already much involved with this event, asked me to write a song lyric for it. I actually wrote three, and we formed The Elements to sing them along with other water and nature related pieces. Now I would like to add one more, and I hope The Elements will be keen to sing it.

The Herbarium has much of the same slightly-pagan, nature-based atmosphere, and I’m creating the lyric by taking random phrases from the text and melding them together. I’m hoping Carol will set it to one of her ethereal, folk-style melodies, and that we’ll sing it this May. I’m hoping, too, that we will be able to make a simple video of us as we sing so we can share it with everyone. I think that’s an achievable ambition. I’ll let you know how we get on.