Stronger than the Stars

Tags

fairytale, fiction, flowers, illustration, magic, writing

Another ‘plantbased tale’, inspired by the rosebay willowherb, or fireweed.

Overhead the stars blazed in the sky. The old man looked up at them and frowned. ‘You were born under bad stars, you know. That’s your trouble.’

The boy shrugged, trying to ignore the accusation this comment carried. ‘How could I help when I was born?’

The old man grunted and sniffed. The pungent salty scent from the river was unmistakable. ‘Tide’s turned,’ he said. ‘Time to go soon.’

‘No,’ said the lad, unwilling to be diverted. ‘Really. I didn’t choose to be born just then.’

‘Chose to or not,’ said the old man, getting up, ‘makes no difference. The stars don’t lie. Wherever you go, ill luck follows on. That was written in your stars, day you was born. Wise woman said so. Stood back from your cradle, face all white, and said so. Wouldn’t stay in the house wi’ you, case the ill fortune made an early start.’

‘I don’t accept it,’ said the boy. ‘I have a free choice as to what I do, stars or no stars!’

The old man listened patiently to this outburst. ‘Finished?’ he said.

‘No. I’m going to prove I’m stronger than the stars.’

‘Well then,’ said the old man, ‘you can make a start by shifting them sacks of coal into the barge, lad.’

As the barge moved heavily downstream, it seemed the stars blazed brighter than ever. But it was not the stars that blazed, it was the city in the distance, all aflame.

‘Moor up,’ called the old man, hauling the tiller round. The boy jumped ashore with a line. They secured the barge and looked on in awe as houses exploded with deep-toned distant pops.

‘Look,’ said the old man, ‘look what you’ve done now!’

‘Me?’ said the boy. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘Ill-starred.’

‘They’ll need someone to blame – look, there goes the arsenal! – and you’ll do as well as any. Best stay away. Besides,’ he added, regarding the laden barge, ‘coals is the last thing they’ll be wanting just now. We’ll find a buyer upstream.’

‘If I can cause a fire like that,’ said the boy, wondering at his own power, ‘then I can put it out again. They won’t blame me, they’ll thank me.’

The old man looked at him askance. ‘Best make a start, then, lad.’

And down they sat, the old man waiting patiently, the boy with his face screwed up in fire-stopping thought, waiting for the tide to turn while the stars and the city blazed away.

A Writer’s Dilemma

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fiction, self-publishing, writing

It’s a simple enough question: where should I concentrate my efforts? When a piece of writing – of whatever length – is completed, what do you tackle next? Should I write something else in the same vein, or take a brave leap into something completely different? Good idea? Bad idea? What is the best use of my time? It’s a difficult question to answer.

I was thrown into this dilemma myself the other day by the chance remark of a friend. He told me he had not only read all three of my Larus series of novels – he had read them all twice. High praise indeed. And was I planning to write any more, he wanted to know. My answer was that I had no plans to, at present. Not because I can’t, but because these books (dearly though I love them) achieved a success so very modest that they scarcely made a dent in the public consciousness. They sold a few copies and gained a few kind reviews is the best I can say of them. Why write more novels – an enormous commitment in time and effort – in a series nobody much wanted to read?

As it happens the publishing rights to all three books will be returned to me this year, and by early 2020 I will be free to do as I please with them. No-one can read them if they’re not out there, you say. True. I could self-publish them – even rattle off a fourth book, perhaps a novella, to add to the story. But to be realistic the likely outcome, unless there is a dramatic change in my promotional skills, is that they will all go and languish in the deathly lower reaches of the Amazon sales rankings. That’s a lot of effort on my part to achieve virtually nothing. Besides, I have a half-finished novel of real promise in another genre that I’d like to complete, as well as the writing and illustration for my shorter books that I’m hand-binding.

Should I give my lovely, funny Larus stories another chance, I wonder? Or set them aside, put it down to experience, and get on with something else? Just what is the best use of my time? It’s quite a dilemma, and I’m having a writing-free week next week to think about it. I’ll let you know what I decide.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Tags

fiction, writing, young writers

Something rather unusual happened this week: I had my faith in human nature restored. Allow me to explain. When we rolled up for the Monday morning Off the Cuff writing group meeting we found a young woman  – very young – waiting to join us. She politely shook hands with us and said she’d been unable to find a creative writing class locally, but she had found Off the Cuff. Now this group, it’s fair to say, tends to attract the older writer, as daytime groups usually do, and we were slightly stunned to find someone so young on our doorstep. Would she be happy to sit with a bunch of old crocks such as ourselves? It seemed she would – and in due course the piece of writing she wrote and read for us on the spot (daunting for anyone) showed real talent.

‘I’m not as good as you guys,’ she said disarmingly. We were very disarmed indeed.

Having recovered a little we asked what she wanted to achieve with her writing. She told us she just wanted to be the best writer she possibly could. Not fame, not money – just to be as good as she could. Well, there you are – faith in human nature, the younger generation and the world in general was duly restored. And not only that – her answer instantly bridged the generations: that’s what we want, too – to be the best writers we can.

We oldies have much experience, between us, to share – regarding writing, being published and self-publishing. We know the pitfalls, having fallen head-first down most of them ourselves.

I told her that her writing was a breath of fresh air, and I meant it. And I really hope she will come back and let us help her on her way to becoming the excellent writer she promises to be. If not, she at least left us with the feeling that the future of writing is likely to be in good hands.

Slow Writing, Slower Publishing

Tags

bookbinding, Chesil Beach, Dorset, fiction, plants, publishing, writing

I was halfway down the Weymouth relief road one day last week when I was struck by an awfully good idea. Now good ideas are always welcome, but preferably not when driving. It could result in an unfortunate encounter with a passing lamp-post. Fortunately I managed to hold it back until I was safely parked.

Since completing my book The Herbarium, and pausing to learn some basic bookbinding, I have been on the look-out for a new project. A follow-up, if you will. I had toyed with various ideas – a continuation of the story, perhaps, with some of the same characters? Or an exploration of the back-stories of one or more of the people I wrote about? Maybe. But I live by the sea, and I wanted something with a more local feel to it this time. I had been mulling this over for weeks without making any real progress – until that very inconvenient moment driving down a busy road when it all suddenly fell into place. Characters and story-lines were falling over themselves and fighting to get out of my head.

My setting was to be the Chesil Beach. Well, of course. There it is, something I see every day: a great and beautiful golden bank of pebbles, miles long. It’s a ready-made character in itself. Also, I can’t imagine a story without plants – they were what made The Herbarium so very special for me – and the Chesil has a very particular community of tough plants all its own. Again, ready-made. They will provide my inspiration both for characters and story-lines. My main character will be a herbalist, providing a strong link with The Herbarium. I can see him now, and I already know a great deal about him. He is a Plant Whisperer. What’s that? I’m not sure – I just made it up. Now that would make a very good title for the book – The Plant Whisperer – if I hadn’t already decided to call it The Chesil Apothecary. Or perhaps The Seven Whistler, a name for that interesting wading bird the whimbrel (I can see one stalking about outside the window of the Chesil Beach Café where I’m writing this).

Never mind, that’s plenty to think about while I get on with binding The Herbarium ( I already have requests for copies), and it might well take me all summer, and maybe all next winter to write and illustrate the new book.

It’s going to be a busy year, but I can guarantee I’ll love every minute of it. This is, without doubt, the kind of slow writing and even slower publishing that suits me perfectly. It’s the polar opposite to the kind of high-speed commercial writing and publishing that nearly broke my heart.

I seem to finish every blog post these days with the same observation – but it’s worth repeating: I can’t tell you how happy working like this makes me.

10 things I learned about bookbinding

Tags

advice, bookbinding

So I have bound my first book – or should I say my first successful book. There were a few attempts that went awry.  Perfection is difficult to achieve in bookbinding for a cack-handed person such as myself, and the result certainly isn’t perfect. But it’s good enough, especially for a beginner.

I have learned some very useful lessons in the bookbinding line along the way, too.

1. There are no half measures when cutting card with a scalpel. Position carefully, lean heavily on the rule and be positive. The nail on the little finger of my right hand bears an interesting gouge acquired during an early moment of sloppiness.
2. Bookbinding is not a job for anyone with grubby hands. This includes blood from when you cut yourself with the scalpel (see 1 above) or stab yourself with a needle when you sew pages together.
3. Be meticulous in discarding bits of scrap paper with glue on them. Hurling them aside can result in all kinds of unintended things being stuck together.
4. It helps if you put away all tools as you finish with them, otherwise you may never find your bone folder again because it’s stuck to a bit of gluey paper (see 3 above).
5. Measure and measure and measure again before cutting or folding anything. Then do it again for luck. You’ll be amazed how many times you can get it wrong.
6. Your set square is your new best friend. A properly checked square corner is worth its weight in gold. A wonky one is a nightmare waiting to bushwhack you when you least expect it.
7. Never throw away scrap paper. Unless it’s got glue on it (see 3 above).
8. A millimetre can turn out to be a surprisingly long distance in bookbinding (see 5 above).
9. Check carefully that your printed pages are in the right order before sewing them together. And that they are all the same way up.
10. Do not leave expensive paper, gluey scrap paper, scalpels or sewing needles on any surface that someone might attempt to sit on.

There is still much for me to learn, but I’m slowly becoming better organised – and developing a degree of meticulousness I’d never anticipated. Nonetheless, the speed of production is definitely stepping up and I’m keen to do more. Seeing a complete, functioning book emerging from a collection of loose sheets of paper, bits of card, slivers of bookcloth, thread and glue is very satisfying indeed, and I intend to make many more.

OK, so where exactly did I leave my scalpel…?