Good Prospects

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Artwork, Book launches, books, the future

Despite all the disruptions and difficulties of the past year, it’s been a good one for me as a writer. My two illustrated books were published last autumn, and I am looking forward to a third being issued later this year. In between times, I have produced a little book of short stories, a lot of artwork and written a short novella. Not bad, really, for someone who tended to lose her creativity during lockdowns. The books and art are now with my publisher, and they also intend, in time, to re-issue my entire Isle of Larus series, too. I couldn’t be happier at this prospect.

Still, I have a lot of editing and updating to plough through, another novella in hand, and much artwork to attend to. There are (fingers crossed) forthcoming book fairs to prepare for and, hopefully, a long-delayed book-signing. Good prospects again.

But there is much to do, so I am going to take a break from this blog, the first in several years, through this summer. This will give me a chance to catch up on my reading, visit family, and perhaps just spend some time sitting and staring at the sea. That’s a delightful prospect, too.

 I will be back with regular blog posts from late summer onwards. I wish you a peaceful, happy and healthy season, and, of course, good prospects.

My illustrated books The Herbarium and The Chesil Apothecary are available from www.veneficiapublications.com

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Leaving your mark: your writing is your legacy

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future, posterity, writing

‘It’s about what you leave behind, isn’t it?’ said my publisher when I met her for coffee last week.

I couldn’t have put it better myself. There are lots of reasons to write: everything from making money to simple enjoyment. But having something to leave to posterity is another matter. It isn’t something you think about much as a young person, but as the years go by and it dawns on you that you’re not actually immortal, it becomes more important.

Your writing can take your voice forward to future generations. It isn’t entirely immortal, of course, but it’s a lot less mortal than we are ourselves. It’s a way of leaving your mark, and your own particular thoughts, behind you.

When I was writing a novel set in the eighteenth century, I read the work of contemporary authors to gain an understanding of the times. It was fascinating to hear those long-ago voices; and it was the juxtaposition of the completely familiar, where their lives overlapped recognisably with ours, and the utterly alien, where they didn’t, that taught me so much. The past really is a different country, as they say. So, when our present day becomes the past, our writing will help the future to understand us. This is just as true, I think, for the fiction writer as for the diarist. Or the blogger. Life as we comprehend it is in the stories we tell, the words we choose, the things we take for granted, and in our sense of the ‘normal’. I can’t choose to be here myself to tell these stories – or not indefinitely, anyway – but my writing can. It’s the closest thing I have to immortality.

So, I shall continue writing as long as I’m able, leaving my mark (or quite a lot of marks, actually), as a small legacy from me to the future. It’s comforting to know that my thoughts and ideas will still be there when I’m not. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get on with it. The clock is ticking and I still have quite a lot more to say…

My illustrated books The Herbarium and The Chesil Apothecary are available from http://www.veneficiapublications.com

You can’t please ’em all: having confidence in your writing and artwork

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art, confidence, writing

Anyone who writes or produces artwork know the feeling: you complete your piece of work, full of excitement and keen to share it with others. And then the doubts set in. Is it good enough? Will people judge it and find it wanting?

It’s an awful feeling. Some people are so overcome with doubt that they put their work aside and forget it. Others learn to heave a sigh and put the work ‘out there’ anyway. But it’s always difficult to expose your work to public critique. One rejection, disparaging remark or so-so review can feel devastating, and your confidence wobbles.

I was thinking about this the other day when I was looking round a small display of artwork at my local café, part of a larger county-wide exhibition of open studios and collectives. It was a particular delight to see this art selection after such a difficult year. It felt wonderfully normal to stroll round and admire the pieces. I even bought a couple of small items. Each person taking part in this display, and all the other people around Dorset doing the same, had taken the same chance, exposing their work to public critique. It takes courage to do this, even if you’ve done it for years. This member of the public, for one, was grateful to them for doing it. It was uplifting to see these lovely original works, a reminder that life, and creativity, goes on. Whether I specifically liked any particular item didn’t matter. I still enjoyed seeing them.

I guess we should all bear in mind the old saying that you can’t please ’em all. This is specially true of books and art. I might read one book, look at one picture, and love them. I might read another book, look at another picture and be left cold, even though I might appreciate the skill and effort that went into creating them. This is true of everyone. As a writer and artist, I have to accept that some people simply won’t like my work. It’s a pity, but it’s no reason for a collapse of confidence. I console myself with the knowledge that the greatest of writers and artists were not necessarily crowd-pleasers.

So, to beginners, I’d say do the very best you can with your writing or artwork, and then show it. Be prepared for some people not to like it – it’s only natural –  but don’t let that destroy your confidence. Just keep that old saying in mind: you can’t please ’em all.

My illustrated books The Herbarium and The Chesil Apothecary are available from www.veneficiapublications.com