I’ve blinked and a whole half term has passed since I last wrote. We are thundering towards Christmas and the close of another year, which is frankly terrifying and as usual, I’m dragging my feet, desperately clinging on to autumn.
Since the day I cleaned my glass collection, I’ve been pretty busy in my writing life. I decided to write one big list of all the flash fiction writing opportunities out there and having filtered them a little for the ones that felt right for my writing, set about entering as many competitions as feasibly possible. I tried to write ahead of myself so that all the ones with deadlines in November or December were also entered. My plan was to make myself feel that I’d seized all the opportunities open to me so that I would feel I had the space to turn my attentions back to my novel. It seems to have worked because the lengthy list is all crossed off and I have finally begun my re-draft. The months of uncharacteristic inaction feel like they’ve paid off because the plot must have been developing in my brain during that time and now that I’ve actually sat at my keyboard, I feel clear about what needs to be done. The writing is flowing fairly well – though I’m not worrying too much about the form of the writing at the moment, just concentrating on getting the correct storyline down, as my editor advised. My plan is to continue with my main focus on my novel until this re-draft is complete. I am trying not to set myself an arbitrary deadline (as I have always tended to in the past) because I think that if I reduce the demands of myself, I might feel more relaxed and less concerned about the next stage all the time. I think this was perpetuating my anxiety around the constant no’s and feeding my worry that I wasn’t getting anywhere. Maybe I don’t need to be heading somewhere all the time. Maybe I can just enjoy the journey a bit more. It feels good to have all the flash competitions rolling on in the background though. It means there are longlists to anticipate which help me to feel that something is moving along somewhere. I am less upset when I don’t list these days and in a good routine of getting those pieces straight back out again – usually through subs to journals rather than another competition, but not always. So my main focus is my novel but I spend a little bit of time cultivating my flash pieces as and when competitions come to an end. I may or may not have started a novella-in-flash too (what is wrong with me?) but again I am trying not to make a demand of myself to finish it quickly. I don’t want to say too much about it, but it came about when I realised that several of my recent pieces could actually have been about the same character. Once that realisation dawned, I was able to see that I’d written about ten pieces that would work as a collection already. I have mapped out another ten to fifteen stories that will also be needed to complete it and am writing those slowly, using competition prompts where possible. I am loving the efficiency of completing my novella and creating pieces for comps at the same time. I’m not really sure that things are supposed to be approached this way but it’s working for me. I like having a grand plan behind the scenes – it helps with my focus and gives a purpose to my writing that I think I might have been lacking before. I suppose it also feels more like I’m in control of what’s going on with my fledgling career rather than feeling buffeted about by the predilections of others. It’s quite possible that at the end of it, nobody will like my novella-in-flash or want to publish it but at the moment I’m not too worried about that. I like it and I’ve a really clear vision of how it will look when completed which I think makes me feel as though I’m doing my most authentic writing yet. And whether anyone likes it or not, that’s an enjoyable place to be. The character is unusual; a little left of centre and that leads to some stories which are probably a bit weird. But I’m loving the weirdness. I’m relishing it and really exploring the corners of it. Where my novel is an experiment in whether I can write commercial fiction, my novella is an experiment in what my imagination can conjure up if left entirely unchecked. Writing is really just an experiment altogether but having some tastes of success certainly helps with encouraging you to continue experimenting. When I last wrote, a piece had been longlisted in the Retreat West ‘wind’ themed competition and I was waiting for the shortlist. Miraculously, my name was on that list too and my piece Zephyr Zefferelli went on to be named one of two runners up (You can read it here www.retreatwest.co.uk/zephyr-zefferlli-nicola-ashbrook/ ). As my first short-listing this felt like a big deal. The fact I then won a prize with monetary value even more so. I guess I’ve probably been writing fiction about a year now and this was the first money I had ever earned from it. It’s a long way from being a livelihood but it’s a start. And everybody has to start somewhere. If nothing else, it would pay for many of the competition entry fees I had shelled out for. Incidentally, I was all sensible about it and took the opportunity to add up what I’d spent thus far. The result was a lot more than I thought. Competition entry does add up and entering all of them would certainly be unobtainable for those on a low income. My £100 prize money still left me in the minus. However, my husband pointed out that this was a very unromantic way of looking at things and I should do something more fun with my hard-earned prize money. So I did treat myself a little. Shortly after that boost to my writing-esteem, The Storgy competition longlist ( storgy.com/2019/09/23/flash-fiction-shortlist-winners-2019/) came out and somehow my story was on there too. And it was also on the shortlist and went on to be highly commended. Wowsers. I knew this little flurry of encouragement wouldn’t last so I tried to enjoy it for what it was. Interestingly, that story – Tumour – was previously entered in The Primadonna Festival competition and didn’t longlist so it just goes to show that different people on different days might see something different in your writing. And also that old adage about persevering really is true. That piece will be published later-on in a paper anthology - something I’m looking forward to as there really is something special about seeing your words printed in a book. It will be my second ever paper-publishing so very exciting indeed. As always, there have been ups and downs. I got two pieces accepted for publication by The Ginger Collect but it then very sadly folded. One piece has found a new home with Lunate and will be published this week as part of their Halloween series. My competition run has predictably broken with no listing in the Flash500 competition, the Retreat West micro comp (I’ve entered three times now with no luck) or the Bath Flash Fiction Prize. But I still feel the encouragement of those two successes and they soften the blow of the new ‘no’s’. I know that won’t last forever and once there have been enough more ‘no’s’ my confidence will slowly erode once more. But for now I’m buoyant and you never know, perhaps there’ll be some more yeses too.
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My apologies for my blogging and Twitter absence over the last few weeks – I have two lovely boys who have been off school and, as always, they are my priority. You don’t get many summers with your kids, do you?
I thought I’d have been able to continue to dabble in all things writing despite them being off but in reality, my brain couldn’t do it. There is incessant noise with my two and I’m a work in silence kind of person. I can concentrate in cafes though, probably because there tend to be fewer people hollering ‘Mum’ at a gazillion decibels every couple of seconds. I did write one piece of flash and enter a couple of comps but that has been it. Perversely, in that capricious way the Universe has, me looking away for a bit has led to things gaining momentum. During the summer, several momentous things have happened. I don’t mean momentous is a winning the World Cup kind of way, but in the somewhat smaller and less exciting context of my developing career. The first momentous event was receiving the editor’s report for my novel. I had been worried that I would take it very personally and be upset by it. That turned out not to be the case – so far I seem to be better at accepting constructive criticism than I thought I would be. I had sensed there were issues with the opening of the story but didn’t know how to mend them – that was a key reason for paying for editing in the first place. The report confirmed what I sensed and gave me suggestions of ways to fix it. It also taught me more about standard structures of novels and whilst I’m not really one for too many writing rules, the points made about how to introduce characters and inciting incidents did resonate. When I received the report I was desperate to dive into editing straight away – I have little patience for not just getting things done – but we were in the middle of organising a birthday party and packing for holidays. And, as I say, the children were off and I couldn’t think straight. So I’ve had it for several weeks now and haven’t begun. Although this pains me a bit, I think it has been the right thing. I suspect I am generally too keen to finish things, get things out etc. and that has led to pieces falling short of their best. I now try to sleep on a new piece for at least one night before re-checking, tweaking and sending out and I know this distance has improved my work. I’m hoping the distance from my novel will have allowed ideas and comments to percolate and will make the editing task easier when I begin this week. Initially I got a bit discombobulated by it – not because I didn’t want to change anything but because there were so many ways it could be changed and each had knock-on effects for other parts of the plot. If I made A happen at the beginning, that could work, but then scenes B, F and H couldn’t happen etc. It is like a huge knot that needs untangling but some of the options would initially lead to more tangles. I’ve decided to begin by mapping out my whole book scene by scene on post-it notes. That way I can easily add or remove scenes or play with the order. Then I will consider all the different beginning scenarios and see which works the best. Any ramifications of that change will then need to be tackled. I think it’s a pretty big job. However, apparently I have a “decent first draft” and the fact I now have a plan feels like progress. So watch this space. The second momentous thing was that I sent off a couple of my flash stories to a beta reader for the first time. Again, that felt like I would hate it but she was really constructive and I understood the theory behind all her comments. I have since worked on those pieces again and again, doing the most editing I ever have, and sent them back out. This week, one of them has been accepted for publication. I am very pleased about that and evidently the beta reading and the edits paid off. I have been able to apply my learning to new writing, which is also paying off. A second piece is also going to be published and I am very excited to say that I have made my first shortlisting in a competition. Previously I had been longlisted and highly commended only (once each) so this was a very encouraging development. The winners and runners up have not yet been announced but I’ll be happy with my short-listing. After several months of back to back rejections, these developments are very much welcome. They have certainly boosted my confidence and made me feel as though the slog is worth it. I feel encouraged that if I do continue improving and I keep seeking feedback, perhaps this could become more than a quick route to a dead-end. A further encouragement was seeing my story Missing Person in print in the beautiful Reflex Fiction anthology The Real Jazz Baby. This piece was the first that longlisted in a competition and though it had already been published on the internet some months ago, it did feel momentous to have my first piece of fiction in an actual book. Buoyed by these tit-bits of progress, I am excited to be back at my desk ready to get cracking again. In true writer-style I have spent most of today re-arranging my shelves, washing my vintage glass collection and messing with stationery. But there is tomorrow. And at least my website has my photographs of my own stuff on it now and I have written this post so you know I am not forever lost to motherhood. Until next time, Nicola x It is a long time since I studied English at GCSE – more than half my life ago, in fact. Since then, I’ve studied to degree level, worked in the NHS for thirteen years, been a stay at home Mum, travelled a little, gained a husband and two children and a whole menagerie of pets – not in that order, obviously. Though those things have been amazing, intriguing, challenging and all the other adjectives you can come up with, they have not taught me, per se, to be a writer. I hope they have, but there’s a good chance they haven’t.
What I mean to say is I am not schooled in writing beyond that very distant English GCSE. I haven’t been on a creative writing course, or done an MA. I haven’t so much as been to a workshop or dabbled in online learning. I am literarily uneducated. Clearly, I could just go and get educated, but part of me wants to know what can happen without that. How far can I get based on instinct (and hard work) alone? If writing is art – an outward expression of internal imagination, thought or ideas – why does it need to be taught? There are probably a whole load of people who will read this, roll their eyes and titter to themselves at my naivety. It isn’t that I’m cocky and assume my writing is naturally amazing – I can assure you I’m not and I don’t (the cocky amongst us don’t tend to need blogs to navel-gaze and vomit their anxieties). Neither is it that I don’t want to improve. I do. It’s just that there is a rebellious hippy part of me that doesn’t want to get hemmed in by writing rules. I didn’t come to this hobby to be caged or channelled or clipped. I use words to seek freedom. To let my mind run away with itself. To explore feelings or fears; to experiment. I want to be free to graffiti or swear or blur the edges of punctuation and grammar. I find it hard to believe there are rules, in any art form. I know there are people who will tell you there are, and that you could never succeed without adhering to them, but I can’t help thinking that if you asked a hundred people, each would give you a slightly different set of rules. Everything about writing is subjective. Only time is going to answer the wisdom of my theories. While I wait and see, writing and submitting with abandon, I am taking my own measures to improve as much as I can. My key plan is to read widely. It seems like the most logical thing to do. I have now got subscriptions to Mslexia magazine and the Lighthouse journal. I have a huge stack of novels and memoirs waiting for me, and try to have one on the go at all times. I read a lot of flash that appears in my twitter feed. I’m certainly reading differently now – I’m alert to how things are structured (this can unfortunately ruin a novel), the way imagery is built up, how characters are developed, the voice a story is told in. I’m intrigued by how likeable a character is or isn’t, especially if they’re the protagonist. I’m hoping that a lot of these thoughts and the things I notice percolate into my brain, improving the narrative I go on to type. If you submerge yourself in another language, you learn it more quickly, don’t you? I’m hoping that my literary submersion will pay similar dividends. The rest of it – the writing and editing parts – I am pretty much making up as I go along. I love flash because it’s a great playground for writing. I found it impossible to begin with – all my early attempts were just description. As I began being able to weave a story in so few words, I still struggled with my verboseness, almost always going over word limits and needing to cull significantly. Having to be conscious of every single word has certainly improved my ability to get straight to a point. Although I’m better at being frugal with words, I do still like to choose the good ones. My key approach to editing is first to make sure the story flows as a whole. Then I check for superfluous words – if it doesn’t add, it has to go. I have terrible habits of overusing ‘seemed’, ‘that’, ‘which’. I find coming back with fresh eyes helps me to spot them. Sometimes the imagery I’ve aimed for doesn’t come across as I want it to, so I play about with different sentences, different word orders or different vocabulary. I have absolutely no idea if this is how editing is supposed to work. Again, I’m following my instincts. My approach with my novel has been different again. I have done a lot of reading and re-reading, to the point of not being able to see the wood for the trees. I have read the whole thing from start to end to check for inconsistencies, unanswered questions, flow. I have re-written sections, deleted sections, fiddled with particular sentences. One thing I’m particularly unsure about is when to stop editing. How do you know if a story is cooked? Are you burning it by further fiddling? Or are you at risk of sending it out a bit raw? Once I feel quite satisfied with how a piece reads, I get impatient to get it out. I suspect I’m guilty of under-cooking most often. I also struggle when a piece gets rejected – is it because that journal is full/ it wasn’t their taste or because it requires improvement? There probably isn’t a clear answer but I do give every piece another tickle-round before it goes out again. I’ve recently assessed all my flash pieces with a critical eye, resulting in me parking several, for now. I can’t decide if they are incomplete or just lacking in concept. Either way, they are temporarily retired. The ones I think might be good enough (feeling the way in the dark) have all gone out, some as simultaneous submissions - only if it’s in the rules, of course. I guess I just wait and see what happens with them. I’m certain that the other way I could improve my writing would be to get more feedback. This is pretty scary. No one wants to pour out their deepest thought concoctions only for them to be ripped to shreds. I’m hoping that a kind reviewer would be more constructive than that, and, as hard as it’s going to be, I can see that it’s a necessary next step on the journey. Several friends and family have read my novel, which has been a wholly positive experience, but I have made myself get braver than asking those who are loyal and want to be kind to me. It’s weird to think my novel is currently with a professional editor – a stranger combing over something so intimately mine. I’m excited to receive their feedback whilst simultaneously terrified. What if they hate it? What if they just don’t get it? I hope they don’t say it is entirely unpublishable…. Ever. That I should just burn it and sell my laptop. One things is for sure - the feedback will certainly give me an insight into how far off the mark my unschooled approach is. I know there are more next steps, such as joining a writing group, but at the moment, the thought of sitting there while someone critiques something I’ve written feels so exquisitely uncomfortable, I just can’t make myself do it. Ditto open mic nights. For now, I’m happiest hiding behind my laptop, writing, writing; applying my own inimitable grammar rules. Editing in my own special way; sending my pieces to faceless readers. Ducking the inevitable rejections; cherishing the few that make it. Can instinct and hard work take my novel to an agent and a publisher and the window of my favourite Waterstones? It’s the twenty million dollar question. I have my doubts but I also have my dreams. Well, this is a bit scary.
I’m fairly new to the writing and seem to have fallen into a dysfunctional relationship with it. On the one hand, I love it. I love letting my (over-active) imagination run away with itself. I love letting it come up with characters and tales and weird little dark snippets of something. I love being at my writing desk. I love sitting in cafes with my laptop or, even better, a fresh, un-scribbled notebook. I love acquiring the notebooks and looking at them, all arranged in colour order on my shelf. I love pens. I love reading. And even when I’m not trying to write, my brain is plotting and constructing and editing. Everything that happens and everyone I meet is at risk of featuring in a story. I have concluded, after much soul-searching, that I am a writer. I just am. Were things as simple as that, I’d have no need for this blog. But they aren’t simple: they’re complex and muddled and dysfunctional and that’s what brings me here. Even the sentence ‘I am a writer’ is loaded with conflict. I have been dabbling for some time now, all behind closed doors, in secret, like a clandestine love-affair. I’ve been enjoying it (see above) whilst simultaneously over-come with the sense I’m a wannabe – someone playing at writing, perhaps without the requisite skills or credentials. For a long time, I believed you couldn’t honestly call yourself a writer if there wasn’t any fruit of your labour – if you weren’t published, you weren’t an author. I think I’ve just about talked myself around from this now. Surely it is actually the act of writing that makes you a writer? Discovering that other people’s brains don’t attempt to write novels at 4am, entirely unbidden, has helped too. Also, when I completed my first novel I planned to have a break for a few weeks – because surely I must need one and because I had to concentrate on the necessary but unpleasant task of submitting my work. However, my brain had other plans and decided to present me with a new novel idea which grew and expanded and developed itself, despite me trying to quash it. All evidence would suggest I am a writer and I need to accept it. In an attempt to do so, I have recently made the decision to bring my predilection out from the shadows. Trying to establish oneself in a new career is not a dirty little secret, even if it does feel like laying oneself bare, so why not tell people? Hence starting my Twitter account - @NicolaAWrites - and now this. The purpose of this blog is not self-promotion. It’s about me having somewhere to think aloud, organise my musings and vent my complex feelings on the next stage of the writing journey. Being a writer, it is - funnily enough - writing that has the most therapeutic benefit for me. I hope that by being honest about my experiences, I might connect with others going through similar and might give some reassurance to those not yet brave enough to come out of their shadows. I’m not going to commit to a weekly blog because I suspect it would quickly become repetitive. It would most likely go along the lines of: Waiting for a response from agents/publishers/editors. Still waiting. Still waiting. Got a rejection. Waiting. Rejection. Rejection. Waiting. People would get bored quickly. But I do need somewhere to offload as and when the above process gets too overwhelming – which it does, constantly. So that place is going to be here. The problem, or one of them, is that I’m not a patient person. I guess I can be patient with people but I cannot stand waiting. I like getting things done and making things happen. I’m acutely aware that life is short and waiting feels tantamount to wasting the time I have. Attempting to get published is not a speedy process. Obviously there are thousands of other people who also want to reach that glorious summit and publishers and agents must be inundated with submissions. Inevitably it takes time. Lots of it. Months of it. I am not handling the waiting well. I’m like a kitten who isn’t allowed out yet, physically clawing at the walls, resisting the urge to claw at myself. And it isn’t just the waiting. It’s the rejection. Wow, the rejection. My background is not in the arts. I have enjoyed a very different type of career in the NHS which had its own challenges, mainly relating to lack of funding and resources, but it was largely a kind and people-centred culture. Rejection never featured. I suppose I knew on an intellectual level that it would be an integral part of writing, but, like many difficult aspects of life, knowing it and experiencing it are different beasts. Over the past nine months or so, I have already hardened to it; you have to, but I can’t lie – trying to develop your confidence in your craft is definitely impeded by hearing ‘no’ all the time. How do you separate yourself from the piece? How you do hear ‘no, not for us’ without hearing a subtext of, ‘it just isn’t good enough?’ How do you stop yourself from automatically translating it as, ‘you aren’t good enough’? I battle with these questions on an almost daily basis. Sometimes I conclude I must try harder – read more, write better/sharper/more creatively. Sometimes I console myself that writing is subjective – one person might not like it, but another might – I should send it out again. But when do you make the call that the piece really isn’t good enough? When it’s been rejected twice? Five times? Ten times? It’s a constant hamster wheel of pedalling and pedalling but not getting anywhere fast. I find it exhausting. I suspect some of it is about perspective and goals. If your aim is mainstream publication, nothing will feel like success until you achieve it, if you ever do. Someone recently said to me that the way to survive is to aim for the best writing you can, not for publication. This way you can feel more like you are able to achieve your aims instead of reaching for a goal which a little imp is simultaneously moving further and further away. I think this is probably wise but I need to adjust towards it more. In my life before the NHS, I was a very dedicated student with high expectations of myself. I set myself target grades and I worked hard to get them. I could do it because I had control over my studying – I knew what the curriculum or the degree module required and I made sure I met it. This is different. The steps to the goal are far more arbitrary. I can’t control many aspects of it – such as current trends, what publishers are looking for, whether a particular person wants to put their money behind my project. I have a sense of dread that I could work harder and harder and do everything within my control and it might still not be enough. I might never get published because the stars just aren’t in alignment. Or because my writing is just not good enough. Or just because. How do you push on and on, getting up after every rejection, coming back for more of the same, all the while knowing you still might not make it? I don’t know the answer; I really don’t. But this sums up where I’m at. And why I need this blog. I’m realising why artists and writers have been portrayed throughout history as tortured souls. So, where I’m at is thus: I began writing my debut novel last August. I completed it in February. I’ve asked various people to read it and have given it a full edit. I got a bit over-excited/ impatient and sent it to a handful of agents who have either rejected it or have indicated rejection through their lack of response. In trying to be sensible, I have now sent it to an editor for a full manuscript appraisal. However, it has been twelve days and it has not yet been assigned to a reader so even paying for a service doesn’t speed things up, much to my impatience. Yes, people are busy, I know, I know. I have begun my second novel but am trying to chill my boots. I’m not sure that another self-imposed deadline is really what I need right now. I also dabble in flash – little stories of somewhere between 200 and 500 words – ish. Initially I found it really difficult to make a story happen in so few words but it has been great for my discipline as a writer. I’ve definitely got better at it, even if I’ve a way to go. At the moment I like taking inspiration from unusual words or phrases and using them as a starting point for a little tale. I’ve had some success – I woke up on New Year’s Day to my first long-listing - but it is very sporadic. Sometimes I think that I was lucky with the pieces that have made it, rather than them having been good enough. At other times, I can’t believe I got a longlisting so early on. I vacillate between thinking I might have this if I keep trying and despairing that I never will. That’s me at the moment: conflicted in every sense. I’d love to hear from others who have been here or are here with me at the moment. All words of wisdom gratefully received. |
AuthorNicola Ashbrook Archives
September 2023
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