Confidence low. Scaffolding in place.

I have spent the summer holidays cabbying kids around, clearing their mess, breaking up fights, packing suitcases, putting up tents and taking them down again. I've fended off flies on camp sites and suffered sleepless nights in sparse motels situated directly below flight paths or overlooking the M1.  

 

Thank goodness I’ve got the house to myself. Now I can indulge in a little ‘me-time’. Well, actually, there’s no time for any of that nonsense, not when ‘Ghost Towns’ is far from being complete and in need of representation.

 

It shouldn’t take long to sort out the first draft. The hard work has been done. I’m not daunted by the fact that I am working on this project alone. I am the writer, after all. I know exactly what needs to be done. The unpublished author has to stay focused. We are used to a bit of confidence bashing. It happens all the time.

 

I'm well on the way to completing my second book, which is commendable, I suppose. I’ve dug the foundations and laid every sodding brick. The scaffolding has been removed, piece by piece. All I have to do is add a few final finishing touches, which isn't difficult. I’ll soon brighten the place up with a lick of paint, flooring and fabrics - nothing that I haven’t done before.

 

When I stand back to admire my creation, I’ll feel like an unkempt self-builder who has been ‘roughing it’ in an on-site caravan for the past year. However, he’ll be able to sell his work for twice as much as it cost to make the damn thing. The unpublished author has no way of judging their valuation until an offer comes their way.  

    

Rejection!

In this industry you have to develop a thick skin. Don't let your guard down. Never trust anyone. Remember that saying, 'As tough as old boots'.....

Let's consider one old boot in particular. It has been thrown away onto a wet slush pile with seams torn apart - a worn out 'soul'. If I add the fact that it's got leathery skin, which is flopping all over the place, perhaps I've given you a clue as to how I'm feeling right now? Yes folks - I am that discarded boot!

In my attempt to focus on a specific genre, I've unwittingly taken a different path to both agents who were involved with my first novel. The time has come to look for representation again. Yet another trial for the unpublished author and one that is apparently all too familiar in this business.

In one of my recent tweets, I asked if I could borrow Jane Harris' crampons after she had confronted her 'story book mountain'. She's in no need for them any more, but I'm clinging onto that mountain, teetering over the edge, dangerously close to a slippery slope. Enough of the metaphors. Cut the crap! I need a crime/thriller agent. Will somebody save me?

Undeterred, I continue to work on the second novel with more determination than ever. I've added more twists and turns to the first draft and deleted waffle (admittedly, there was a lot). This one categorically fits into a specific genre, so I'm leaving base camp to trawl through the final editing stage. Onwards and upwards with crampons at the ready. Wish this old boot a bit of luck....

Still waiting and it's torture...

This week I played my part in the torture and subsequent demise of our fifteen year old cherry tree....

 

I instigated this murder, encouraging my husband to hack at its thick trunk while I wrapped cord around a wart-ridden sprouting, below the neck.

 

From the corner of my twitchy eye I saw our neighbours peering through their nets or cowering behind fences. All were too afraid to mock. Very probably they were in awe of our strength and sheer determination. We were unfazed by the heat, wiping sweat from our brows, yanking and sawing at the cursed tree, refusing to give up. It dug in its roots, putting up a good fight, but we had weapons that we were not afraid to use. I stood back as my accomplice sliced through the torso with a circular saw. Then, together we took hold of the noose and gave the good-for-nothing eyesore one final heave. It landed on the lawn with a thump, shaking the ground, sending a colony of ants into frenzy.

 

My husband stood proudly over our victim believing his task was done, but I had another job lined up. ‘Finish it off once and for all,” I egged him on. “Pour the root killer into its stump and make sure it chokes on the lot.”

 

All year, the tree’s off-springs have been shooting through our front lawn, but they are all wilting now, keeling over as the poison sets in. While I wait for the roots to die, I calmly take hold of Sarah Hall’s, ‘Carhullan Army’....now this is disturbing stuff....

 

....Wow! That’s what I call a good ending....

 

I wonder what my agent thinks of my denouement?  

 

She’s had Ghost Towns for three and a half weeks now. It feels like an eternity......

Waiting for news....

 

I attended the Harrogate Crime Festival last week and collected a fine array of business cards. As I handed back my name scribbled on pieces of scrap paper I realised the Lynne Blackwell/ Author brand didn’t look very professional. Therefore, I’ve finally got around to creating a Twitter and Facebook account, which I intend to add to my very own business card. The only problem is that I haven’t been able to put my mobile down ever since...

 

If something is habit forming, compulsive and obsessive then we can assume it is addictive and I can’t focus on anything else. Surely, I’m not an addict? I only take the odd glance, every few seconds or so, in every waking hour...

 

Maybe, I’m in denial, which is another sign of addiction. I’ve got to face up to the truth and wean myself off Twitter and Facebook. I’ve learnt to ignore distractions in the past. I can’t recall the last time I visited a horoscope website. So, it shouldn’t be too hard finding the will power to stop pressing like buttons... if only for a day....

 

I last looked, all of two minutes ago, which seems like an eternity. All sorts could have gone on in the world and I’m missing out! OMG! I can’t leave it alone. I find myself checking how many followers I’ve got, which is only a handful. Does that mean I’m boring? Oh surely not me! I’m so ‘with it’. I’ve become hip and trendy. I’m doing what all the young people do. Social media is the rage and I’m part of it....But, I’m still not published.

 

My agent has the first draft of Ghost Towns and I haven’t heard from her since it landed on her desk. Perhaps, she doesn’t like it? She’ll have noticed those once agains cropping up, over and over again. There might be other mistakes. I’m so nervous.

 

Am I the only unpublished author to get so tweety and twitchy after the hard work has been done? Perhaps I should share this thought with my Facebook friends? Maybe the twittering community will empathise.....or perhaps I should get out more.....?

Once again...again and again....

 

 

When my husband proof read Ghost Towns, he cried and laughed in all the right places, telling me it was a rollercoaster of emotions. But was he biased? Did he want to keep up my fading spirits? After all, we were due to go on holiday and it would be unbearable sharing a hotel room with a grumpy unpublished author. That’s when I decided to have another glance before sending it off to my agent and, obviously, I couldn’t help but make further improvements.

 

I emailed it onto my agent a week later, leaving only a few hours to pack the suitcases. Our plane was almost ready to take-off and I couldn’t find the energy or motivation to move a muscle. I found myself consumed by an overwhelming sense of relief that I’d sent off the first draft, which made me sink into a lethargic stupor. It was as if I’d been transported into a yoga class, absorbed by the sound of mating whales, allowing every inch of my body to go numb. My brain was shutting down, switching off. I could have easily closed my eyes and keeled over.

 

After six months of hard slog, the time had come to leave the parallel universe of Ghost Towns, escape from this other life and concentrate on the real world. We were going to seek out a sunnier climate. Viva Espania....well Mallorca actually. Soon, there’ll be plenty of time to relax, but not until we’re on the plane.

 

I hollered out instructions to the family, delegated tasks and surprisingly they all got on without complaint.  This obedience allowed me the time to consider having another look at the sent mail box. It was tempting to peek at the manuscript, which was on the agent’s desk, just a little peep, only the first few paragraphs. Then, I’d be able to go away in the knowledge that my agent was going to be so impressed. I’d be drinking pina coladas by the pool, confident that she’s in London securing a deal with a hefty advance. 

 

Then I remembered the many changes I’d made after my husband had proof read: little additions that were now in the hands of David Higham. The urge to check them took precedence over packing. I soon found the first stupid mistake. In page one of the prologue, I’d written once again...again....and again.

 

At the airport, I recalled those words once again, then again on the plane and once again after checking into the hotel. The all-inclusive beer helped take my mind off the mistake for a few hours until I woke up in a hot sweat, repeating those words, once again, all over again. I became preoccupied by this error throughout the holiday, believing that in all probability there must be more!

 

I’m home now, concerned that those once agains have spoiled the agent’s read and that my chances of getting published might be diminished, once again......

 

Ctrl F

14^th June, 2013

 

Okay, so I reached a point where superstitious malarkey is becoming nothing but a distraction. If I’m going to get Ghost Towns published I now need to fully concentrate and read through the first draft.  

 

I’ve stuck to the plan all week, remaining focused on the job at hand, completely oblivious to the number of magpies in my garden and not giving a damn about what my horoscopes have to say. The spell of hot weather is now over. It’s cold and wet outside. My lucky clover didn’t get me the NWA or a national lottery win. I’m through with distractions. My agent is waiting for the manuscript. There’s no time to waste.

 

I’m taking every interruption in my stride. The kids seem to have all sorts of things on at the moment from residential holidays to theatrical productions, sports days and parties, but I’ve got it all under control. My family are plagued by twenty-four hour bugs, the Norovirus, migraines, hay-fever and still I’ve managed to get to the half way point. So what could possibly go wrong? Technical issues - that’s what!

 

Every time, I switch on the computer, it decides to shut down for no obvious reason other than it’s got it in for me. I’m saving work every two seconds, paranoid that the manuscript I’ve been working on for the last six months might suddenly disappear into virtual cyberspace. Now a continuity issue has cropped up to put a spanner in the works. I’ve noticed that one of my characters is helping himself to an alcoholic drink in a pub after I’ve just sat him down in his car. And for some reason I keep adding an R to another character’s name, transforming Faye into a Fayre.

 

Thank you, ctrl F - without you, it would have taken me weeks to replace all those Aunt Fayres. Technology is a godsend after all......

 

 

WHAT'S LUCK GOT TO DO WITH IT?

2^nd June, 2013

 

Last week, I found a five leaf clover. Then, the very next day I came across a four leaf one. Thinking my luck was in I got a lucky dip on Wednesday, which came to nothing. I coppered up another pound and bought a ticket for the Saturday lottery only to get two matching numbers. My lucky clovers couldn’t even win me a tenner! I’ve tried not to get too disheartened. Maybe my luck will come in a different form?

 

I managed to manoeuvre around the growing numbers of people on their hands and knees looking for lucky clover on our lawn to go inside and check my emails. All sorts of news could be heading my way: maybe my first book has been sold or I’ve won the Northern Writers Award? This monetary award would allow me to go on courses, pay for workshops and continue writing until I get published. And of course the acclaim would enable me to finally hold my head up high....no I’m not published yet, but I’ve just won an award....No such luck! I have got more chance of winning the lottery.

 

All is not lost. I can still pin my hopes on the second book. After all, I have finished the denouement for Ghost Towns and it is pretty good. I’ll read through the draft and send it off to my agent. If she doesn’t like it I’m chucking those lucky charms into the compost heap or feeding them to the guinea pigs...

 

Before I sign off, I should congratulate the winners of the Northern Writers Award. I have to admit I’m very jealous. This is a great scheme, run by lovely people who seem to organise some fantastic conferences and loads of parties. [www.northernwritersawards.com].

 

Maybe some day I’ll be invited to a bit of a do, anything to get me away from this laptop. In the meantime, I remain an unpublished, un-awarded, poverty stricken, would-be author, but I’ll get there one day. I’m heading out now, walking under every ladder that happens to get in my way, making damned sure I step on all the cracks in the pavements and straining my fingers so wide apart that they can’t cross. Maybe, sheer determination is all I need to bring me luck in the end....?