Jane Eagland's Blog, page 3

Do Editors Know Best?

I’m guest posting this week over at Once Upon a Bookcase on the subject of  a controversial aspect of editorial influence.

Whether you’re a writer or reader, I’d love to know what your take on this is.

One Year On

Today is the anniversary of moving into this house. Yesterday, in what seemed like an appropriate celebratory gesture, I set up the stereo so I have music at last! Or at least that selection of cds which has so far been unpacked, which is, mysteriously, a motley collection. I was sure I packed them in an orderly fashion. There are a lot more in a box somewhere. Who knows where.

I am glad to have some music anyway. But still no books. Because my study isn’t decorated yet, which hasn’t happened because I’ve been busy with my current work-in-progress, I haven’t got any shelves so I can’t unpack them.

 

I feel bad about it.

I sometimes imagine them, all those characters in all those novels, and they’re tired of being shut up in the dark, and they’re calling, ‘Let us out!’

And I wish I could. Because I’ve missed them. Like you miss old friends you haven’t seen for far too long.

On numerous occasions this last year in the same way that you might suddenly fancy a particular tasty something – a chocolate biscuit, say, or a banana – I’ve desired the flavour of this book or that.

I’ve had a sudden desire for a snackerel of Shakespeare – a sonnet maybe or a dip into Hamlet. Or a modern poem, something unfamiliar, that might provide a little epiphany, a moment to pause and savour. And Dickens keeps coming round, yes, I’m definitely fancying some Dickens.

And it’s not just the reading I miss but the books themselves, their physical presence.

This week, taking a deep breath, I braved a certain store known for its flat-packed furniture and meatballs. As well as purchasing chairs, I chose which bookcases I will have when the room is ready for them, but I couldn’t bring them home with me because it’s too soon.

I hope it won’t be too long before they’re actually here.

When the books are on the shelves I reckon this house will feel like home.

When You Don’t Need Words

As a writer and an avid reader, I obviously love words, but I find some art forms without words wonderfully expressive. I’ve been reminded of this by seeing the film Pina directed by Wim Wenders.

I’m ashamed to say that before this I didn’t know anything about the dancer and choreographer Pina Bausch. I’m really glad that this moving film has given me a chance to experience her work.

The film almost didn’t happen. Planned with Pina herself, it was cancelled when she died shockingly suddenly two days before shooting was to begin. After a time her dancers from the Tanztheater Wuppertal approached Wenders and asked him to film them dancing her pieces so that instead of a film about Pina it became a film for Pina.

She had an original creative method: she asked the dancers questions and they answered with movement and from their movements she created the works, pieces that ‘talk with the language of movement’ as Wim Wenders puts it.

I found some of the pieces disturbing, but also saw humour and tenderness in Pina’s work.

There’s something about simple repetitive movements performed by everyone together that really gets me. This piece of Pina’s makes me smile.

Check it out. You might like it too!

Fifty Shades of Cream

I have heard back from my lovely editor who has read the first draft of my latest project. Her response wasn’t, ‘Thanks , but no thanks,’ as I’d feared it might be. It was more, ‘Hmm, yes, well…’ and the hint that what I’ve written is…well… not really novel- shaped yet, but more a series of episodes. I knew it, really. But was hoping that a series of episodes might be acceptably post-modern and cool. It turns out that it’s not…acceptable that is…so more thinking is required.

So I must turn my attention away from house décor and back to the WorkInProgress.

Which is, actually, something of a relief. Because choosing colours is proving a headache. Not that it should be difficult. Here, the colour of choice is neutral, unadventurous, bland even. Basically, it’s cream. But how can shades of cream be so different from each other?

And how is it that those little rectangles of paint on paint charts no way resemble the colour when you try it out on paper and in turn neither of these shades resemble the actual colour of the paint once you’ve forked out a large sum of money and bought a big tin of the stuff and started daubing it on the walls?

It’s a mystery. And while I’m scratching my head over this and also over the question of What To Do With My Novel, the estimable Bookwitch has found this lovely idea.

What a marvellous distraction. I’m now busy pondering which books I would choose for my staircase. And what an opportunity for bold and cheery colours…

Hah! As if…

Seasonal Fun

I guess many people at this point are focusing on preparations for Christmas – shopping, wrapping gifts, stressing, shopping etc….

I’m celebrating the season in a novel way this year: stripping and rubbing down…

Before you get the wrong idea, I’m talking about removing paint!

Having got the first draft of the latest book finished and sent off – hurrah! – I can now start thinking about the house. Since workmen are arriving very early in the new year to instal a new bathroom, it seems a good idea to get the messy preparations, like stripping door frames, done now.

Sandpapering is tedious but I’ve discovered a helpful tool: a heat gun. The only drawback is that it’s pretty dangerous. There’s nothing like the thrill of wielding something that shoots out 650° of heat (it warns you not to use it to dry your hair…).

It’s not so bad while it’s directed at the paint, which bubbles up very satisfactorily, but while you’re scraping, you can’t keep an eye on your other hand which can’t help waving the gun around…

I’m hoping we don’t have the added excitement of a visit from the fire brigade.

A very merry (and flame-free) festive season to you all!

What’s Your Poison?

The traditional image of a writer is someone fuelled by opium – Coleridge, Keats, Shelley, or alcohol – Dylan Thomas, Ernest Hemingway, or tobacco – Oscar Wilde, Beryl Bainbridge…

Such grown-up addictions! Mine, I have to confess is far more childish – it’s sugar.

I’m prompted to own up to this having watched Nigel Slater’s programme Life is Sweets. (Last Monday BBC4) If you didn’t see it, he explored the emotional resonance of sweets in relation to his childhood; he also touched on the history of confectionery and there were some entertaining examples of old tv adverts for sweets.

It brought back memories for me: of going to Thompson’s sweet shop after school with a threepenny bit to spend – that’s three old pence – and dithering for ages between a Lucky Bag or a Palm toffee bar (a thin toffee bar with a yellow strip of banana through the middle) or liquorice bootlaces. I remember dreaming of the day when I’d have sixpence (ie 2 ½ p) and be able to buy a whole bar of Cadbury’s chocolate…

Obviously this early immersion created a habit I now find impossible to kick especially when I’m stuck at my desk, writing or more often not-writing. Quite honestly I like everything but my staple flavours of choice are mint – glaciers mints and butter mintoes – and aniseed – Black Jacks and aniseed balls, but they’ve got to be the right sort – the old-fashioned ones with the seed in the centre. With the odd foray into lemony sherbet for a real kick….

I felt ashamed of the childishness of my craving until I discovered that Jack London, that apparently ‘tough guy’, felt the same: “All the time I was striving to be a man amongst men and all the time I nursed a secret and shameful desire for candy.”

So that’s all right then. Pass the pear drops…

Work In Progress

If anyone is wondering about the long night of silence that has befallen this blog, I’m still here! But during these past few months two demanding and not-very-compatible experiences have coincided: the deadline for the novel I am currently writing is approaching and I have moved house.

I prefer not to say much about the novel as yet because it’s in such a very raw state, I’m afraid that, like opening the oven door too soon on a soufflé, if I reveal too much about it at this stage, it might flop. By the end of November I have to present my publisher with a decent first draft and given event number two my main thought at the moment is: AAGH!

The move has eaten up two months writing time and while I do have a spacious new study, I haven’t been able to use it very much. The new house needs quite a bit of work doing to it and men have been on the roof, up at the windows and under the floorboards. For the last two weeks my study has looked like this:

Luckily a kind friend has lent me her house during the day when she’s not in it and every morning I’ve been ‘going off to work’. And without distractions such as the internet and with nothing else to do but write and eat the odd French Fancy my friend thoughtfully provided, I have got on so much faster than I do at home.

But, alas, phase one of the work is complete and I’m back at my desk and what happens? Instead of Getting On, I find myself diverted by questions about shower enclosures and floor tiles. Hopeless!

Will we ever reach the stage of having floorboards that don’t squeak? Will I get the book finished in time?

Watch this space!

New Book News!

This week sees the publication of my latest book Wild Song.

 

Published by Barrington Stoke, it’s specifically aimed at teens who struggle to read, so in some ways it’s different from my other books. For one thing it’s quite a bit shorter!

I’ve set it on a remote Scottish island and I’ve drawn on The Tempest for some of the ingredients.  It’s a historical romance with a mystery for the heroine Anna to unravel.

To find out more about the inspiration behind this book, go to Girls Heart Books, where this week I am guest blogging. And if you want a free copy of Wild Song there’s a competition with giveaways!

P.S. About that title. I know – using ‘Wild’ again. Such a failure of the imagination. Not to say confusing. But it fitted. And once I’d got it into my head I couldn’t think of it being called anything else.

P.P.S. I did think of writing a whole series of ‘wild’ books. And then sanity prevailed…

Forever Rose

I love Hilary MacKay’s novels abut the Casson family and their friends and I was recently delighted to discover that there was one I hadn’t read. Forever Rose is as enjoyable as the preceding ones in the series.

If you haven’t met the Casson family yet, you’re in for a treat. Mum and Dad are artists – Mum works in a shed in the garden, but Dad lives in London with his girlfriend – and their care for their family – the four children, Caddy (Cadmium), Saffy ( Saffron), Indigo and Rose, all named after paint colours – is scatty and sporadic.

Each book focuses mainly on one of the children and, in a sense, not much happens, but the chaos of family life and relationships with siblings and friends are brilliantly portrayed and the novels are very funny indeed. Hilary McKay has the wonderful gift of being able to write for young readers yet appeal to adults too. She is also wise and warm and covers important themes with a light, sensitive touch.

In Forever Rose, narrated by Rose herself, all the other members of the Casson family are busy doing their own things so Rose is left to her own devices and has quite a lot to worry about: Mum is not at all well, though she won’t admit it; David insists on leaving his drum kit in the house; no one seems to realize that Christmas is nearly here and no shopping has been done; at school the teacher Mr Spencer is so obsessed with SATS he has cancelled Christmas! And Rose agrees to help her friend Molly with a Secret Idea before she finds out what it is…

Once I’d started reading it, I didn’t want to stop. It was entertaining all the way through and the description of Class 1’s nativity play had me laughing out loud.

If you’re new to the series (lucky you!) here are the titles in order:

1. Saffy’s Angel

2. Indigo’s Star

3. Permanent Rose

4. Caddy Ever After

5. Forever Rose

And…I recently found out that Caddy’s World, a prequel to the series, was published last year.

Another treat in store! Yippee!

White Walls

Last year I was invited by Litfest to undertake a project for Colne library. To be honest, when I accepted the commission, I hadn’t realised exactly what it entailed. (Note to self – always read email attachments before committing to something!)

When it turned out that I had agreed to write what can best be described as ‘words to put on the walls’, I was rather nonplussed. I also discovered that two other writers engaged in similar projects in other Lancashire libraries were poets. Eek!

Despite being way out of my comfort zone, I set to. The task included talking to local people about what was important to them about their town and also what they valued about the library, but I had the freedom to write what I liked as long as I came up with words for specific spaces.

The project is now complete and even includes some poems! As well as my words, there are colourful silhouettes, all of it  cut from vinyl and installed by Sam Jones. Here is some of it; if you visit , look carefully if you want to spot everything.

 

 

In the early stages, one library user queried the point of it, saying that he liked white walls. I hope he’s changed his mind and likes the additions to the building. As for me, after all my doubts about being able to do it, I’m pleased with the way it’s turned out.

And Christine Bradley, the amazingly knowledgeable librarian who helped me with the research, said that librarians from other libraries were jealous.

So that’s all right then.