Home at last (and a Paris diary entry)
So, I'm back from Paris, and at my desk. It's a bright day outside, and freezing. I've stocked the wood burner up, and the cats (who hate each other despite being mother and son) are curled up on opposite sides of the room. I've written 2000 words today and have more to write later. The novel is finally coming together. Thank the universe. Also, I just heard an extract from my script: STAGS got shortlisted for a BBC Writers Room thing.
I still haven't received my edits for Infinite Sky, so a trying to get as much work as possible done in the peaceful interim. It is going to be very strange working on two novels, at wildly different stages, at the same time. Something I haven't done before. Though this was why I wanted to take a two-book deal if it was offered. I require the pressure (though having a deadline did freak me out a little at first).
So, anyway, Paris. I wrote a lot when I was there, but it was mainly notes about Paris and Shakespeare and Company and the people I met there, rather than real work on my book. I read even more: Flour Babies by Anne Rice, The Sea, The Sea, by Iris Murdoch, Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman, some of The Coward's Tale by Vanessa Gebbie, various poems by poets whose names I unfortunatly didn't write down.
But what did I get up to in Paris, precisely? What did I do all day? It's a good question. I'll flick through my notebook and see if there's anything worth sharing (not going to reflect very well on me if there isn't...)
Okay, there's some stuff! I'll post a diary entry with every new blog post for your enjoyment.
11 Janvier
Travelling alone is a revelation! All the single travellers speak to each other! The man sitting next to me on the plane takes a picture of us together when I tell him I'm a writer. A woman on the RER into Paris tells me everything about her husband's diet [he will not eat porridge or halloumi]. The man in the falafel shop tells me that he loves England, especially the new king and queen who, like him, hate the smell of stinky death food (meat). I am friends with the world!
The bookshop is full of young people. Terry, who works there, knows my friend Sam Riviere. In my head, I kind of think he is Sam Riviere. He's Leeds Sam Riviere. You can tell they like a lot of the same things. When Terry stands up, he is the same size as me. He manages to get this into the conversation before he stands up. I think this is so it isn't as much of a surprise. It's still a surprise!
Everybodies French is better than mine. Everybody enjoys doing the accent. I'm pretty good at saying, C'n'est pas possible, and c'est possible. My accent, for this phrase, is pretty excellent.
The other tumbleweeds are from America and Israel. They're much younger than me. Does this mean I am late to mature? One of the tumbleweeds is 19. What was I doing at 19? Why wasn't I living in a bookshop in Paris? The tumbleweeds, when asked, say they wouldn't call themselves writers, but they write a little and love books. One tells me that her talent lies in love letters. How gorgeous is that?
It is so expensive here. (Take a bottle of water everywhere!) Not many struggling artists/writers could afford to live here now. (Which capital city is the cheapest to live in these days? Where is the new Paris? Find it and move there.)
I still haven't received my edits for Infinite Sky, so a trying to get as much work as possible done in the peaceful interim. It is going to be very strange working on two novels, at wildly different stages, at the same time. Something I haven't done before. Though this was why I wanted to take a two-book deal if it was offered. I require the pressure (though having a deadline did freak me out a little at first).
So, anyway, Paris. I wrote a lot when I was there, but it was mainly notes about Paris and Shakespeare and Company and the people I met there, rather than real work on my book. I read even more: Flour Babies by Anne Rice, The Sea, The Sea, by Iris Murdoch, Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman, some of The Coward's Tale by Vanessa Gebbie, various poems by poets whose names I unfortunatly didn't write down.
But what did I get up to in Paris, precisely? What did I do all day? It's a good question. I'll flick through my notebook and see if there's anything worth sharing (not going to reflect very well on me if there isn't...)
Okay, there's some stuff! I'll post a diary entry with every new blog post for your enjoyment.
11 Janvier
Travelling alone is a revelation! All the single travellers speak to each other! The man sitting next to me on the plane takes a picture of us together when I tell him I'm a writer. A woman on the RER into Paris tells me everything about her husband's diet [he will not eat porridge or halloumi]. The man in the falafel shop tells me that he loves England, especially the new king and queen who, like him, hate the smell of stinky death food (meat). I am friends with the world!
The bookshop is full of young people. Terry, who works there, knows my friend Sam Riviere. In my head, I kind of think he is Sam Riviere. He's Leeds Sam Riviere. You can tell they like a lot of the same things. When Terry stands up, he is the same size as me. He manages to get this into the conversation before he stands up. I think this is so it isn't as much of a surprise. It's still a surprise!
Everybodies French is better than mine. Everybody enjoys doing the accent. I'm pretty good at saying, C'n'est pas possible, and c'est possible. My accent, for this phrase, is pretty excellent.
The other tumbleweeds are from America and Israel. They're much younger than me. Does this mean I am late to mature? One of the tumbleweeds is 19. What was I doing at 19? Why wasn't I living in a bookshop in Paris? The tumbleweeds, when asked, say they wouldn't call themselves writers, but they write a little and love books. One tells me that her talent lies in love letters. How gorgeous is that?
It is so expensive here. (Take a bottle of water everywhere!) Not many struggling artists/writers could afford to live here now. (Which capital city is the cheapest to live in these days? Where is the new Paris? Find it and move there.)
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