More than Writers

Tools of the trade In the early days of this year contributors to this blog brought us   entertainment , information, observations and more. Many have written about books they have read or their own work-in-progress. All of us start with a blank piece of paper or a blank space on a screen. Personally, I prefer to write using Word and then copy my piece into the blog before doing the final edits and revisions. I don’t always remember to update my original document with the final version as a back-up. So how do we decide what to write about? I can only speak for myself, although I am fairly sure that my experience is not completely different from that of other writers. What we read, where we go, what we look at, who we listen to and the memories, which might be triggered by our experiences, can all provide input to our writing. Professor Dumbledore in the Harry Potter books has a wonderful magical device, which allows him to remove irrelevant thoughts from his mind while

My children dislike change immensely. A big change is almost better than a subtle one, it seems. Like us going to see the ballet last December. Same venue as the year before, same time, almost same seats. Different music, different costumes, different ballet... So we ended up in Meltdown City. (What had I been thinking?!) I like change, I’m sure of that. A new year starts with new notebooks and planners ready for January. Just looking at the blank, pristine pages helps me to feel I’m a writer, and I live in hope that those wonderful opportunities will somehow turn me into a word smith. (No, I don’t hold out any hope for doing crosswords, I can’t even do them in Dutch, let alone in English!) Maybe the newness of the pages will help me to spell  necessary  without trouble, or remember if it’s  apartment  or  appreciate  that has the double p. The year spreading ahead of me, marked out in my wonderful new planners and notebooks, Reading Challenge accepted with even some titles penc

What role can numbers play in fiction? In any kind of writing come to that? The obvious roles are:- 1.  Word Counts   Whether you’re writing flash fiction or a standard length short story for a woman’s magazine, word counts are vital. I use Scrivener and love being able to set my word count target and watch a bar change from red to amber to green as I approach my mark but I am geeky like that. Part way through a writing session and I can see how far I've got to go. Image by Allison Symes The good thing is I never go over a word count limit as a result. I remember the days of having to count manually, though the old tip of counting the words in one line by the number of lines in a page by the number of pages you have does give a general idea of where you are. These days, of course, you should be precise and Word works as well for counting (though it doesn’t have a bar changing colour! In fairness, that’s not the only reason I use Scrivener but I like it all the same!). N

Pam by the Great Ouse - January 2020 We are hugely blessed by living just a mile from where this photo was taken recently. In our previous home we had to drive for about twenty minutes to be able to enjoy a similar perspective. Each time we walk by the river when it is calm, it is just as the Psalmist described - a place for restoration of the soul - and who doesn’t need that soul-restoration from time to time? So, a stroll by a river, or a lake, or by the sea are all to be recommended, and for any author, soul restored, these are magnificent places to look for themes. Water can flow free, run deep, and produce the most glorious of reflections which can in turn give rise to a ripple of ideas: and just being out of doors can give us a freshness that can turn an unproductive morning into an afternoon of new thinking. Just cast an eye over the very simple picture above - needless to say, captured on the camera of my mobile phone! Zoom in and look at the upside down cows: they a

It's amazing how putting words down enable you (and others) to 'live' the story.  Adding just a few descriptive words, a touch of reflection, a pinch of emotion, maybe a dash of dialogue and suddenly something that would have been just a mundane statement of fact becomes engaging, a means to the reader walking in your shoes for that short space of time. Fact statement: I took my dog for a short winter's walk around the field Living the story  With a sigh I clipped on Goldie's lead.  I really didn't feel like going out again. It was so wet and the field was a nightmare. It was hard to walk as my feet sank into the thick claggy mud. 'Damn it' I muttered as I nearly slipped and just saved myself by grabbing a thorny branch. Sucking my finger I gazed over the sodden grass searching for Goldie who had typically chosen to disappear as soon as I was distracted.  It was then I saw it.  Almost invisible against the leaden sky, the lone daffodil bravely rai

Like many, I have recently seen the film adaptation of Little Women . It was a great film. I laughed, I cried, and came away feeling that I had really engaged and invested emotionally in the characters. I thought it was pretty faithful to the book, unlike so many adaptations these days. But, for me, there was one glaring omission (other than Aunt March’s parrot!), and it made me very sad. The film writers stripped out virtually all the spiritual content which, in my opinion, was deeply foundational to the book. Where were the Bibles Mrs March gave to the girls on Christmas Day? Where were the mentions of the Friend whom she teaches them to trust and lean on, particularly when times got tough? Where was the quiet space Jo set apart when Beth was ill, to pray and read her Bible? I get why they did it. Films need to make money, and, sadly, ‘religion’ can be off-putting. But it saddens me tremendously that there’s a growing belief that anything to do with God will be unpopu

I meant to keep a journal on the 2011 trip to Poland but words wouldn't come. Then our guide suggested we try to see it all in colour. What did he mean? I thought of Schindler's List with its 2-dimensional monochrome approach – except for the little girl who appeared in red until she emerged one last time, faded and dead on a cart, lost among a tangle of bodies. No, not for me the clamouring nightmares, the vivid playbacks that still bedevil survivors. I was more comfortable with discussion, ideas, opinions because to experience what happened in colour is unbearable. But seven decades on, the stones still cry out in mute testimony, their naked messages ready for those with courage to receive. I had to make a conscious decision to create space, enter into the silence and work out the colours. The full colour palette of autumn was upon us when we visited the picture postcard woodlands of Zbylitowska Gora, site of the cold blooded slaughter of some 10,000 living beings.

Reading back through recent ACW blogs I have been struck by a common thread. Many of us, though deeply committed to our calling as writers, are experiencing life events that are preventing us from fulfilling that calling to the extent that we would like. Some are carers, others restricted by health problems, others burdened and distracted by routine or unexpected tasks, others oppressed by inner pressures whose potency can scarcely be expressed. And it hurts. Many of us are bruised .  Last year, it could have been said that I, like many other thoughtful people, was smouldering . There seemed to be so much wrong everywhere to make one smoulder . I did a great deal of it! But suddenly, though the outer situation got no better, my need to smoulder went away. Moreover, it became clear that, right though the cause may be, the smouldering could be uncomfortable for others — for those who are bruised , for instance. The smoke gets in their eyes and throats. This has made me think

Writing In The Dark by Rebecca Seaton Nearly done? January can be a grey month, literally and figuratively. After the indulgences of Christmas, we often promise ourselves a new start in January. We’ll be fitter, thinner, more creative. I’ll definitely go to bed and get up earlier. Not to mention writing more. Somehow, that isn’t quite what’s happened… Working in a behaviour recovery provision, transitions aren’t a good time. The children find it difficult to return after a break and so do we. And this week it was Blue M onday – we’re told we should feel depressed! Not to mention that fact that it’s cold and dark. But God came as light in the darkness. One of the local schools I work with has ‘Lux ex tenebris’ as its motto, a daily reminder that in our darkest times, light can still conquer all. Ultimately, I am reminded that Christianity is not dualistic. There are opposing forces, but the devil is not God’s equal. But what can we do if we feel w

A couple of weeks ago, I went to be interviewed for a TWR radio programme. The interviewer, James, had sent me the questions beforehand, so there were no real surprises. As we were chatting before the interview, he said the words that, to an author - at least, to me - are gold. They're often gold-dust, too: “I read your book” followed by the icing-on-the-gold, “I liked it.” Perhaps due to aforementioned gold-dust, I confess I am never sure how to respond. It almost feels like I’m being given something so special that, if I touch it – or speak – it might be a dream. But I did say (or manage to squeak out!) thank you, and we talked a bit about the book, then began the interview. After the interview, as I was getting ready to leave, James said he had a card for me. I opened it, pulled it out of the envelope, and that’s how I came to be surprised by my own words. James had made me a beautiful card, with a quote from The Power of Seven – the book we’d spoken of earlier – on

I will still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord Psalm. 27:13-14 We have left the last year, and in fact the last decade behind, and as many seem to think 2020 will be a time of envisioning, breakthrough and fulfilment for God’s people.  In the book of my life I have reached beyond halfway, but my heart is still centred on the Lord, and know that each day in Him is a new day and starts with a blank page. I don't make New Year resolutions, but am resolute in keeping my commitment, trust, delight in the Lord and believe it is important to hold on to faith of unseen hopes and that any vision given by the Lord will be fulfilled.   In 1981 for me it was of a modern-day Ark - a house built on a hill where His people could take refuge, rest and be rehabilitated into society as a testimony of God's love and provision. We hadn't the money then, and don't n

Psalm 84 is one of my favourite Psalms. Maybe best known for verse 10 - being a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord, but it's verses 5-7 that I love most dearly.  Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.  As they pass through the Valley of Baka, they make it a place of springs;  the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength till each one appears before God in Zion. Psalm 84:5-7 (NIV) I love that, as pilgrims travelling through this valley, we have the ability to change it. If our strength is in him and our hearts are set on him, we can turn a place of weeping into a place of springs. My prayer is that our words will do that. That God will use our words to help us and others go from strength to strength as we journey on. Over the years, a lot of my writing has been done through the Valley of Baka, the Valley of Weeping. At a very low point in 2008, I spent a lot of time with my guitar, weeping and p

Winding up the Pig Going through my photos, I realise I’ve lost the pig picture. I need this pig. The little pig that I very much need for this blog was the one that made that Philippians verse “I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me.” go from my Southern Baptist memorising head to my half-British Baptist heart. This wind-up, flying pig lived at the Northumbria Community , in the dining room. At every meal, while on retreat, I would see this little pink plastic pig complete with wings;  hanging on a string. I would also see a post-it note on the Community dining room bulletin board. It said, “ You’re not in London now, pet.” I mean, this place was just full of truth and at least I still have that photo. Having moved people from all over the world to London and New York, I was a city girl (Level 4- read my book) learning how to live in Surrey, and on retreat in Northumberland. I nodded my head, “yep, Lord; but what’s with the pig?” I watched retreatants wind him

Once upon a time there was a woman who owned a fairly bog standard fridge.  Starting its life with the woman as a great bargain on eBay, it served its purpose, keeping the family’s meat, fruit, vegetables and yoghurt wonderfully cold.  The woman, however, was somewhat neglectful of her fridge.  Despite all her best intentions and protestations to the contrary, she did not keep her fridge in order as she should.  From time to time she could be seen by the passing village postman, lunging across the kitchen from fridge to bin, hurling something dripping and unidentifiable into its murky depths. One day, returning from a camping trip, the woman discovered that the fridge had had an identity crisis, deciding, instead to have a go at being a warming drawer.   Enough was enough and the woman excitedly ordered a new fridge, which arrived the next day in all its shiny glory. The woman boasted about her new fridge far and wide.   She waxed long about the built in water-dispenser, sent