More than Writers

Ludwig van Beethoven lost his hearing. Before I lost my own hearing, or even had an inkling that I’d one day be deaf, I researched Beethoven for a school project.   One story goes that the composer was conducting an orchestra, who were playing music he’d written.   With his back to the audience, Beethoven had no idea that people were clapping and cheering; until he turned around and saw them. On the 11 th of September 2018, at approximately 10pm, I was sitting in the main Conference Hall at CRT .   I’d seen person after person go forward to receive awards.   It was a privilege to celebrate. And then, from the stage, I was mentioned. My name was called. I stood, on legs turned to jelly, and made my way to the platform. I concentrated hard on not tripping over – balance is not my strong point.   Climbing the steps, I shook hands with Angela, received the award, then turned to face the room.   And that’s when my Beethoven moment happened. ...

" You will seek Me and find Me when you search for me with all your heart."                Jeremiah 29:13   In July I drifted awake sensing I was dancing to music with a partner.   In those seconds the words of the song 'I Can Only Imagine' came to mind. ‘I’ll dance with you Jesus.’ What a privilege and wonder that felt.  After spending time with the Lord I listened to the song on the internet and wept, not knowing why beyond being a child of God and the joy that has been set before me.     This was in the midst of my contending for tthe life of Esther Moore, daughter, wife and mother to a boy with Down Syndrome. A wonderful worship leader, songstress. photojournalist and writer with a blog about being a cancer warrior.   It’s been said, ‘Esther brightens every space she enters’, and I’d add, ‘with the ability to make everyone feel her fri...

I’ve been working on preparation for my NaNoWriMo project, which will delve into the history of an old house; working on the scene where my main character visits this ancient, uninhabited building for the first time. As I write her experience, I’m finding it helpful to use all five of her senses. NaNoWriMo’s edit-free practise not withstanding (and more of that next month, unless someone here beats me to it 😊 ), there’s a careful balance to be met when describing how a character experiences their surroundings. I once read about a heroine who, ‘felt the softness of the goose-down pillow envelop her head and shoulders, like a marshmallow being dipped into melted chocolate.’   I couldn’t work out if that sounded like a yummy snack, or a sticky mess. In this age of skim-reading, any superfluous descriptions will likely be glossed over. It’s a real skill creating descriptions that draw the reader in, and keep them! If we describe the feeling of every individual grain of s...

I can just see it. The fanatical rabbi, former persecutor of heretics, pacing up and down his cell, dictating to a faithful friend. The words tumble over each other as he seeks to challenge and encourage the congregations he has founded as a new, passionate believer in Jesus the Jewish Messiah - and not just that, but saviour and Lord of the world. Sometimes he digresses, following a fascinating thought down its tempting side road - till he recalls his original purpose and pulls himself back to his main point. He is dealing with big ideas, but he wants to make them accessible to all – young, old, educated, illiterate. He also wants to greet friends, friends he has met and friends he hopes to meet, his fellow believers and disciples of Jesus. And all the time his scribe, recruited perhaps because of Paul’s poor eyesight (or was it arthritis in his writing hand?) struggles to keep up with the flow of powerful language. Just occasionally, he signs off with his own hand, in...

Words are powerful.  I've been thinking about that a lot, recently.  Not the greatest revelation ever uttered on a blog for writers, I know - but something we can easily take as forgranted as oxygen or running water. The reasons for this have been manifold.  Let me explain. Firstly, my beloved 81-year-old Nan had a stroke last month, suddenly and cruelly changing everything about life as she knew it.  I'm not talking the sort of white-haired, diminishing, petite old-lady kind of Nan either - she is 5ft 10 and plays (played  🙄 ) golf twice a week, makes the most incredible jam, flies around Tesco like a contestant on Supermarket  Sweep and can talk the hind legs off fields of donkeys.  Could.  Because that's where the words thing comes in.  One of the most heartbreaking effects of the stroke is that her words are all gone.  Almost entirely.  She can say 'yes,' 'no,' 'well,' 'for,' and 'basically.'  Without words, she i...

My husband and I recently celebrated our silver wedding anniversary so will be heading to Paris just after this post goes live. To mark the occasion, here are some things I’ve learned in the last 25 years that I believe can be helpful for our writing too: Just as in marriage, writers need: Passion A relationship often begins, and continues, because of a passionate love for one another; we need that same sort of spark in order to write. I remember those heady days of constantly thinking about Steve, wanting to spend every spare second together and being annoyed when things got in the way. Writing can burn inside of us in a similar way; in fact, it needs to if it is going to survive the long haul… Perseverance Passion may be really evident in the early days, and still underlie a marriage many years later. However, that same burning sensation will not last every day, year in, year out. There will be times when the relationship is, frankly, hard work. It’s then that we...

It’s my daughter’s eighteenth birthday today, and so I feel old that I should mudge a little on time, how it passes, and what writing does to it. That kind of thing. ‘I can’t believe she’s eighteen!’ - That’s the usual response in these circumstances. It’s like there’s a filter we apply when it comes to time passing; it can’t possibly be going so fast. It’s as if we wish time to be more fluid; we want to hold on to certain moments for longer while wishing others away. But it marches on regardless, unthinking of our own desires to bend it a little. And so time passes, and suddenly that baby is eighteen, and where have those years gone? Time can be an unwelcome visitor, a pressure and a reminder, a heavy burden when we are short of it. When there is much to do and not enough time to do it. As writers we can feel its ever-present jabs at us: You need to get this done and that, this blog and that article and that edit. Or it tells us that we simply don’t have enough of it ...