Postcards from a Flat Land

Writing, Life And Some Birdboxes

I knew I hadn't blogged for some time, but I was surprised to see that my last piece was posted in August. Why? Well, an intensive German class for one. Not sure how much I learnt. Less than I had hoped. And putting finishing touches to my novel, with my agent on board. A great process, that I'll talk about more another time. As much as anything else, though, I think life got the better of me. I've been busy out in the real world in a way I haven't been for some time, and it's been pleasant.

 
But now it's January and there's even a little bit of snow on the ground. It's bitterly cold here in Berlin. I'm going to start writing a second novel in a few months time (and no, for those of you who read my last post, I didn't just go for it) but not until the weather gets better. I'm thinking about blogging about the writing process. There's this sort of fatalistic stigma attached to the second film, so I'm interested to see how it goes with a second novel and sharing my experiences.

 

I have a flash piece live at Metazen in the next few days. I'm not sure this one is typical of me, but I love it a little bit extra for that. I've also had an acceptance from Fractured West. I'm not sure when that piece will be published, but I'll keep you posted. This is all good going, two submissions this year, two acceptances. I doubt it will continue this way unless I actually write some more flash. Not much lying around to submit and, last year, I worked almost entirely on my novel. The coming year will hopefully be a bit of both.

To Research Or To Write?

Life seems to be full of perplexing experiences at the moment. I'm not sure I like 'perplexing'. I had twelve whole child free days to write a fortnight ago. I didn't enjoy them. I wrote, or rather I planned. This was a film project I've been trying to get 'good enough' to submit for development money for some time. My experience writing a novel has made me much more of perfectionist. I find it hard to slam a synopsis together, submit and say 'let's see'. So, I picked away at my story, stuck post-it notes - with fluorescent coloured name tags attached to them for the sake of beautification – all over the bedroom wall, ate too many crisps and drank too much wine. Plus ça change…

An interesting thing happened though, on the day before my daughter returned. Whilst planning my screenplay, in the evenings, I'd been researching an idea for a new novel, which involved reading about the eighteenth century German military. In German. A painstaking task for someone who's lived in Germany for a year and relies almost entirely on good Dutch to communicate in German. But something, an idea, a feeling, had been developing as I forced myself through between two and six pages of reading per day. With a few hours of freedom left, I sat down and wrote. Within a couple of sentences, I was excited, because I knew I had a voice for my central character. I've just read through what I wrote. It's less than a thousand words, but I was right, it's a voice.

I'm not sure what to do next. I'd thought that I would research for months. But now I have a voice, and I sort of know where I want the story to go, I'm tempted to write first and research later to fill in the gaps. Part of me, though, knows that I'm not the world's strongest researcher in the first place. Hey, if were interested in facts, I'd write non-fiction, wouldn't I? While writing my first novel, also set in the past, I did have 'film director moments' where I stared blankly round the room wondering where my art director was. As I didn't have one, I decided to ignore the areas of architecture, furniture and clothing. Except when I needed one or other of them to have a psychological impact on one of my characters. If I leap in now with my new novel, it'll be same again. Possibly even more so.

There's also the risk that I want to throw myself in at the deep end straight away just for the buzz of writing a first draft. I could seriously do with an adrenaline rush at the moment. During my twelve days alone I really missed what a commissioning editor I once met referred to as 'doing the vomit'. Writing feels so much better than planning. So I am aware of my own desperate need for the pleasure of getting words down on paper.

But, the screenplays I've written that I've actually ended up directing, have been written like this. There's been a strong urge. Screenplays are shorter, though. I can complete a feature script first draft in a fortnight. For a novel I need far more staying power, and life will get in the way. Will I be able to keep up the momentum?  

Well, I'll have to see. My daughter has just come to sit beside me and is singing 'Everybody, everybody wants to be a cat.' The school holidays are nearly over… but not quite.

Preserving Memories

Today it's mainly raining. A summer holiday has taken on the feeling of Christmas, the other time we are usually here. My parents are napping, we guests are staring at computer screens. Father and daughter are trying to compose music together; cooperation is proving tricky.

Yesterday, walking past a whole field full of purple flowers, I surprised a family of deer, a mother and two young ones. The mother ran off into the wood next to the field and one of the young ones followed. The other stood on the narrow band of earth between field and woods, lost. I could feel my memory closing its fingers round the moment, trying not to let go. That morning I'd been out for a walk with my camera. I had another 'deer moment' and just managed to capture it, but the image was disappointing. Not as good as the real thing. This second time round, I was glad I didn't have my camera with me. If I'd tried to capture the moment, I could never have mirrored its emotional power. Instead of watching the young deer figure out which way its mother had gone and, eventually, follow her, I would have been busy clicking and trying to preserve the moment to show to others. Now, it's like a have a very special secret. I'll remember it better because I can't look back at it on a computer screen.

Here are some images I did capture, though, on my walk yesterday morning.

 

See that deer? It's there, but it looks more like a speck of dust on the lens.

The weather has cleared, so the whole family is off for a walk down the same route I took when I saw the deer family yesterday. This time, there's one thing I think I'd dare say I guarantee. No deer.

 

Buddies and Readers

I'm at point where I'm looking back on how I wrote my first novel. I think I'm figuring out a second one, but there are a number of stories to chose from and various reasons to hop one way or another. Or to procrastinate by thinking about which one to write. But in the thinking I wondered about something relating to how I wrote the first one.

When I started the novel, I was escaping from writing screenplays where I felt there were too many fingers in a pie that, in its early stages at least, should have been all mine. So, for a year I wrote, showed no-one, and talked about process with 'buddies' - one in particular - while we either ate cake or walked round the park, depending on the weather. When I'd finished, I didn't know who to get to read my novel. My friends are mainly writers, but friends is what they are and I want them to stay that way. Screenwriting experiences have made me wary of asking people I love to give me feedback - and vice versa. I sent my novel out to agents. At first I got little feedback. I plucked up the courage to ask some writers I had met recently, and respected very much, to read for me. Their comments were pretty positive. I got a report done, but it took me ages to find someone to do it in whom I had sufficient confidence.

The thing that worries me, as far as writing the next novel is concerned, is that I don't feel I have any more sense of who my beta-readers should be now, than I did then. And I mean beta-readers in the sense of fairly early-stage readers, who are prepared to dig in. I think this is very difficult with a project as long as a novel. I'm very curious about how other authors deal with this. Have you found trusted readers, for whom you possibly read too? I have an agent now, but I can't help feeling there should be an in-between stage, where I whisper to someone off-stage that I think I'm ready, but I know I'm not really, so would that someone very special, that very tender, yet very honest person, please come and take a look.

Leipzig Book Fair - An Ant's Eye View

Yesterday, I went to Leipzig Book Fair. I've never been to a book fair before and this was something of a whim, because my daughter had a day off school. The book fair was meant to have lots of books for kids. It did have some, but really, what the book fair had most of, was people. There were books, don't get me wrong, but when we went into Leipzig itself, later, we hit a big bookshop and it seemed to have far more books in it than the book fair did. And you could find somewhere to sit and you didn't have to carry your coat for miles if you hadn't taken it off at the cloak rooms by the entrance, just after you'd come in out of the cold and rain - and didn't know how hot it would be inside.

So, I thought to myself what is a book fair for? Well, if your book's just been published, here's your chance to read from it for an audience, to talk about it. But there was a problem at Leipzig, a problem called acoustics. Even when sections were walled off for readings, you could hear all the mumbling crowds in the background. I watched an audience of kids being read to, and not one was looking at the person reading to them. I know that kids aren't the best concentraters in the world, but this was extreme. They all looked a little depressed in fact. And that was how I started to feel. At one point, heading back into the meleé after a quiet moment, I wondered what would happen if I did what I felt like doing. If I stood stock still, and screamed…

One thing that brought relief were the hordes of teenagers in fancy dress in the comics and 'Japanese stuff' section. They were having fun, they knew exactly why they were there. Unfortunately, I was less sure.

Ways to Write when not Writing

I'm just not in the mood lately. Usually, when I'm not in the mood, I get the metaphorical whip out. But not at the moment. I know it won't work. So I found a way to write without writing. This morning I went and took photos of the area where I'd like to make my first German film. It's probably a pretty predictable area to want to make a film in. So, I'll have to promise that my story will be original. I'm always a little afraid of research; I feel it limits my palate. I prefer to fit in what is there afterwards, but I know that in these next few years, I have an opportunity to inspired by place that will dissipate, the longer I live here. So, here are some photos...

 

Reading Experiences: The Chronicles of Narnia

I have just been reading 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' aloud to my daughter. Reading Chapter Four 'Turkish Delight', was a bit like disappearing through the back of a wardrobe. I sat beside my seven year old and I was her age again. Everything that Edmund does as he is beguiled by the Witch, was as it had been the first time I read the story. It was such a joy to read and I knew that Nola was enjoying it especially because I was such a willing reader. We have the whole 'Chronicles' and I'll be interested to see how my memories unfold. I don't actively remember a lot beyond Book Two. I was surprised to find that Book One was 'The Magician's Nephew'. I didn't remember this. What I do remember vividly from each book is the cover.

There are other things I don’t remember: did I read the story myself when I experienced it for the first time? I don't know. I learnt to read much earlier than Nola, just because of location, so it's possible I did. Maybe my Mum remembers. Did I, in the 1960s, already wonder at some of the phrases that feel dated now? I think the term 'Pax' is going infiltrate Nola's school. Old things can be very cool.

I told Nola how I felt about what I was reading, about how strong the memories and feelings were. She said her feelings were very strong, too, as she listened. I asked her how she 'saw' the book. She saw the film some time ago, so her vision is already coloured by that. A bit like the film, but different, she said. She found the film far more scary. When I went to cook, she asked me to type 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' into You Tube. She watched a very strange animated version. I know it was strange because I could hear the witch's voice from the kitchen and it just wasn't right.

Right? Well, you know…

Place de la Revolution

My story 'Place de la Revolution' is up at 4' 3'' , read by me, this week. This means a lot to me. This story was more or less written orally. Sound strange? I went on the inaugural Faber writer's workshop in Paris a couple of years ago, along with other writers who have remained friends, Elizabeth Baines, Lauren Elkin and Cynthia Barlow Marrs. The workshop was a strange affair, not quite figured out yet, but Tobias Hill sent us out to follow people and, we did. 'Place de la Revolution' was the result of this 'following' combined with something I'd seen on the Berlin U-Bahn years before. We read what we'd scribbled down outloud and, I think, it was reading in that small room upstairs at the Shakespeare and Company that made me realise I had a potential audience. I was a little stunned when Cynthia suggested the piece was publishable, but it's been published threes times now (forever grateful, Cynthia!) and I've gone on to publish quite a few other pieces of the same kind of length. So, this was the story that gave me confidence in my voice as a writer of prose, alongside my work as a film-maker. It was the start of journey that I hope has only just begun.

Am Volkspark - a river of stones

An elderly lady with alpine walking sticks and a body that resembles them, threads her way through the park. She has fire in her eyes and an enormous, grey fur hat on her head.

Story in LitSnack

My story 'Mowing the Lawn' is in LitSnack this month - it's been up for a week or so, but somehow it passed me by.

This will probably be one of my last 'very shorts' for a while as I'm concentrating on longer stuff at the moment. More to come soon with Camroc Press and 4'33' but after that I suspect it'll be quiet.