MeNoLikeNo NaNoWriMo

Well, it's almost November again, and that means that the NaNoWriMo hashtag will be soon be appearing on Twitter feeds and Facebook posts all over the English-speaking world.

I'm a writer of sorts, so this is the type of thing that should warm the cockles of my heart, fuel my imagination and cause my "I can type 100 wpm" fingertips to tingle with delight and anticipation.

Should. But doesn't. In fact, I have real problems with NaNoWriMo, and in this post I'll tell you why.

Before I begin...I'm sure that many people will have a fantastically enjoyable month. Some writers may find it beneficial to their work and it may even release untapped creative skill, energy and inspiration. To those people, I can only say: "Well done, and I'm glad you enjoyed the experience."

So, what's your big problem, then, Jane, you may ask yourself. Are you jealous or something?

I don't know if I'm jealous of someone who can write 100,000 words in a month, though I know damn well that I couldn't. This feeling is similar to the non-jealousy I feel about some fool--oh, sorry, I mean person--who runs a marathon. I couldn't do it, so from that perspective a marathon runner has something over on me---big-time. Am I jealous of that person? It's possible, but not very likely.





Back to NaNoWriMo. This event strikes me as something akin to "National Loose a Bunch of Weight Real Fast Month" Yes, rapid weight loss might enable some people to lower dangerously high BMIs. It might encourage other to make permanent healthy lifestyle changes. But for most people, such a month would eventually backfire, the weight would pile back on, and the experience of wild success followed by rapid failure would demoralise and depress, making any real weight even harder to shift.

Of course, with NaNoWriMo, there's no chance of such a reversal. You write the words and nobody takes them away if you don't keep up the momentum (At least, I don't think they do.)

But what happens when an aspiring writer runs out of steam on, say the 10th of the month? Does he or she feel like a loser? Not like a proper "novelist"?  There may be many talented people for whom failure during NaNoWriMo is a real personal defeat. They may not realise that, in fact, writing a novel in a month, is actually quite a daft (if not dangerous) aspiration.

And what about other writers, who are struggling with deadlines, or desperately trying to get a new project off the ground after a submission to an agent or publisher has come back to them, rejected? How do they feel--the blocked, the demoralised--when a million wannabees are posting:  Just nailed my daily 5,000 words!  #nanowrimo

Sick, that's how they feel!

Obviously, I'm being just a tad flippant. Any serious writer would know that  NaNoWriMo is a bit of fun, or use the challenge to push themselves through a stagnant or dormant piece of writing. A real writer wouldn't expect success after only month, or give up if they failed to hit their word-count.

What really bothers me, though, is the way NaNoWriMo seems to present writing as something that anybody can succeed at as long as they write enough words in a short enough time. Of course, many people can write novels, but only with talent, and only after long periods of hard work, diligence and devotion to craft. Similarly, many people can write 100,000 words or so in a month, but the chances of producing something even remotely resembling a "novel" are extremely unlikely.

To me, NaNoWriMo  trivialises both writers and writing.

Maybe I just know too many good writers who are still struggling to get published, or too many authors who've worked for years and years before seeing their work in print. I know the hard slog that real writers put in day after day. To have that dedication and perseverance mocked by an event that makes writing seem like a hobby (buy an official Thermos!), a sport (wear badges and stickers!) or even a  charity (try on a yellow wristbands!) really annoys me.

Yes, anyone can call themselves a writer.That's not new. Grab yourself a notebook and a pen, put on a beret, sit in a cafe.  But to call yourself a novelist? Just because you went on-line, did a lot of typing and used a hashtag?

 That's really #takingthepiss

Write Through This

Sometimes it's hard to be a writer (sung to the tune of "Stand by Your Man" by Tammy Wynette)

OK, let's change that to all the time it's hard to be a writer (doesn't scan very well, but never mind)...

Firstly, there's the self-doubt that needs to be overcome (or at least contained) on a daily basis.

Secondly, there's the ever-present reality of rejection, misunderstandings, dashed or thwarted hopes.

Thirdly, there is the difficulty of getting a piece of work started and the hard slog of getting it finished, edited, polished, submitted...

Not easy. Not for the faint-hearted or the lazy or the insecure.

But there are times when being a writer is made even harder by circumstances well beyond the world of agents and publishers, far outside the processes of drafting, editing, submitting.

There's the day job, for one. For most writers, a paid job is essential. For some writers, work may be a hard physical slog or one that seems menial and soul-destroying.   For others, that day job can be a demanding one like teaching or social work, which are not stressful and time-consuming, but can also use up valuable of creative energy...

And then there are those pesky kids, who are generally more time-consuming (and stress-inducing) than any spell of 9-5!

And if all these things aren't enough of a hindrance to creative work, there are the other difficulties, often invisible to the outside world. There are personal problems--illnesses, relationship issues, financial hardship, worries about children, parents, friends.

Writers may seem to non-writers as people who thrive on conflict and high drama, but what most writers need in order to to flourish and to stay focussed is quiet and calm. What can we do, then, when the "real" world just isn't co-operating.

The answer is, of course, to paraphrase the title of Hole's 1994 album: "Write Through This."

I have never liked the idea of writing as "therapy" (except in certain clinical situations, obviously). I have never written about my own experiences--I was never a journal-keeper or a diary writer, even as a teen. But writing has, at times, been a sanctuary from a turbulent emotional situation or, at least, a place to hide out or lay low for awhile.

Writing can be a safe haven, where the writer can, temporarily, stay in control. It's an escape hatch to a world that can be molded into any shape. And even though it may be hard to write when the world is caving in or the bullets are flying, writing can be a bunker, a suit of armour, a shelter from the storm.
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On the "New Normal" and Not Giving Up

I'm just back from a wonderful two weeks in the USA, part of it spent at my family's
cabin on Yellow Lake. As some readers will know, the last time I was there was in the July of 2011, when the area was hit with 100 mph winds. This storm's effects were devastating to the region and to my own family: our beloved cabin was damaged and all the trees which surrounded it were downed.

I'm happy to report that there's a "new normal" at the lake, thanks to the hard work of my sister, brother-in-law and many other family members and friends. Trees have been planted and there is green grass growing once again. It may not look the same, but the things that really mattered are still there. The cabin looks as sturdy and as lovely as ever. The woods to the north of the cabin are full of saplings which will eventually grow to be mighty oaks and tall pines. Eagles still swoop through the skies, squirrels still chatter, foxes still leave paw prints on the beach...

The essence of this special place couldn't be changed, even if the landscape was altered

And the lake? Well, part of the "new normal" is the panoramic view!

I'm not sure if there are any wider lessons or morals to be learned from my experience.

In hindsight, the storm, which seemed so catastrophic while it was happening, was a minor event. No one died. Nothing was destroyed that could not be replaced, repaired or replanted.  My family was not ruined financially or made homeless.

But my experience of returning to the lake has told me that hard work, intense love and a bit of time can turn a bad experience into something that is not only positive, but worth celebrating.

And seeing how quickly and how deeply the "new normal" has taken root makes me understand something even more important:  it's better to wait and see before giving up on anyone or anything, whether it's a career, a book, a child, a relationship...

Or a  very special place.

Three Days in Edinburgh!

I 've returned from three days in the beautiful (and sunny!) city of Edinburgh, where I presented a writing workshop for the EIBF's Schools Programme.


The event itself was delight--about 70 14-year-olds and me in a tent, talking about creating fictional settings, characters and conflict. With such intelligent and engaging students, and such high calibre TAs, including the Guardian's own Julia Eccleshare, the hour flew by.

So, what of the rest of my Edinburgh experience?

It began two days earlier when I met up with my son and daughter, and other friends. Hannah was working at as production intern for the comedy organisation responsible for the prodigiously talented The Boy With Tape on His Face, and I was lucky enough to get a ticket for his sold-out show.

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...the next day I saw my son Sean (also prodigiously talented, of course) perform in his own free fringe comedy show with Adam (Prodigiously Talented) Hess. 














On Thursday, it was time for the main event (mine, anyway, if not the Edinburgh Festival's!)

The workshop went well (again, thanks to the superb EIBF staff!) and afterwards I signed copies of at Yellow Lake and chatted informally to the dedicated and enthusastic teachers who'd brought their students to my event. I can't thank the participating schools enough. I can't over-praise the behaviour, effort and talent of the students, either--they were fantastic!












After the signing, of course, there was time to relax....

And again, outside the writer's yurt, I struck gold--sparkling companions, perfect weather...

The Ab Fabs and me! 

 
 And, of course, the legendary (well, it soon will be if I have anything to do with it)  Authors' Toilet...

Teri Terry's grinning and bearing it...

...Dave Cousins is bearing it...just.

From an unforgettable day to a lovely evening.

The Teen Titles party, sponsored by Edinburgh City Council's Teen Titles Magazine, brought together writers, readers, teachers and librarians.

Here's lone Englishwoman, Kate Harrison, being totally outnumbered by Americans Teresa Flavin, Jane McLoughlin and Elizabeth Wein. Thanks to Linda Strachan for the lovely pic!

Again, thank you to everyone who made this such an exceptional experience for me!  

 

Twas the Night Before Edinburgh

Last night, I had a wonderful prelude to my Schools Programme event at the Edinburgh Festival on Thursday: a long, animated conversation about "At Yellow Lake" with my own niece and nephew, who are aged 14 and 12.

Seamus (far left) and Molly (irght)at the launch of  At Yellow Lake

Molly and Seamus, by their own admission, aren't avid readers. Seamus, in fact, rarely reads, and like may 12-year-old boys, gets most of his "story" action from computer games. They also admitted that if their auntie hadn't written it, it was unlikely they ever have picked up a copy of "At Yellow Lake."

But what made the night such an unexpected pleasure for me, was the way these young (and somewhat reluctant) readers became so involved in At Yellow Lake--the characters, the setting, the plot. They both "got" what I had tried to do, and to hear Molly's insightful ideas and Seamus' amazing recollection of details made me feel proud, not of my book, but of two brilliant kids who are related to me!

However, the highlight of the night wasn't just the perceptive character analyses, or even the generously poured glasses o "Dino." It was the Seamus and Molly's coining of a new, and inspired euphemism for, well...let's just call it "wigwamming."

So, well done and thank you, Molly and Seamus.  No only did you make me laugh, but you inspired me as a writer and made me more aware than ever of what young readers relate to and are excited by.

I couldn't have asked for a better Edinburgh eve!

Holiday Sounds

The best thing about a holiday to me is not the sun, or the sea, or even the sights...

It's the sound.

Sometimes it's the lack of sound...a quiet place away from other people, away from traffic, away from music, even...

Sometimes it's the sound of strangers' voices, the babel of foreign tongues, whether in a market in Dhaka or a Croatian beach, relying on inflection, inferring meaning, imagining an abstract painting of words.

Another sound that I relish on holiday is the silencing of my own writer's voice. No planning, no drafting, no thinking about character or plot or market...

Without access to social media the sound of virtual voices goes quiet, too. No mention of reviews or word counts, no iamediting hashtags.

The world makes its own noise for a change, without any input from me.

Lovely!

School's Out Forever

My final teaching day was earlier this week and I said goodbye to some of the classes I've worked with for almost a year. It's always (OK, usually) sad, saying goodbye to children, and I was genuinely touched by my students' good wishes and their reasonably convincing refrains of  "We'll miss you, Miss."

Although I'm happy to be leaving teaching, I wish my students every success and hope they continue to enjoy their learning. (10YA: there's your promised plug!)

I'd intended to write a longer post, sharing some final thoughts on teaching and education....the need for more creative time and space, my hopes for a  "slow-learning movement" in English, which could create a real appreciation of literature and writing for all students, not just the most able or motivated.

I'd hoped to thank (again) the brilliant support and SEN staff at my school, who make inclusion work and remind us that education is for everyone, regardless of what trolls like Toby Young may think.

But...the sun is shining and the year is over and I've already forgotten that I ever was a teacher!

"Igor" Young and his evil master Govenstein have been reduced to shadowy figures in a year 7 story that ends with the phrase "and it was all a dream."

This nightmare will recur, of course, but in the meantime...

what Alice says!