August, book hooray, we go again
Approximately-weekly news, #92
Beloved Mr. Butland and I had a tradition, which was to avoid all of the fun holiday places during school holidays, so as not to be in the way. And to take random Wednesdays* in September/Tuesdays in March etc for days off and fun times of our own. It was a good system, and I see no reason to change it this year. Which is a long way of saying, I know lots of people take August off, but I’m here. And, not wishing to rain on August’s parade or anything, I’m not in that much of a mood for fun. (This is okay. My river self is flowing mostly through long, wide stretches where everything is calm and still, and it’s something a relief after all the rocky bits.)
Next week would have been Alan’s 82nd birthday, which would have been the exception to the keep-your-head-down-in-the-holidays rule, and all fun, all the way, and would probably have involved at least one afternoon tea. (When Alan and I first met he didn’t really understand the huge importance** birthdays have to me***, but over the years he learned, possibly too well. The year he was 80, he referred to his ‘birthday month’ on several occasions. This gave me such joy.)
(This is 80, after visiting an exhibition of Lowry’s paintings and, obviously, having an ice cream. One of several celebrations…)
I’m lucky enough to have three friends who have moved heaven and earth to shift our annual Writing Week to next week, so I’ll be away on Alan’s birthday, and working on new things (of more in a minute), and with people who love me. They’ve asked if I want to do anything in particular on Alan’s birthday, and I don’t, except for attempting to recite the NATO alphabet all the way through, which I did for his amusement on his birthday every year. (I have no idea how or why that started, but that’s one of the best things, about traditions, no?)
This week’s permission:
You have permission to stay indoors if you want to. Even if the sun is shining.
I tried to take Harris for an ice cream but he refused to get in the car. So I went for an ice cream on my own, and it was actually fine.****
I brought an ice cream back for Harris, which may or may not be rewarding bad behaviour.
An update on services for writers: everything is booked up until the end of the year, apart from one mentoring slot, to start working together in September.
If we’ve already spoken about working together, don’t worry, your slot is safe.
If you’re reading this and you wish you had booked in, email me anyway - my waiting list is open, and things do move around.
In Writing News - eek, my editor loves the new book!***** I an VERY relieved. I was quite confident about it, but:
Any confidence I have in anything I write immediately evaporates as soon as I hit ‘send’
This is the first time since I started being published that something has gone to my editor without BMB having first read it
I did the redraft starting about four weeks after Alan died. Other things that I did during those weeks included: trying to put my clothes on when I was already dressed, accidentally locking Harris in the studio, having Weetabix for dinner three nights running.
So… y’know. And also: hooray!
Because I love writing, and because it has always got me through, and because some bits of my brain apparently never stop******, I’m getting stuck into a couple of new things. They are at early stages: I’m a few thousand words and not-really-a-plan into one of them, a sketch of a plan and a lot of thinking to do on the other. I’ll be working on them both next week, in Writing Week. And between now and Monday I’m doing the equivalent of a Eurovision contestant putting on their false eyelashes or an Olympic swimmer covering themselves in lard*******.
That’s right. I will be getting out the Sharpies and Post-it notes.
I’ve cleared one of the noticeboards in my studio ready.
I forgot to take a ‘before’! But as you can see from the way the light has bleached the surface, this noticeboard was a busy place. It was covered in favourite cards, lovely publishy bits, gift tags, all now safely put away.
This clearing was more emotional than I thought. There was an anniversary card from Alan with a message bursting with love. There was a card from Lou saying how delighted she was about one of my book deals, and she saw how hard I had had worked and how much I deserved it.
Grief, I am learning, is full of ambushes like this. Some days those cards would have felt like torture. Today, reading those words - more, perhaps, seeing those two sets of handwriting, my name written in ways I would recognise anywhere - healed more than they hurt.
After reading them I had a little look in the garden.
No newsletter next week, as I’ll be away writing/reciting almost all of the NATO alphabet. (The trouble is, I forget a different letter every time.)
Until then, I’m holding you in the light, my kind and wonderful community.
Stephanie x
*It has just taken me three goes to spell ‘Wednesday’. Yes, really.
**gift-giving is my love language. Acts of service was Alan’s, which is why I am now changing duvet covers for the first time in almost thirty years, and when winter comes will have to learn to clean my own boots. Also, since Alan died I must have bought at least 30 bags for life - I hadn’t realised that he was the one who put them back in the car.
***remind me to tell you the floppy disc/bread machine stories sometime.
*****I mean, the experience was fine. The ice cream was, of course, delicious.
*****I have been to enough rodeos to know that this doesn’t mean there isn’t work to do. Though - genuinely - working on editorial notes might actually be my favourite part of the process.
******Not a humblebrag, I promise. Sometimes something of a curse.
********May not be 100% up to date with swimming best practice
Congrats Stephanie whoo hoo brilliant news can't wait to see it in the shops x