Writing, knitting, coral.
Approximately-weekly news, #71
Harris is fine. We stopped to talk to a man unloading a wagon the other day - he had owned a greyhound, once - and he spent the entire conversation with his hand in his pocket. To Harris that means only one thing: I Am Going To Get A Treat. Disappointment meant he had to lie down for more hours than usual afterwards.
He has asked me to remind you that if you ever meet him you should only put your hand in your pocket if you are about to give him a delicious snack. Otherwise it’s just rude.
This week, I have mostly been doing two things: writing and knitting.* They’ve both been a little bit different to usual. Let me explain…
First, writing. If you have been on a training course/event with me there’s a good chance I will have said to you that when I had written one novel I could tell you exactly how to do it; now I’m starting my tenth**, I haven’t a clue. This is a joke, but it’s also true. Though I envy the ‘write-a-thousand-words-a-day’ people - and, sometimes, I am one - for me, every novel is a new experience.
Partly because I am a new writer with every novel. I’ve learned more about my craft, I’ve talked to more readers, I have a different idea. I know what worked well last time and I remember, in excruciating, slow-motion detail, the bits of early drafts that weren’t right and the time and effort it took to fix them. I have read more books than I had the last time I wrote a novel. And I have been living my life; the last year, in particular, has been rich in both sadness and success So, logically, of course the process is going to be different with this new novel.
This time, I’m telling a story that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I’m returning to old characters and giving them good intentions, challenging surprises, and the need to truly resolve things that they haven’t had the courage to look at properly before.
When I wrote A BOOKSHOP SUMMER (out next year! hooray!) I put together a first draft that had roughly the right things in roughly the right places. I made notes in notebooks and on my phone; I dictated early parts of the text as I sat with my friend as she was dying; a couple of months later I wrote 20,000 words in a week, in a panic, and although they turned out to be pretty good words I had absolutely no memory of them when I returned to them. It was not my favourite way to approach a novel, but needs must when you are grieving and writing is a kind of lifeline - the thing that is always waiting, and that can give you a break from your grieving heart by absorbing your attention for an hour or two. Once I had the first draft, I could take my time with the fixing and the enriching and the rethinking, and in the end I got to the result that I always do, maybe best summed up by ‘this is not precisely the book I thought I was setting out to write at the beginning, but I have given it the best of my heart and mind and I believe that it is worth my readers’ time, and I am proud of it, and I wouldn’t let it go into the world if I wasn’t.’***
Already, the process of writing this (as yet untitled) novel is different, not just to A BOOKSHOP SUMMER but to all the novels I have written before.
In practical terms, I’m writing longhand in a notebook before going to the keyboard, just to suggest to my brain it might want to think in some new ways.
And though I have an idea of the plot, a clear sense of where the novel ends, and a pretty well-populated wall of post-it notes, I’m going gently and slowly from the start. I’m putting in details I wouldn’t normally worry about until the next draft. I’m not thinking too much about what happens later, because I am already experiencing one of my favourite things about writing; realising what will come later as a consequence of the thing that I have only just heard of.
It’s a difficult process to describe, but something like, one minute I’m writing a scene that I’ve planned in which two people are talking about something from their shared past, then I think, ‘So, ooh! here’s a thought- Person A says X to person B at this point, and person B is the sort of person who will ruminate and worry away about it, but not feel they can mention it again until—ooh! what if Y happens? And the power dynamic has completely shifted. And person A will have forgotten that they ever said it.’
And if that feels strange and a bit trivial - this is why I am terrible at talking about the writing process. I love it, though. And I’m especially loving my calm immersion in this gently-growing story.
And now - knitting! I am doing an Exciting Thing, which is: designing a knitting pattern as a virtual-knitter-in-residence project. I’m proud to be part of the Knit For Wildlife initiative, creating something that speaks to the work of the Love The Oceans conservation organisation in Mozambique.
One of the best things about this project has been getting to talk to experts in the field and immerse myself in a world I don’t know much about. For the last few weeks my non-writing time has been largely (and virtually, sadly) coral-reef'-based. I’ve been inspired by the beauty of coral and also all the ways we**** are impacting it.
The upshot of which is, I’ve been thinking and sketching sorting through my knitting stash and popping along to Fine Fettle Fibres for a bit of yarn shopping.
I’ve knitted a cowl, which falls in waves.
And I’m experimenting with embellishment, based on nets, and coral. (Abstract nets and abstract coral, in case that isn’t obvious.)
I have a way to go, but I feel the same way I do when I’m on the right track with a novel: a warm suspicion in my gut that it is going to come right.
My fellow virtually-in-residence knitters are working on amazing things, and the patterns will be available when the project is complete. I’ll keep you posted.
Before I go, Any Other Business:
Thank you for your porridge ideas and anecdotes. My emails have been a delight this week.
I’m booking in Zoom workshops for early next year, and yes, you can buy a place as a gift (or forward this to someone who would like to buy you a place as a gift). Take a look here and then let me know which workshop(s) you’d like to come to and when.
There’s one mentoring slot open right now. The next one is likely to be in January. Is this one for you?
And I’m booking in manuscript assessments and edits for January (one slot), February and March. Look here and then message me or reply to this email.
Until next week, be well, my friends. I’m wishing you two things: good sleep (which makes everything better), and that you are reading a book that you both cannot wait to get back to, and cannot bear to end.
Love and light*****,
Stephanie x
*and, obviously, reading, walking Harris, and watching Celebrity Traitors.
**tenth for publication. In the ‘never to be published’ file are the first novel that taught me how to write a novel, my forests-and-fairytales experiment, and an early adventure for Cherry and Peaches Fox, characters who, in slightly different form, appear in A BOOKSHOP SUMMER.
***when I say this is ‘always’ the result, I mean ‘always apart from the couple of weeks before publication when I become convinced that I have blurted 90,000 incomprehensible words and have been known to beg my agent to make the whole thing stop’.
****not you and me specifically. Humanity in general. Although… y’know.
*****For the Lily Allen fans: yes I have heard ‘West End Girl’. It’s an absolute masterpiece. Though I had to google ‘4chan Stan’ due to being 54. And, a question: why would people date songwriters and then treat them badly? Have they not come across Taylor Swift?
I love the coral influence in your knitting - I used to live on the Red Sea which had the most spectacular, unspoilt coral reef.
Your nets and coral are beautiful. As is the wave cowl. ❤️