Not a Write Off vol: 3
The one where I start things and never finish them, the baby becomes a pesto pasta girlie, and I reminisce about 2005 Pride and Prejudice
As I write this, I’m eating stale Kettle Chips and microwaving baked potatoes for our dinner whilst the baby sleeps on our bed in her little sack, her little thumb stuck in her little mouth. So often, I look forward to her naps because I know it’s when I can get a few hundred words written, but in reality I spend the first ten minutes watching videos of her that I took approximately two hours before. Sometimes I stare at her face and kiss her apple-round cheek and she squirms in her sleep. The other day, she actually slapped me on the face because I was bothering her so much. She knows herself, that’s for sure.
You know when you’re convinced it’s a Thursday when actually it’s a Wednesday and you find that you’ve gained a whole day? The same thing happened to my writing this week! I was beating myself up a little because I didn’t manage to round off my chapter last week (I’m writing one chapter a week until November to finish the never-ending first draft of my fourth novel) and I finally caught up yesterday. When I went to tick off my outline, I realised that chapter 36 was an accidental copy of chapter 35, so I’m actually a little bit ahead of schedule rather than behind! This has, quite literally, never happened to me before. The reason I bang on about project planning and have the knowledge of at least nine different productivity books in my head at any one time is because I struggle so much with time management. I’ve never handed in an essay or a manuscript more that 12 hours in advance of the deadline.
Recently, I’ve been listening to Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld and in it, there’s a section about the different people we inhabit across our lives through changes of relationship, circumstance, jobs, or location. When I was a student with a grand total of five contact hours a week, I would fill dead mornings with a nap, or buy a stack of old magazines from a charity shop to make collages. Yeah, wild, I know. As a teacher, I would barrel through the day like Crash Bandicoot, anticipating obstacles and occasionally hiding at the end of a long corridor to catch my breath. Nowadays, juggling time feels like a series of mental arithmatics that culminate in me shaving seconds off tasks that I used to amble through. I load my arms with objects that need putting away, stopping halfway to scoop a baby sock off the floor, or pour the last inch of my water into the drooping fern that lives on the toilet cistern. I analyse the baby like an anthropologist, estimating how many ‘happy minutes’ I might have whilst she plays with a dolly on the bed and whether that equates to my putting away a full load of laundry.
Even though I have been writing in a professional sense for four years now, I still feel like it’s a treat—a job that I have to justify, or appear more ‘professional’ doing. Freelancing means that I have to actively assess how much time to spend writing my book and how much to give over to other work. One of these choices mean money comes into the house and the other (spolier: the book) feels more like buying a lottery ticket. It could earn me decent money, and I would really, really like it to, but it won’t be straight away and it won’t come in like a tidal wave. I’ve met authors who don’t have to worry about things like this.
There’s a phrase that gets used a lot when you’re writing, before a publishing deal comes along. I think it’s supposed to be sincere and motivating, but every time I hear it I get annoyed, in the same way I did when Rishi Sunak claimed he’d had to ‘cut back on household costs’ by turning down the temperature in his heated pool. The phrase is: ‘If one person reads my book and says it meant something to them, that’s all that matters to me.’ Ummm, cool. It would be super nice if that was enough for every writer, but there are also other things that matter too, like being able to pay bills. Also, the baby has started to eat food and she’s now obsessed with pesto pasta. Have you seen the mark-up on pine nuts at the minute?? I’ll have to sell my knickers to keep up with her demands!
I’ve become very used to having a fall back plan. In one capacity or another, I’ve been employed since I was sixteen and no matter how the day goes, you get paid the same at the end of it. Now that the baby is in nursery, I know—to the minute—how much money is being spent and how the numbers have to add up in the other direction. If the internet goes down and I spend thirty minutes trying to fix it, my brain automatically jumps to the monetary value of that lost time. It’s not a fun way to spend my time, but I can’t help it.
I once had a boss who used to remind me on a bi-weekly basis that my 2.5 square footage of desk space cost him £6000 a year in rent. Mind you, this was the same man who only ever called me ‘baby’ at work, so I’m not holding his behaviour up as the gold standard of management. The point I’m trying to make is that, for the time being, I am my own boss and the employee. I come up with ideas and am feeling my way into what kind of work is good for my soul, the baby, and the bank. Having ideas is one thing, but now I have to follow through with them, which is something I have not been historically good at. Forever needing an opportunity for self-flagellation, I’ve kept a mental list of all the things I gave up on:
Starting a newspaper at school just so I could interview bands that came to Norwich. This was all vibes, no substance. I did one interview with Blood Red Shoes, didn’t ask proper questions, and never wrote it up.
Writing book reviews for the university newspaper. Turns out I like most books I read, which isn’t what most people want from reviews. I also really, really hate the idea of trashing a novel just because my pickle wasn’t personally tickled.
YouTube. I bought a digital camera, sat on my parent’s garden bench, and talked about LIfE stUFf and had hOt TAkeS on things like The Mighty Boosh and Sims 2. I made two vlogs. They don’t exist anywhere anymore. Thank God.
Playing the ukulele. Because were you even a quirkly teenage girl of the mid-noughties if you didn’t cut your hair like Zooey Deschanel and attempt a twee musical instrument. Bonus points for wearing it on your back at the park where people were sure to see you.
This next one is my biggest regret. Truly, the biggest. My friends and I (somehow) got our hands on the 2005 Pride and Prejudice script and decided to film our own comedy version (All two hours and 9 minutes. I don’t think we had quite figured out the logistics of this) and even got to the point of making costumes and finding someone in our year group who could play Georgiana’s piano parts. In a move that surprised no one, it never happened. I’ve imagined it so much it’s like a false memory. Maybe we will do it, one day. I was down to play Mrs. Bennet and Charlotte Lucas. Yes, they appear on screen at the same time and I haven’t figured out how that would work either.
Mosaicing. Before the pandemic, I started a weekly mosaicing class which was BYOB and based on a farm in East London (yep). The teacher was a brilliantly mad French woman who was incredibly intimidating and incredibly passionate about mosaics. She used to tell people off—actual adults—for poor colour combinations or a lack of imagination. I made a snail mosaic. It took me nine weeks. I had one session left to finish it and then… lockdown. The thought of sheepishly going back to claim my snail and feeling the French wrath of my teacher was too much. I’m too delicate! Too sensitive! Where is my snail now? At the bottom of Regents canal? Probably!
Most frequently, there is a newspaper theme here. Is it the tight deadlines? Is it the need for Big Opinions that I’d so happily give aloud and yet feel panicked about writing down? Is it the little pheromone buzz I get from starting something, but the willpower that gets lost along the way? Quite possibly, it’s all of the above. I’m a daydreamer. I have any number of ideal and imagined scenarios running through my head at any one time. Perhaps I’m too comfortable there, in the imagined world. I could romanticise waiting for a late bus whilst eating a bruised banana and give it a soundtrack, but the actual doing of the thing? To be honest, I get as much (sometimes more) satisfaction from imagining it instead.
I don’t think I’ve ever admitted that to anyone else before, but it’s true. I’ve long since admitted it to myself, which is perhaps why I’ve gravitated towards different methods of making the thoughts a theory, and that theory a practice.
Maybe this is why novel writing appeals so much more than sending short, shrift, snappy think-pieces out into the world. The same goes for stand-up comedy. I’ve been asked a few times whether I’ve thought about giving it a go, and the answer is, OF COURSE, my lil’ pisces personality has imagined it ten-fold, but having to look at people whilst I recite lines? No thank you, sir! I prefer to write my jokes in private and wait two years for someone to tell me they laughed.
For now, I’m still plodding away at the novel that is now a whole year overdue. The baby has been a beautiful interruption. Gradually, I’m learning to make my writing goals smaller so that life can be bigger. I used to hold my mental exhaustion and terrible, gargoyle desk posture up as a badge of honour, but you know what? There is nothing more boring that a busy person who willfully chooses not to touch grass.
Now, for reasons that will become clear in a future post, I would love your input on this poll. (It’s anonymous. I can’t even see who voted for what).
My Not A Write Off win this week:
I fell behind on my target for writing one chapter a week because the three big nap windows I had blocked out shifted to ‘on-the-move’ slots instead, i.e. I couldn’t get near my laptop. BUT when I sat down to catch up yesterday, I wrapped up a chunky chapter (the climax of the whole novel) and I got into a good flow, which hasn’t happened in months. I didn’t grapple for more writing time later in the week. I’m so glad I didn’t cancel soft-play to steal back some words because there’s nothing better than seeing unbalanced babies roll around the floor like drunk teddy bears.
When I first decided to go freelance back in July, September seemed a really long way off. There’s something ‘new school year,’ about it, even now. I get itchy to start tutoring and mentoring. Bedtime reading comes in the form of books on coaching styles and therepeutic journalling. Now that my maternity leave is over, I now have enough capacity to take on a small number of mentoring clients!
If you’re feeling like you need some more personalised help with the direction your writing is heading, or would like support with finishing your novel, let me tell you about my sessions.
Writers come to me at various stages of a project, but the link between them all is a passion for their story and a desire to reach a target with support from someone who offers clear, confident advice and down-to-earth guidance to help them reach their personal milestones. They send me manuscript extracts or submission packages, I send back developmental notes, and we have a call to chat about it all.
Writers use me for:
A sounding board to help brainstorm plot solutions
An editorial guide to work through problem areas
A confidence building cheerleader to motivate and re-ignite a passion for your project
A warm and friendly deadline setter to help push you to meet your project targets
Previous mentees have:
Secured an agent
Edited their manuscripts before submitting to a publisher’s open call
Filled gaps in their plot outline and subsequently finished a full length novel
Strengthened character arcs and plot
Achieved offers of publication
The cost is £75 per hour, but if you’re a paid subscriber, you get 10% off.
There’s more information on my website, so I’ll leave that link below.
How I really feel about reviews (paid)
Profiling readers who love (and hate) my novels
How a playlist can help you edit your novel (paid)
Do you really hate rom-coms or are you just a snob?
Share your Not A Write Off win in the comments below, or drop me a note if you want to chat about anything mentioned. Thank you for being here!
For real, why is it that the moment the baby/toddler is asleep or elsewhere, I’m scrolling through photos/videos of her from earlier that day 😭 I really enjoyed reading this 💖
Dropping in mid-read just to share this, as the Italian mama of a pesto-loving 2yo girl:
1. batch-making your homemade pesto is actually easier than you think and it freezes like a queen (yes, it's ok to curse me and wonder what planet I just landed from)
2. wow, you actually kept on reading! now, if you do choose to make your on pesto, you can swap pine nuts for almonds: cheaper, nutty and slightly sweet (just blitz extra because they are a little harder in texture compared to pinenuts)
3. for pro money-saving in your impromptu culinary adventure, you can also swap "parmigiano reggiano" for "grana padano" (just a few cents, but you know..."take care of the pennies"): flavour-wise they are literally the same thing, they only come from different regions of Italy.
Hope this helps either now or when (if??) the time will be ripe for it.
Going back to reading and big nod to yearning for a break and then literally rewatching on repeat videos of them while they sleep. Thank God, I'm normal then!