Coffee Art
Hello self-doubt how nice to see you again. I started the day with such positivity. I went to Costa to write my Claire installment and spent a splendid hour wedged into a comfy sofa drinking a rather artistic flat white (it seemed a shame to spoil it!).
Then I did the usual chores: a two-hour supermarket shop, dishwasher stacking, floor vacuuming and lunch preparation. Okay I didn’t really do the last one as we had pizza.
My wonderful husband tidied my larder which had got so cluttered with lid-less Tupperware and random party paraphernalia there was no room for food. Life was good.
Then I sat down to work on Baby Blues, after two hours of ‘social media stuff’ (tweeting, commenting on blogs, reading blogs, retweeting interesting articles etc). I managed thirty minutes of editing before giving up in disgust and taking the dog out for a walk.
My Writing Cave today. Lovely
I have read so many blogs about how to write, how to edit, how to market, how to manage social media, what to do and not to do as a self-published author I’m ready to run down the road screaming. It feels like being a new parent all over again. You know, that time when you realise ‘parenting comes naturally’ is complete bollox and you consume every article you can lay your hands on searching for answers only to come back with more questions.
My biggest problem, as a parent and a writer, is that I like to be told what to do – within certain parameters. I want to be given a fairly detailed brief with clear goals and deliverables. Like at school: write this essay or this one, choice of two. You have your brief: deliver. I’m good at solving problems. I’m not so good with choices. Or weighing up conflicting advice.
A friend recently told me about a new TV show discussing ways to get kids to sleep better, because she knows ours have never been all that great at sleeping. And because I complain about lack of sleep a lot. But we’ve been through so many sleep training methods and none have worked. When the children are happy, physically tired, well fed and not ill, they sleep great. Usually that’s when worry or snoring keeps me awake instead, but that’s just god’s wicked sense of humour.
Hubbie tidied my larder. Now that’s love.
Unless I know something is definitely going to work better than what I’m already doing, I’m not interested any more. I’m going with gut feel and to hell with it. It’s taken four years and a lot of tears to get that self-confidence as a parent and it’s still pretty ephemeral. I’ll be wallowing in parental guilt and self-doubt within ten minutes of picking up the kids. [actually it was less than that.].
Now with the writing I’m back at the beginning. I don’t know what I’m meant to be doing. There is SO much advice but most of it merely serves to convince me I’m no more cut out to be a writer than I am a parent.
Well, it’s too late to send the kids back and nor would I want to. But I might have to seriously consider if I can sacrifice another four years to find peace of mind as a writer. Do I really want to embark on a career that has no answers and the only way I will know if I’ve done a good job is if my 5-star reviews out-number my 1-star reviews? Jury’s out, but the feeling in the courtroom is no.
________________________________________________________________________________________
“Michael? It’s Claire.”
“Claire, you’re okay. Thank god. I was so worried. Where are you? What happened? The police were going to call me back but they haven’t yet. I’ve been frantic.”
“Whoa, slow down.” Claire inhaled to calm her skipping heart. “I’m fine. I was mugged.” Michael made a guttural sound but Claire ignored him. She needed to get her words out and be done.
“The police found me just as I was coming round and took me back to the hostel. I’ve got a lump on my head the size of a duck’s egg and my hair is matted with blood, but apart from that I’m good. I was lucky.”
She wanted to hang up before Michael could speak again but he was already talking. “I’m so glad the police found you. When you called and then the phone went dead I didn’t know what to think.” He inhaled and released a shuddering laugh. “I thought. Well. Never mind. I’d seen on Twitter that you’d just left the pub and I thought you might be walking somewhere. You should take more care.” His tone took on the preachy note of concern that always set Claire’s hackles rising.
“I’m not a child and this isn’t exactly inner-city New York. I was unlucky, that’s all.” She thought about him tracking her every move. That’s a bit creepy. “What does Debbie think about you following me on Twitter?”
“It’s none of her damn business.” His voice scraped at the soreness in Claire’s head. She tried to puzzle through his bitter tone but her thoughts were still muddled. She shook her head and pain rattled through it like pills in a bottle.
“Ow!”
“What? Are you okay? Have you seen a doctor?”
Claire laughed. “Yes I saw a GP this morning. I’m fine. Mild concussion that’s all. It hurts to move.”
“Come home Claire. You’ve proved your point. Come back and have a proper sleep in a proper bed.”
The affection in his voice weakened her. She slumped against the side of the phone box and dropped her head. “I don’t have a home to go to anymore. Besides, it’s not about proving a point.” As she said it she realised it was true. Part of her was actually looking forward to having Sky for a week or two, to explore the East Coast with her and write about it on her blog. “And the beds aren’t that bad. You know that, you stayed in one of the hostels I’ve visited. With Debbie.”
“We’re back on her again are we? Let it go, Claire. There is nothing between us, there never was after I met you.”
“Ha!” Claire winced as her voice reverberated around the confined space. She lowered her voice. “So it wasn’t you and her I bumped into at the airport?” Swallowing down the metallic taste in her mouth Claire cursed herself for rising to the bait. I promised I wouldn’t discuss it. Why couldn’t I have just sent him an email?
“We were coming back from a wedding.”
Claire’s stomach dropped down to her shoes and the breath stuck in her throat.
“An old friend of Debbie’s,” Michael continued, as if his words hadn’t left Claire’s ears ringing. “Debbie didn’t want to go by herself and I said I’d go. As a friend.” He emphasised the last three words, as he might to a difficult child. “You know where my heart lives.”
There was silence on the line. Claire could hear her heartbeat dancing an Irish jig, could hear her breathing rasping, her breaths making wisps of vapour in the freezing air. Inhaling deeply through her noise Claire immediately wished she hadn’t as the scent of Saturday night bodily fluids floated up from the floor of the phone box. Switching to breathing through her mouth, Claire searched the fog in her mind for words.
A loud hammering on the glass broke the spell. Claire looked up into the face of an old man wrapped up in several dirty jumpers and coats. He had a small scruffy dog at his feet and he was gesturing at the floor of the phone box. Looking down Claire realised what she thought was a bag of rubbish was actually the man’s possessions.
“I have to go Michael. I’m in a man’s house.” She realised how bad that sounded but didn’t have the energy to explain. “Thanks again for the knight in shining armour bit. You always were good at that.”
She hung up the phone and pushed her way free from the tiny box, gulping in the fresh morning air.
***
writermummy 
The amazing resilience of children is that they grow up and become adults either with or without terrific parenting. I know some adults with lousy parents who overcame that with self-awareness and personal growth in their 20’s and became happy and productive grown-ups DESPITE their unfortunate parents. So don’t worry and self-doubt. The very fact that you are thoughtfulmeans you will do your parenting best, and that’s fine and that best is all your children need. My daughter is almost 8 and we’re just about to the point where her sleeping issues are resolve thru consistent routine and calming activities as bedtime approaches, and occasionally firm “go back to bed” even if she just lays there awake at least she is resting, and she does go back to sleep eventually. All will work out, don’t over think your parenting instincts or let ever piece of advice, including this one, sway you from your loving impulses.
Now about your writing—don’t be silly, keep writing! You are talented, and I enjoy reading your blog and your Claire adventure everyday over my morning coffee. I’d miss you if you gave up writing (no pressure though).
Cheers, Angela
Thanks Angela! I’m sure it’ll all be better when hubbie gets a job and we get some routine back. Five months of ‘weekend’ would wear down anyone’s defences I guess! I’m glad you like the writing, it does make it all worthwhile…
For sure, having my dear hubby around all the time would totally wear me down, it gets a bit much…even when you love his company, its nice to be able to switch off from social interaction sometimes
Hello! Found you via a comment of yours on another blog. Lovely blog and yes, the perils of writing. Google self publishing and you could slowly ( or not so slowly) be driven mad! Somewhere on my travels, I found an article that said the first book by a self pub usually sells 100 copies. Hard to take that when its balanced against the cost of hiring pros for edits and cover design!
Hello, glad you found me! Thanks for taking time to comment. It’s funny you should write this today as I’ve had that very same conversation (via comments) on a blog I follow regularly. The lovely lady posted a guest blog today from an editor saying ‘don’t ever think about self-publishing without paying for an editor etc’. I responded saying I agree, but I can’t afford professionals and her response was – then you can’t afford to self-publish. Probably true but I’m disobeying good advice and doing it anyway because I don’t think I could ever justify spending thousands on an editor when I have two small children and no job, unless I knew the book would pay me back. I’ve just spent £80 on a great front-cover photograph and I’m designing the cover myself. I hope it won’t look to amateurish. If I’m lucky the book might pay for that photograph in six months or so! 🙂
Yes, that’s your response that I saw. I felt it might have left you disheartened, which would be a great shame. I too am writing, but have the benefit that I used to work in publishing, albeit magazines, so I know to take some of these posts with a pinch of salt. I have read of self pub authors who didn’t have an editor and still self pubbed, even getting a pro deal after the book sold well on e-readers. So there’s no hard and fast rule. If your story catches the imagination, I am sure you will still sell it. Good luck in your endeavour. Hope life is kind to you.
Thank you for taking the time to make sure I wasn’t disheartened by Catherine’s response. It did knock me a bit but only because it was confirming what I already believe. I know my book probably wasn’t ready to be put out in the world (people are still finding typos and hubbie has JUST told me he hates the two fonts, after three months of it being on Kindle!) but I also need to see progress in my writing career. I’ve sent so many submissions and heard back from only one or two. As a stay-at-home mum with a desire to feel like a real person, it’s nice to be able to tell people I have a book on kindle. Hopefully if I do ever make it as a ‘proper’ author I will be forgiven for a first novel that perhaps isn’t as polished as it could be.
You’re welcome. Don’t be knocked. If everyone waited for ‘ready’ we’d have no books. I still find typos in published books. My publishing friends tell me that they are willing to forgive an unedited book, as long as the story is strong and carries you through. When your first earns enough, you can put the money to pro services on the next. That won’t be a popular opinion in some circles, but everything on writing is opinion – the real verdict is in the sales. You’re a proper author already. You’re a real person already, who’s currently doing the hardest job imaginable. Have faith in you.