Moomin Mugs :D

Seeing as this blog is on Writing (well, I talk about that enough) and all that I Adore (emphasis on the adore folks) I thought I would add a few posts on nonsensical items that cause me inexplicable happiness. And at the very top of that list is my most adored Moomin Mugs

For as long as I can remember I have loved The Moomins in some form, with their strange little valley and funny little friends and wonderful characteristics and wistful tales. When I think of the cartoons of my childhood so many seem garish and annoying, but the Moomins still remains a firm favourite. In fact I own all the DVD’s and Isla is already a fan, choosing them above even Totoro when given the choice! (You have to know her to know what a stamp of approval that is, I suppose)

But from about 15 onwards (as I waved my childhood away and turned to adulthood) I coveted a Moomin Mug. I used to gaze longingly at them in a little shop off of Brick Lane (I know you can find them everywhere now, and with the internet it’s disgustingly easy, but back then it was rather special to see these pretty cups in a shop), but at £15 (and me being a typical penniless teenager) I could never quite bring myself to buy one. Plus the idea of walking in, handing over some cash, and walking out again didn’t seem special enough. Finally, several years later, Joel (who, bless him, was not put on this earth to shop, so I was suitably impressed) came home on our first Valentine’s Day together and wrapped under several layers of tissue paper was my long sought after mug. The ‘love’ edition, of course.

And slowly, as they are only ever presents (no matter how much I love them and fondle them in shops I would never buy one for myself) my collection grows. I don’t like to think of it as a collection really, as that conjures up images of strange types that scour the web for limited edition/pristine/never been used blah blah blah. I use my mugs, of course, that is part of what’s so nice about them. It makes having a cup of earl grey with a slice of cake even more enjoyable. But they do sit on a little lit shelf.

I have five now…Love, Sniff, Snufkin, The Moomin Family and last years Christmas Mug (with penguins and little moominy creatures sat around a fire and so on). I couldn’t possibly say which one I would like next, I’ve yet to see a Moomin Mug I haven’t adored!

Which agents to approach?

Ta da! Draft six, done and dusted. Word count (after much deleting and a few additions) is sitting around the 77k mark. I’m feeling quite pleased with it (slight understatement, but tooting ones horn is rather unflattering).

So, I’ve been browsing through my ‘Writers and Artists Yearbook 2010′ and frankly it’s a total head fuck. I love writing, adore using my imagination, sitting down and turning it into something tangible, molding that rough draft into something I’m proud of and want to share with others. It’s the next step that terrifies me and makes me want to hide my book away forever. I’m scouring the agents list and it’s all so confusing for a first time writer who has no knowledgeable friends or connections to explain things to me. First of all, where the hell does ‘young adult’ fit? Most agents give a list of what they will accept (for example, full length fiction, crime, romance etc) and what they won’t (for example, no sci fi or children’s). So I’m erring on the side of young adult being under the ‘children’ catagory. But it’s not really, is it? It’s a world away from a picture book, far closer to the adult genre when you look at it that way. But it’s still a segregated genre in the book shops (and not one that seems that big either). So do I avoid the agents that specify no childrens books, or flock to them?

There’s only one thing for it. I shall have to call them all and find out. It makes sense to check exactly what they like to be sent anyway. So tomorrow I shall be doing that. Eeek!

I still haven’t written my synopsis, which seems very silly really, I think about it a lot and have jotted notes down of things to add and read countless ‘how to’ pieces. But for me the writing of the synopsis will be a proper symbol of the book being finished. I’m sure I could knock a few more edits out, no doubt I would find the very occasional grammatical error, but draft six was more a read through than an edit, so if I go on editing am I improving the book or stalling sending it off? With that riveting question to ponder over I will go now and start the synopsis, hopefully write a rough draft tonight that I can shape into something brilliant. Gosh, what pressure.

MuTATE BRITAIN

I should be finishing my sixth draft right now, that is what I came home to do. But I’ve just been to an amazing exhibition and I feel like I need to spout about that a bit first. It was MuTATE BRITAIN, and the exhibition was called, One Foot in the Grove, set on Portobello Road (and Ladbrook Grove, thus the name, I imagine). You can find out more about it and the artists on their blog… http://mutatebritain.wordpress.com/about-2/

It was fantastic, raw, emotive art, made from junk, from machinery, from creative minds. There were huge futuristic sculptures, giant wall murals, intricate and wonderful smaller sculptures, regular hang on your wall paintings (that were anything but regular). It’s hard to put it into words, but if you are in London at all this month I strongly suggest you pay them a visit. It’s open every Friday to Sunday for the next few weeks at least.

The reason I know of The Mutoid Waste Company is that my dad, many many years ago, was a member. I was a toddler at the time and unfortunately don’t remember this period, but I grew up hearing great stories and seeing great photos from his Mutoid Waste days (not to mention seeing his one tattoo, his own version of their logo, daily as it sneered from his arm), so going along brought back a lot of wonderful memories. Which also made it sad at times, I was wandering round looking at the sculptures and all of a sudden I was hit with just how much I wished he was there beside me. I could have cried, and indeed I found it hard to stop myself, but instead I immersed myself in the good memories that come along when I think of him.

Anyway, enjoy a few snapshots. You have to see it all in person to get a true feel for it though.

mutoid dog

Glastonbury and aliens

This morning I bought my Glastonbury ticket, woooo! And I’m so, so excited about it. Excited about something that takes place in summer, in June to be more precise. And, um, it’s October, and autumn, and autumn comes after summer…so that means I have the best part of a year to wait. Oh. Bum.

Back to October. With the first day of this month came the cold. To be fair it was overdue. I’ve worn nothing heavier than a cardigan for such a long time that even that thin garment was starting to feel restrictive. But on the 1st I was attacked by the need to turn the heating on, then I bitterly regretted not digging my coat out as I shivered in the park, then by six it was dark and I was huddled under a blanket on the sofa. And it’s only gotten worse, today I wore a scarf and uggs. Waaaaaa!

I suppose I can nearly think about that big, jolly festival that has already fixed itself firmly on our supermarket shelves. I might be googling wooden toy kitchens for Isla when no one’s looking (the choice is mind blowing, what will happen if I don’t choose the ‘perfect’ one?? Will her childhood be forever marred?) but apart from that I’m still firmly fixed on my ‘it’s too early!’ view. I was informed by some individuals that their ********* shopping is already done and dusted. Madness.

It doesn’t often happen that I really enjoy a film all the way through (I’m usually longing for bed by even the most promising midway point, I think my attention span is more suited to Dora that two hour long concentration fests), but yesterday I saw District 9, and it really was awesome! Go and infiltrate your nearest cinema, and marvel at how seemingly hideous aliens can transform into truly endearing (and in the littlest prawns case, cute!) creatures. And as well as marvelous sci fi aspects there are some pretty strong themes throughout, such as xenophobia and social segregation, that should get you thinking. Watch it!

New Books!

I have not been on amazon for a while, I think I went a little crazy there recently (it’s so easy to forget that it’s real money you’re spending and that even though books are both research and pleasure and immensely important I can’t actually afford to buy every single last book that takes my fancy) but I decided to buy Isla a new picture book (we are reading about six a day now and although repetition is brilliant for her little brain it can get a little mind numbing for me) so went on just now. And oooh, both The Knife of Never Letting Go and The Hunger Games have their sequels out (isn’t amazon clever with the books it has pop up on your home page!)

I’m rather excited about both of them. It’s been a month or so since I read a young adult book, terrible I know, but I am so immersed in the editing that I’ve found my reading time slowly diminishing. Now which will I read first? And as I’m a cheap skate and ordered the super saver delivery option, which will I re-read while I wait for them to arrive?

Out of the two The Knife of Never Letting Go was my favourite. I found the concept really original and despite it’s other worldly location quite believable. The protagonist was a rather uneducated boy which does not scream out to me in terms of endearment but I actually cared about him and his quest a lot. But the book did the unbearable thing of ending on a real cliffhanger, which I’m not a huge fan of, though it did feel like the only way such a fraught with tension story could end.

I read The Hunger Games in two days. It could have been one but I forced myself to put it down. This is both good and bad. Good because it was packed full of great hooks that drew me onwards and the story was a pleasure, bad because there was a certain element of fast food to it, it was almost too easy to read. I quite like books that force me to take my time and savour. I also struggled to truly ‘believe’ the world. I do wonder though if the parts I scoffed at would have seemed so ridiculous to the books real target audience? I sometimes forget when I read young adult that I am no longer a 12-19 year old girl but a rather cynical twenty something. Hmm, *ponder*.

5th Draft

Ok, I know I thought the 4th draft may have been ‘the one’ but with a pinch of realism I knew there was more that could be done to improve the book. Not much more, the story is intact now, I’ve declared the events and their order to be correct, but there are still small tweaks to be made.

So hello 5th draft

I’m basically going through the manuscript and fine combing it for spelling mistakes, chopping out any unnecessary lines (or even paragraphs, I’m a delete wielding hard arse!), musing over name choices and so on.

Compared the the first few edits it’s very easy stuff. That might be why I’ve managed to edit 25 chapters in a couple of days I plan on being finished with this draft today. But as it’s been so quick I may bang a few more drafts out before I think about sending the book off. Urgh, I am so, so nervous about sending the book off. I would love to be all modest and sweet and say it’s because I don’t feel myself or my work worthy or something, but, well, that would not be true! I love my book :/ I really do, I think it’s a pretty cool story. I’ve worked hard to get it to this stage, the first draft was atrocious, but I do believe my hard work has paid off. I’m far more worried about just how saturated the market is with young adult paranormal type reads and a small (ok, huge) part of me feels that I may have left it too late for this sort of book. So much so that I have moments where I think I’ll save myself the heartache and not send it to anyone. But that would be silly. I better get started on the dreaded synopsis *gulp*

My Sunday Sabbath

I always seem to write at my best on a Sunday, I think it’s because it’s the one day that I don’t feel guilty about spending in the house. The week is jam packed with child related activities, and when I get home it’s usually make dinner, bath Isla , get her into bed, go for a jog, then finally I can sit and cram a few hours of exhausted writing in before bed. Saturday always seems like it should contain something adventure like and family related (for example yesterday we spent the day in Brighton mooching around by the beach and visiting lovely old buildings etc). Sunday is my day of rest. It’s the day that Isla watches Totoro on repeat without me beating myself up about it. Also I always used to find Sunday’s incredibly boring and depressing. The shops either not opening or closing early if they did, the bad television, the having to go to school the next day, the working doubles serving roasts in the day and two for one cocktails in the evenings, the fact that they always seemed greyer than the other days of the week. So I embrace my new way to spend the day

But as for writing at my best, last night in the car on the way home I found my imagination going wild.Pperhaps it was the spooky dark roads, but I jotted down some great improvements for various scenes in the book. Have already implemented a few today and I’m delighted with what I came up with. So I now need to get people to drive me around in the dark more often and I’ll be a bestselling novelist before we know it

Travel sucks

I am home, so expect an influx of posts over the next few days. I’ve been internetless in the Danish wilderness and have a lot on my mind!

I will start with an easy one as my brain is rather mush like. Travel. Worst part of the freakin holiday for sure. Today I have been on a bus (one that only shows up once every two hours, yup, I said wilderness), then a train, then another train, then (seriously) another train, then I spent many hours at the airport (the super expensive Copenhagen airport where a slice of cake is £5! So I couldn’t partake in my usual airport activity of eating lots of nice food), then another bloody train, then the tube, then a bus, and then a really big hill with suitcases and a pram. Urgh. And urgh again.

Then I found an empty fridge and a slightly damp smelling house. Fun. After a dinner of Linda McCartney sausage rolls from the freezer and Uncle Ben’s microwave rice (class) I’m slowly unfurling from my horrible travel endued paralysis. But I am home in my beloved London and tomorrow we’ll hang out with mummy and toddler friends and we had such a brilliant trip away, celebrating the wedding of Lucie and Brian (I was a bridesmaid and got to wear a special made for me dress and hold beautiful flowers ) and hang out with old and most special friends and mooch through cool deserted beaches, so really, the atrocious travel days are kinda worth it.

Goodbye summer, and hello jolly snowmen.

We had a brilliant day yesterday, went to a one day festival, very chilled out and child friendly, and it was set in the most beautiful country side surroundings and the gloriously hot sun was out. Such a great day, but by the time night fell it was cold, winter coat cold, and I had the weirdest feeling that I was waving summer goodbye. Perfect farewell, but I feel strange and deflated now. I’m not ready for winter, for the dark to engulf us earlier each night, for us to be hidden behind layers of coats and scarves and gloves and hats, for trips to the park to be treacherous and short lived.

There is always Christmas I suppose to look forward to. Out shopping two days ago I had my first glimpse of Christmas cards and wrapping paper this year. Far too early in my opinion! I guess all the SAD sufferers need something to focus on when the cold brings them down, but I suspect the early appearance of snow flecked robins has far more to do with eager corporations hoping to cash in on hysterical consumers than a kindness to the depressed among us. Still, with a nearly two year old this Christmas is certainly something to be excited about (I do secretly know exactly what amazing presents I want to buy her and family and roasts and soppy films on tv are always fun) but I will hold off my excitement for at least another two months I think.

Of course before all that silliness I have the week long event otherwise known as autumn to come! Stamping in crispy fiery leaves, can’t wait!

Small absence but I’m back.

Sorry blog, I have been neglectful. I took a little break from writing. Partly because I spent three days in Brighton having the most fabulous time celebrating Lucie’s last few days of being a Miss with an equally fabulous group of ladies (see picture below), and partly because I had to step back from the story a bit before my next edit to get some perspective.

Anyway, now onto the fourth draft. I am doing things a little differently this time. Firstly I am half way through printing the whole thing out, and wow, even with size 12 Times font the amount of pages churning out of my printer is phenomenal. I’m editing on paper, before applying the changes to the word version. It’s amazing how much easier it is to read on paper, and how much more obvious bad descriptions/sloppy dialogue/repetitive wording etc is.

The other difference is I’m not going through the story in the chronological order. I think I may be guilty of speeding through certain scenes to get on to more exciting ones, and this way I’m making myself work on the slower scenes more and not letting them fall in the trap of coming across rushed or, heaven forbid, boring! It also helps me read it with fresh eyes, which is very good as I feel like the story is etched to the back of my eyelids now.

One thing that has been consuming my thoughts a lot recently is a possible sequel to The Shadow Adored. I know, I know, one should not think of such things, there’s no guarantee this book will ever make the grade and with no agent and no being published what good is a sequel. That sensible stuff aside I’m still thinking of it, it’s all there mapped out in my mind and I find it impossible to imagine not writing that after this. I know the whole blooming story, at least another two books worth. Ok, not every scene, I’m not big on the outlining, but the important plot points are there. I suppose there are many many writers who feel the same way, brain full of characters and stories begging to be let out. I guess all I can do is make this one as good as I possibly can and pray for the chance to write that second book.