Still writing, still alive

Well, yet again I look at this and see how long it's been since I wrote a blog post, and feel embarrassed and dilatory and apologetic.  I've been putting it off, doing other things, or not infrequently procrastinating other things, and thinking I had nothing useful to say, nothing to review, what's the point, etc etc. 

Why apologetic, though?  Why should I feel I'm letting anyone down?  If I still have any readers, none of them have been contacting me to say "noticed you haven't blogged lately, how's tricks" or "R U OK?"  So I don't think it can be causing any disquiet anywhere.  The only person I'm letting down is myself; and that only in so far as that I was taught as a child that I must never, ever, ever, be less than the best, and so if I set myself to do something I must do it not just well, but to standards higher than anyone else's.

Not really a very helpful rule to inculcate in a young mind, now I think about it.  High standards are all very well, but this just leaves you knowing you're never going to be good enough.  No matter what.  Never.  And that is death to creativity.

So the hell with that. 

I'm okay, I'm keeping fairly busy and already getting enough modelling work to pay my rent, which means my savings will stretch out a lot longer, giving me more time to find more modelling and/or develop other income streams.  I'm writing.  Some of the writing is going okay, some of it less so, but I'm doing some, fairly steadily.  I've recently started once again on the process of submitting to agents.  My experiment with self-publishing has proved to me that it needs confident marketing skills and a self-promoting ability that I lack; and I have a reasonable amount of good material these days.  What the heck, I'll give it another whirl.

It's interesting to note, looking through the latest edition of the Writers and Artists' Yearbook, how many agents now accept online submissions.  Thank God!  It's five or six years since I was last trying to do this submissions lark, and in that time, it's moved from being a tiny minority to being almost all.  The minority now are those who'll only accept submissions on paper.  This is going to save so much hassle and expense. 

I'm also intrigued to notice that fewer agencies and publishers are stipulating "No SF or fantasy" in their conditions.  Presumably this means that SF and F are coming to be considered as a better commercial bet.  Perhaps also that there's a scrap less snobbery about the genres.  All to the good, anyway. 

I got over getting hurt in the summer (see previous post).  I'm still fencing.  I go to the cinema, and occasionally to the opera or ballet, but less frequently because money is a more pressing issue than it was a year ago.  One of my best friends has moved to the coast and the other has had a baby this year, so I see them when I can; and I'm seeing some of my other closest friends in just under a fortnight. 

So all in all, things aren't too bad.  There are moments of depression and struggle, and I have to resort to ignoring the national and international news, or end up crying and helpless with fear.  It seems as if the world is in such a mess at the moment.  I have to remind myself consciously that it was ever thus; it's just much easier to learn about it than in my parents' or grandparents' day. I do what I can - little things like recycling, not wasting water, always voting; I try to live by my values even when it looks ridiculous or sets me up to feel afraid.  Within my own small sphere, I try.  Il faut cultiver le jardin.

And then I try to let go and let be, and hold on to hope.  Because in times when everywhere one looks there seems to be the same message of "we're all going to the dogs, the world is going to burn, everything's sh*t", I think it's a kind of revolutionary act to refuse the agony and despair, keep taking care of the garden, and insist on hope.  Hope, even if one is wrong.

Cheese sauce and odd coincidences

It always pleases me when I find I have something in common with someone I admire.  If I’m reading an interview with a musician or an actor and they say their favourite holiday destination is the Greek Islands, I think “Ha!  If I were ever stuck in a lift with you, we could talk Greek Islands to while away the time until help arrived.”  Believe me, I can talk Greek Islands till the cows have come home, poured a drink and settled down with their feet up to watch Mastermind...  (Of course, the down-side of this is the slightly yuk feeling one has when one reads an interview with someone and they turn out to have politics that make one wince, or to be deeply evangelical over something one feels cringey about (like loving “Hello” magazine), or they are simply full of sh*t.  It isn’t quite so bad if they turn out to be nice but as thick as a plank, but still rather flattening to one's admiration.  Luckily, admiring musicians and opera singers, actors and artists, ballet dancers and writers and film directors and architects and the like, I tend to find myself more interested in someone when I read an interview, instead of less).   

Anyway; I will try and steer this rambling onwards to the point.

I went home last night and looked in the refrigerator, and saw a random range of vegetables, and a lot of cheese.  I thought “Mmm, macaroni cheese with veg!” and I began preparing the random veg and putting them on the hob in a pan of melted butter to soften, with salt and pepper and about ten cloves of crushed garlic.  The mushrooms soaked up a lot of the garlicky butter, so I added more butter, because to make macaroni cheese with veg you need enough melted butter in the pan to make the white sauce around the veg – they then cook in it (it saves on dishes). 

But then I opened the flour jar; and there was nothing in it.  Oh drat.  No flour = no roux = no white sauce.  Rats!   

I didn’t have any yoghurt or any eggs, so couldn’t do my usual gluten-free cop-out cheesy sauce.    I didn’t have any cornflour, so couldn’t cheat that way either.  I had a pan of butter, garlic and lovely veg braising sweetly away, and another pan of macaroni bubbling merrily beside it.  I swore, being me; but swearing didn’t solve the problem.  I could have thrown the lot out and ordered a takeaway.  I can afford to do that, occasionally, these days.  But it does so offend my pride as a cook, to chuck out perfectly good food; and I knew nothing I could order was likely to taste as good as that garlic smelled.  Good evening, Problem, what do you need?  Problem, meet Solution.

I put couscous in it instead, and went ahead exactly as if it had been flour.

The result was actually very tasty, if a bit heavy on the carbohydrates.  Couscous does not make a roux, but it soaked up some of the butter, and it cooked into a sort of creamy, grainy mush when I added liquid.  There were so many good flavours in there, what with the garlic and broccoli and sugar peas and mushrooms, that by the time I’d slung on some more pepper and half a cup of grated strong cheddar cheese I was almost pleased with my invention.  I don’t think I’ll be serving it to company any time soon, as the texture was fairly odd (& remember, I’m one of those strange people who like cornmeal grits and tofu).  Think cheesy gruel with vegetables, on macaroni.  But, heck, it was food.  That's always an improvement on no food, after all.

And then I was reading an interview online, in my lunch break today, and I found the subject talking about problems and solutions and being able to make a meal out of whatever is in the ‘fridge.  I had to laugh.  I love bizarre coincidences. There have been occasions in my life when odd coincidences have brought me real blessings.  I'd like to hope this one may - I sent GY to yet another agent a couple of days ago.  Please, please, please, let me get what I want...

So anyway, now I know, if I’m ever stuck in a lift with the actor in question, I can wipe the embarrassed stars from my eyes and talk cheese sauce recipes with him.  Mmm. 

Good omens

There have been a few times in my life when I have felt as though I was being swept up in a storm of weird coincidences.  Some of them were so bizarre that I have only told them to a select few people - those who I trust not to take the mickey out of me.  But each time this has happened, it has seemed to bring me luck. I tend to think of it as the universe nudging me; as if the Almighty, whatever you conceive Him/Her/It to be, has leaned down and given the air around me a stir, so that amazing things suddenly swirl into my ken.  So nowadays if it happens I tend to think it is a good omen; heaven is on my side, and if I run with this energy and let it galvanise me, catch Kairos by his forelock and go with him, it will bring me luck. 

This weekend I did some grocery shopping, bought a bundle of wallflowers for the front garden, and then took another deep breath and went and sent the sample chapters of "Gabriel Yeats" off to another agent.  The last items on my list of jobs were pumpkin seeds, linseeds, green tea and cashew nuts, so I then headed to my local health food store, As Nature Intended.  As I turned into the door, a tall-ish man came hurrying out carrying a bag; I sprang out of his way politely, and he caught my eye and gave me a quick grin as he passed.  And I nearly fell flat on my face with shock; because it was William Houston, the brilliant actor I would love to see playing my protagonist, Simon Cenarth, if "Gabriel Yeats" were ever to be filmed.  I feel all fluttery inside again, just remembering.  Be still my beating heart. 

I checked my shopping list again, to give myself time to close my mouth and straighten my face out, and then went on into the shop.  I fought off the urge to follow him instead and see where he went - I'm rather proud of my self-control, since I would have loved to know what he was doing in my neck of the woods!

When I'd got home, and put away my shopping, and put the wallflowers plants in a bucket of water until I could get to planting them, I was still shaking inside.  I made myself a cup of Yogi Teas "Frauentee", which I find very calming.  It was the last bag in the box (bother).  I don't know if you ever use Yogi Teas, but every tea bag has a little motto on it, rather like fortune cookie mottos (only more Buddhist).  My tea bag motto on Saturday afternoon was "Remember that the other person is yourself".  

Of course, as I was still fizzing with excitement from seeing The Man Who Should Play Simon, there was only one "other person" in my mind.  And I thought "How perfect!".  Because in the story, Simon is my alter ego; so the "other person" could indeed be said to be my self...  Please, please, lord, let it be a good omen.

The agents I've just sent "Gabriel Yeats" to are the fifth lot on the list.  They probably should have been the first, since they're quite a prestigious firm.  I didn't initially think there was any point in my approaching them at all.  But then I discovered they represent several authors I really admire, and I thought "The heck with it, why am I acting humble and 'oh-no, not-little-me"~ish about this?".  So I have given it a go with the Prestigious Firm.  Meeting Mr Houston was an enormous shock, but it has given me a real boost.  I have faith again that one day this will come together; I will get published, I will be read.  It can happen.  If I just can walk into Will Houston in a shop, just half an hour after posting GY, then anything can happen.  I am in God's hands, but it is a safe place to be.

On Sunday I planted the wallflowers, hand-washed a load of clothes, had a lovely bike ride (not going anywhere, just randomly circling local streets in the autumn sunshine), watered the garden, cooked a vegetable lasagne, and patched a pair of trousers.  A constructive weekend altogether.

A nibble!...

A few months ago I took several metaphorical deep breaths and sent "GY" to the first of the literary agents on my list; today I heard back from her. It's a "no", which is a pity, but it's traditional for tyro writers to get many "no"s before they get a yes. So it's realistic to expect and accept a "no". The good thing is, it's a good no. Yes, there is such a thing...

Firstly, it's a personal message, not a standard response. It's clear that the agent has read the material and considered it, and then taken the time to give me some personal feedback. As I understand the business, this is pretty unusual nowadays.

Secondly, the feedback is very positive. She thinks I write beautifully and am a wonderful writer. Those are not my words - they're verbatim quotes. The problem - the reason why she's saying "no" - is not the quality but the "fantastical aspects of the plot". She's tried to sell a magic realist novel without success recently, and says she doesn't want to raise false hopes when she would struggle trying to get a me a deal.

Thirdly, she says she'd be interested in seeing anything else I have written that might have a more straightforward story.

I have of course written straight back to say "Thank you for your time and your feedback, and I may take you up on that". And I've had a reply already, saying "Best of luck and yes, please do".

So although it's a "no", I'm feeling pretty chuffed about it. I have had something moderately close to a nibble, on my first try. And I may send her "Ramundi's Sisters" when I finish revising it, since there is nothing fantastical in that plot, just a lot of painting and stifled Sicillian passion.