Where am I?

Lost, blocked and needing a good talking to

Bit of a personal one, this time. Look away if you don’t want that.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to say in this post, other than that I’ve lost my way and my brain is all over the place. (Which explains why I haven’t been here recently - sorry.) I’m feeling that I’m failing in every area, physically and mentally, brain and body, writing and living, and no direction seems to pull me strongly enough away from the doldrum. When I started looking for an image to top the post, I stumbled across the one above. And it changed whatever I might have been going to say. It kind of gave me a good talking to.

It’s from August 2015, in Edinburgh, and it’s a “book bench”. That year, several book benches were created to represent and celebrate Scottish writing. What you maybe can’t see is that I’m pointing to my own name, and one of my novels, Fleshmarket. Fleshmarket was one of my defining books - a novel for teenagers and famous for a shocking opening chapter - and it is still in print 21 years after publication, which a) is incredibly rare and b) means people are actually still buying it. (Thank you, Scottish schools!)

And that made me think, “Shut up, you stupid woman! Stop wallowing and whining. You had 21 years of trying (and failing) to become a published author and now you’ve written over 100 books. First, take a moment to be proud. Second, realise that you can do it again!”

Well, not write another 100 books - please, no! - but at least write the one you want to write now. The one you’ve started, the one with a character you love (even though she’s rather too much like you as a child), the one where the words may come like blood from the proverbial but where they are good words, often in an acceptable order. It’s a verse novel, which is a first for me and surprisingly good fun to write.

So, I will. And I’ll keep you posted if you’re interested.

But first, allow me to give some context for why I got into the doldrum in which I find myself.

I’ve had a rough five years. Well, haven’t we all? I lost my younger sister after a short war with cancer and my father after many years of disability. The first - unnatural - loss brought grief which I wouldn’t wish on anyone and the second - more natural -had the added burden that I was his executor, with complexities I wouldn’t wish on anyone. And then there was dealing with the sale of the house my parents had lived in for 44 years. I’ve had four grandsons: two premature and two precipitating critical illness in my daughter. I wouldn’t wish those terrifying times on anyone either. They are all well but that’s four extra humans to love and worry about. And play with and read to!

I want to be the best mother, grandmother, wife, sister, friend, daughter I can be. I also still want to work - to write and to speak. And garden - I’m big on vegetable gardening, as you’ll know if you follow me on Instagram. But I’m getting older - again, aren’t we all?! And, of course, I’m lucky to be getting older, because I don’t much want the alternative.

There are some other things blocking my writing - the state of celeb-dominated children’s publishing and a sense of “what’s the point?” Some of you will know what I mean.

But “what’s the point?” is a question anyone can and probably should ask every now and then, whatever job we have. It’s not a bad question and there are usually many answers, if we look for them. Sometimes the question might lead us in a new direction, sometimes it might let us value what we’re already doing.

When you’re a writer, you have to work out who you’re writing for. In those 21 years of failing to become published I was making a mistake: I was writing for myself. As soon as I started writing for readers, I quickly became published.

I’ve spent the last 25 years writing for readers. But I’ve done enough for readers. Sorry, readers! It’s not all about you!

Now it’s time for me. So, I’m writing this novel for me, for the reader I was, for the writer I am now, for the human being who is lucky enough to have a life, a family and a book bench in Edinburgh.

One thing is for sure: it won’t write itself.

Here’s what I need to do:

• Set aside time - one day a week in my diary now says “writing day”

• On that day, don’t do other work - don’t be tempted to prepare a talk or update my website

• Make space for ideas - go for a run or a long walk, garden, housework or any of those things I know help ideas and words come. In technical terms, I need to enable the default mode network or a normative dissociated state. Get into flow. (Could be a topic for another post here?)

• Apply bum to seat and fingers to keyboard - actually, in my case, apply feet to treadmill…

• Just do it

I’m back on the treadmill again. Just needed to give myself a good talking to.

I’d love to hear how you get yourself out of a rut or the doldrums?