Wattpad

I have been quite dire at keeping up with the writing and the social sites for too long but I have kick started it all again and am remembering how much I enjoy this writing lark. I forgot to find time for it in my busy work and family schedules but getting back into it has reminded me how relaxing it is and the sense of achievement it gives me.

As part of the re-invigoration, I have started using Wattpad. I joined a year ago but did not get involved with it prior to getting distracted with the rest of my life. I have a few chapters from The Glass House and Finding Us available but I have also been posting chapters from Thread of Life as I work on it.

So, if you'd like to read and comment I would be very glad of the feedback and you can find me here.

Thread of Life - Chapter One

I have the start of a new novel. It's early days so there is a very long way and lots of editing to do but the idea is taking some shape. The current working title is Thread of Life. This is chapter one - what do you think?

Chapter One

Evie watched them clump around her house. She wanted them to leave, could hear the scream rattle round her head but she couldn't force the sounds out. Who they hell did they think they were? She needed Nick to come home. Tell them they were idiots, throw them out and make them swear never to scare his wife again.

'Mrs Wright, can I make you a cup of sweet tea? Call someone to come over?'

Evie stared past her, looked out the window, and wished Nick would hurry up. He promised her he would be home early.

Left alone, Evie could hear the woman opening and closing cupboard doors in her kitchen, the sounds of water running. Every day noises in a world of chaos.

Beeping noises sounded in her hallway; they'd given up on getting through to her. Evie wondered which lucky person would get the call. She was surprised when she heard him speak. 'I'm calling on behalf of Mrs Wright. My name is PC Griffin. Am I speaking to Mrs Wright's mother?' His voice was high-pitched. Somehow she expected it to be deep and sombre. It made it all seem even more ridiculous. 'I'm afraid we've delivered some bad news to your daughter. Her husband was killed in a road traffic accident this morning.'

Evie could guess how her mother is fussing, asking how her daughter is and promising to get there straight away.

He didn't look at her when he came back into the lounge. Kept his head high and his eyes straight ahead as he walked past her into the kitchen.

Evie could hear hushed voices, whispering. Bet he's complaining about having to wait with me. The voices stop and she's the first to return. Stupid woman. Doesn't she know that's Nick's cup and he hates tea. He's a black coffee man and nothing else will do. She tried to force the mug into Evie's hand. He hovered near the door and Evie noticed how soft and unblemished his skin was. It occurred to her she might be his first. First road death, first time to comfort the widow, first time to screw up and identify the wrong person because there was no way Nick would leave her, especially not now.

'Here's a nice cup of sweet tea, you need to take a drink. We've called your mum and she'll be here soon.'

Evie didn't reply but inside her head the voice still screamed, GET OUT.

*

 

Watching the dust motes float through a chink of light, Evie lay curled on her bed, arms wrapped around her stomach, recalling the moment when she had told Nick the news. Had that really only been the night before? It seemed impossible that her life could have changed so much in such a short space of time. She remembered the stillness as he digested the news, the moment reality hit and he ran towards her, scooping her into his arms before setting her down and placing a hand on her stomach. How he questioned her over and over. Was she really sure? She'd had to retrieve all three of the little, plastic sticks from the bathroom, each one proclaiming PREGNANT, to convince him they had succeeded at last. He wanted to tell everyone straight away but she begged him not to. Just in case. It could be their secret, at least until the twelve week scan. All they had to do was hide it for six weeks.

A quiet rap on the bedroom door broke her thoughts. She pulled the duvet up to her neck and hugged it to her, as her mother came into the room.

'Evie, I've brought you a wee cup of tea.'

Evie rolled over, turning away from the proffered cup.

'C'mon now dear. I know this is hard but a cup of tea and a piece of toast won't do you any harm and...well, there are arrangements to make. Things we can't decide without you.'

The sound of heels clacked on the wooden staircase and Evie pulled the duvet over her head.

The door squeaked, like it always did when it was pushed open too far. Nick kept saying he'd take a look at that hinge, but he never did find the time to sort it.

'Mum, leave it on the bedside table. She'll have it when she's ready,' Zoe said, sitting on the edge of the bed. 'I've left some tea and cake out on the coffee table for you and dad.'

Evie heard the exhale, the plate and cup being set on the table. Another squeak as the door was closed. Then a hand on her shoulder, the mattress shifting as her sister climbed onto the bed behind her and lay down behind her. Zoe pulled the duvet down, tucked strands of hair behind Evie's ear and rubbed her shoulder. 'I'm sorry Sis. Wish I could say something that would make it better but I don't even know where to start.'

What could anyone say?

Character Shaping and Personality

I attended a course at work this week about management skills but thought one element of it was interesting from a writer's point of view.

We answered some questions to work out our personality types and then discussed that in the context of how we interact with others but also to be able to recognise other personality types and shape how we deal with them according to that type. 

I thought the four personality types might be a useful tool in shaping characters. When I map out a story I try to work out a skeleton of who my characters are, with details like their age, date of birth, what they look like. I have an idea of how I want them to act and develop but I love it when they take on their own life and do something that surprises me. Ellie, in The Glass House has been one of my favourite characters so far in my novel writing because when I started the book she was only going to have a small part but she became as pivotal as the two sisters and is the one who grew the most. 

This personality recognition may help in that character shaping (but hopefully won't take away that element of surprise as people can flex their personality to take on other traits or mask their basic personality). The idea is that people can be separated into four groups, each one recognised by a bird. They are: eagles, peacocks, owls and doves. 

The eagles are fast paced, fact orientated people. They are active, easily bored, want the point of a story and snappy decisions. 

The peacocks are fast paced and people oriented. The like to be involved in events, know what their role is and are the exuberant life-and-sole of the party. 

The owl is a slower paced person who likes time to research and work out all the angles. They like preparation and are fact orientated. The read the manual, create the list and spreadsheet before you act type.

The dove is also slower paced but is people orientated so will want time to think about the wider impact of situations on the people around them. They like to way up the pros and cons.

That is a very brief summary and you can find plenty more information on the internet if you would like to research it further, or test yourself. It is the DOPE 4 Bird Personality Test and here is a link to another blogger talking about it.

And if you are interested: I am a dove, but have elements of owl and eagle.

Juggling

I made a blog post at writing.ie today which I would like to share on this blog. My question to new and seasoned writers was, how they manage to find time for the all consuming obsession that writing can be. I'd love to hear from anyone out there who has struggled to schedule their writing into a hectic life and how you overcame it.

http://www.writing.ie/members_blog/life-juggling/

One To Watch

My manuscript, The Glass House, has been chosen by the Authonomy Editors at the Harper Collins Authonomy website as this week's One to Watch. I'm so thrilled that it was chosen and at the comments they left on their blog about it.

If I didn't already have an incentive to get back to something I love, this has provided the nudge I needed.

I've been saying I feel like framing it...

And if that wasn't shameless enough, here's a link to the full blog post.

It's a new...

Well, just about everything.

There have probably been a billion posts since the 1st of Jan about resolutions, new year, new me but the truth is I'm hopeless at resolutions so I've stopped even trying to make them.

I am, however, annoyed with myself about how long it is since I last posted on the site or sat at my laptop and took time to edit one of my stories, never mind start a new one.

My excuse is I went back to work full-time and it's taken a toll on my free time and how I organise it but I want to get back to it so this is my first step. A new pen name, a new avatar and a new look blog but hopefully still a bit of fun, a few twisting tales and plenty of female characters getting up to all sorts.

I'm not going to start this new look with an empty promise but I do hope it will inspire me to get back to a hobby that's given me a lot of pleasure so watch this space and hopefully there'll be a new story posted soon.

BBC 500 Words

The Chris Evans Breakfast Show ran a 500 word writing challenge for children and my son decided to have a go at it. He loved writing the story and was thrilled when we got the email to say he got through the first selection round  - where they selected 3000 out of over 90,000 stories to go forward. He was disappointed to get the next email saying his story didn't get into the final round but we're all so proud of him and he's taken the story into school to read it out

So, here's his entry and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as we have.

Doughnut Dad

Max was on his way up to bed. I hate vegetables, he thought. He’d had another row with dad that night. Dad wanted him to eat sprouts and Max had just pushed them round his plate, saying he’d rather have doughnuts for supper.

That night Max dreamt of having doughnuts every day.

The next morning when he woke-up he went downstairs to breakfast and when he went into the kitchen he found three doughnuts on a plate!
‘Hip-hip-hooray,’ he shouted.
He took a bite.
‘Mmmmmmm. Melted chocolate doughnuts,’ he said.

Dad came in. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘Let’s go see haunted doughnut mountain in the cinema!’
 ‘Hooray,' shouted Max again.
After the movie, they went out for lunch. Dad ordered five doughnuts for each of them.
‘Yum,’ said Max, when their rainbow coloured plate of doughnuts arrived.

Every meal for the next ten days, Max’s dad gave him doughnuts and nothing else. No tasty sausages, no delicious chicken, no softly, flaking fish. No chips or creamy potatoes. No squishy parcels or ribbons of pasta coated in Italian sauces, bursting with flavour. No bread. And not even ONE, SINGLE VEGETABLE!

Max could feel his teeth rotting. They were starting to hurt from all that sugar, even if he cleaned them ten times a day.

On the tenth night, Max climbed the stairs to bed. His tummy ached and his feet plodded with a thump on each step. He was fed-up. Once more he cleaned his teeth but he was sure the sugar continued to cling to them. Then he curled up in bed.

Dad came in. ‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ he said, sitting down on the edge of Max’s bed.
‘My tummy hurts from all those doughnuts and my teeth are stinging.’
‘I see,’ said dad. ‘Sounds like you’re a bit bored of doughnuts.’
‘I know you love them and all,’ said Max, sitting up. ‘But could I please have something different!’
‘Well,’ dad said thoughtfully. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll see what I can do.’

Dad tucked Max up and ruffled his hair. Max fell asleep and in his dreams he imagined a big plate of roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and beef in a pool of thick, dark gravy. He licked his lips, almost able to taste the big mound of mashed carrots and parsnips, a well in the centre containing a curl of melting butter. 'Mmmm. Vegetables,' he called out in his sleep.