And you’ve been so busy lately (time in the think tank)

THE WRITER’S LIFE

If I could hang my hat on a short story I wrote, it would be Echo Beach. If I can hang my hat on a novel, it’ll be Cyrus Song. If anyone were tempted to read one article on this blog, I’d point them here for now.

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There are many more short stories planned, as well as whole new books. But recently, I’ve had to move things around a little. I’m planning what I think is a very appropriate Christmas gift for my parents (and I’m out of the horror market for now). When you’re given the opportunity to look forward five years, certain plans take shape.

In my last blog post, I mentioned a book which I was planning for my dad. Now that I’ve had time to start plotting it out, it’s going to take longer than I originally thought to put it together. But I’ve resolved to make this book before I move onto the next one. Why would I post this here, in a public forum, and now indelible? The reasons are as simple as the ones I have for writing the book: To hang my hat on a blog post, step forward and offer the chance of final judgement for those who still hide in the background, and who will remain there.

I don’t seek forgiveness from any false deity, nor do I repent for my sins in the eyes of an unseeing God. My debts on Earth are repaid to the humans who matter to me, and those who will come after them. And they will attest to this, but not in a kangaroo court.

What went on (that would be me going into meltdown), is all squared with family and real friends: I got drunk. I was addicted (I’m still an addict, and always will be), I was on anti-depressants, which, combined with alcohol, can result in blackouts. But I re-live it, as it is not to be denied. I’ve got a medical record which convinced two tribunal panels that I am mentally ill, but otherwise well in the situation which took so much effort to win, and which now sits around me: A modest, secure home, with a social landlord, meaning long-term security. Now that I have that, I live as a diagnosed functioning alcoholic with chronic depression and anxiety. But I live: Perhaps some people will never be happy with the outcome. Finances are still lacking, so I have to make things. But I digress.

My mum (always affectionately referred to as ‘The Mothership’ here (Hi mum), because she gets me: she was a conspirator in making me), sometimes reads this blog. So am I spoiling a surprise? No. What this post does (if The Mothership reads it) is make a promise to her, in public. She trusts me now, based on the last three years of drawing ever closer as a family. So she knows that I won’t break my promise. And I know that I will be able to refer back to this post in five months or so and be vindicated in the eyes of remaining doubters. To be honest, those people bother me no less than an infection which can be ignored. My point with all of this, is to raise two fingers, with a sharp chop to my inside elbow and a reflex raising of my left hand. It’s my cure for cancer.

Will mum tell dad? Maybe. It doesn’t matter. The book I’m planning is one which they can both look forward to seeing in print. I’ve expanded my research a little, just into the history of the house and village where my mum lived, before she and dad lived together. The rest of dad’s life was spent with mum, in the same places. What occurred to me at first as a way to give a temporarily fading memory something to hook onto, has become more as I’ve plotted it. Now it will be a story of two people and how they left marks together, like names carved in a tree.

Every fine garden which my dad created and tended, will always bear his footprint. Every meal which my mum cooked, back in the family unit day, fed labour, and the imagination of a kid. My parents created the means to tell their story. I am that thing which they made, and this book seems an appropriate way to give something back and say a simple thank you.

I can write, compile, edit and publish a book, all from my desk. There will most likely be only a few copies given away, but the book will have an ISBN as part of the publishing process. My parents and those who know them will have a book. Anyone will be able to buy the book; a slice-of-life story from the Kent countryside (beware of spoonerisms). The bottom line is, I can immortalise my parents: I think that’s a nice gift from a writer, who was given the gift of writing (albeit unwittingly) by his parents. It’s something they can share. They gave me this IQ of 147, and now I know what it’s for.

And they are a proud couple, with every right to be. They are proud of me, and I will always give them every reason to be. They are proud to have such as a strange thing as a writer. I write bedtime stories for my kids now. So I can write a book which tells a brief history of how it all started.

All of which means I’m able to agree with myself that my future publishing schedule should go something like this(ish):

Cyrus Song: Now late August / early September, with 12 days left for final test reader comments.

Quietly, Through the Garden of England: Now the working title, being as it’s the journey of two people who would otherwise have gone unnoticed, but who made such a difference. I’m resolved to December publication.

Reflections of Yesterday (still the working title for an anthology): July 2018. I’m writing the fourth of 17 shorts for this: Longer stories, written in different personal circumstances from The Perpetuity of Memory‘s 25 tales. 42 in total.

Cyrus Song II: December 2018. If my confidence in the original is vindicated, this would be the right time.

Infana Kolonia: July 2019. This is still planned as a sci-fi epic but the current plot takes it to 1200 pages, so it needs some work.

Forgive me No-one: May 2020: My uncensored autobiography, if it’s noteworthy. And that all depends where eight published books gets me if I make 50. I don’t seek forgiveness from any false deity, nor do I repent for my sins in the eyes of an unseeing God. My debts on Earth are repaid to the humans who matter, and those who will come after them. Despite what’s in my head sometimes, with this plan in place, I hope I live to be my parents’ age. Maybe then I’ll be half as wise as them.

In the meantime, The Afternaut is shaping up into something really quite original, but which still sticks to the brief sent into the Unfinished Literary Agency. It should now be out in the first half of August, and I think the idea donor will be pleased: Not just with their idea being turned into a story, but knowing that it’s out there and that anyone could read it, if they had time.

And you’ve been so busy lately
that you haven’t found the time
To open up your mind
And watch the world spinning gently out of time
Feel the sunshine on your face
It’s in a computer now
Gone are the future, way out in space…

(Out of Time: Blur, Ben Hillier, Marrakech, 2002).

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Separation anxiety in nostalgics

DEAR DIARY | THE WRITER’S LIFE

Despite suffering from diagnosed chronic anxiety in general, the separation kind is the specific one which I’m able to deal with most effectively. Obviously my main separation anxiety is with that from my children. But we all agree that things worked out in a funny way for the best, so the month between each meeting is one spent looking forward to the next. The most difficult separation to deal with at the moment, is the one from my own fictional characters. And then there’s the one my dad has, from the past…

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Simon Fry, Hannah Jones and the others have been away with test readers now for three weeks. Those readers still have just under two weeks left to do their thing, then Cyrus Song will be out not long after. While the manuscript has been out, I’ve finished all editing, other than any which might be suggested by the beta readers. So now I’m restless.

Part of the angst is anticipating the forthcoming launch of the book. I’d convinced myself it was a good book a long time ago, which is why writers need test readers. I’ve re-read the book after doing my best to ignore it for a month, and it’s still good. I’ve had positive comments and reviews from casual readers, but it all hinges on the two remaining test readers with whom I have contracts. As I’ve said recently and in the past, being an optimist or a pessimist makes no difference to the outcome, but the optimist has a better time leading up to it. And I still miss my characters.

I’ve started plotting the sequel to Cyrus Song, I’m writing new short stories (The Afternaut will be the next one, in a week or two), and I’m working on some freelance projects. I’ve also started a small personal project, which will benefit very few, but for those very few, it ought to be a nice thing. A little recent history will help to place things into context:

My dad (75) has had some neurological issues for some time now, and he was recently diagnosed with excess fluid around the cerebellum of his brain. He’s seen a consultant and had an MRI scan, and the hope is that the fluid can simply be drained to alleviate what is hopefully a temporary condition. An intelligent man, my dad has grown frustrated at times, because his condition affects his short-term memory and his orientation. Just as I envy my own children and the technology they will have available to them later in life, so it is quite tragic that my dad and many others don’t have access to, nor understanding of, current technology.

Dad is interested in many things, but mainly history. A labourer all his working life, he worked at stately homes and public schools, with all of the history and stories which such places hold. Like me, he’s not only interested in things but how those things work and how they came to be, and how we have moved on since. He’s interested in the history of places and things which he has a connection to: It’s a classic case of nostalgia.

Well, my dad’s own son (that’s me) is a writer, with access to technology and research tools. After some searching, I’ve managed to track down a reprinted copy of a book from 1917 about Ightham and the surrounding area. Ightham is the village where myself and my sister grew up, where our parents worked for a wealthy family and we lived on their private estate, in the grounds of Oldbury Place. It was a childhood filled with hopes and dreams, in a 19th century stable cottage built of Kentish ragstone, set in the middle of a private woods.

Beyond the grounds of the main house is Oldbury Hill and Oldbury Woods, with its caves and remains of an Iron Age hill fort. In Ightham itself, there are many buildings and places of note, the most famous of which is Ightham Mote. The village and surrounding areas have been populated by historical figures, landed gentry, entrepreneurs and philanthropists. It’s a small Kent village, absolutely stuffed with history and fascinating facts.

My dad’s not really one for reading, although my mum is. I’ll give the 1917 book to my mum as a keepsake, but short of her actually reading my dad bedtime stories, he wouldn’t gain much from that arrangement. So before I hand the book over, I’m going to do some additional research of my own, to pull in some points of interest specific to my dad. Then I’m going to write a book: A very small book, in large print and with pictures. It won’t be a commercial release; It’ll be a one-off. I can use the publishing process I’d normally use for a mainstream book and order printed book proofs at relatively low cost. So what my dad will get, will be a personalised historical record of some of the places he’s attached to, in an easy to read and digest format: Oldbury and Ightham, Yotes Court (an 18th Century house), and Tonbridge School (founded in 1553). In comparison to the places he’s worked, my dad is very young. And I want to take him back there with his book.

Perhaps there’ll come a day when I’m no longer judged by some people for my wrong deeds (which I made amends for and pay the price for daily). Maybe those same people might undertake some research of their own, so that they can see how alcohol and anti-depressants can lead to blackouts. They might one day even ask me themselves, rather than continuing to judge. Frankly, I have nothing to say to such people: It’s all in this blog. And a lot more besides, about the various ways I’ve helped others and continue to do so.

What I’m keen to be judged on, is the new novel. Hopefully, in a couple of weeks my separation anxiety will be over, when my characters return to me. Then me and them can get out there in the wider world, while we write a sequel. And soon my dad will feel younger again.Staedtler Noris 122Cyrus Song should now be out around the end of August. A Personal journey through the garden of England is pencilled in for December (with a Staedtler Noris 122).