The Word Cloud

It is one o'clock and past my bedtime. Over the part week  I have developed another addiction - bidding on e.bay.  i have not done this before.  So far, I have only bought a few items from Oxfam on-line.  I did not bid for these, and was happy to pay the market price.  Good for Oxfam! 
    I have been outbid on everything else  and will soon stop - apart from one item.  I am one of the few bidders, and I have been told by my more experienced work colleagues, that someone is waiting for the very last second  and will trump my bid, so I do not hold out any hopes.   (This item is common and I can always find one)
    It is all  so silly.  I  do not really need the items I bid for.
     But there is one other item that interested me.  It is on a Russian site.  There was a mark on the item - it showed up on photograph,  and it caught my attention.   I wondered where item  had come from?  Did it come from a Russian brickaback shop in St Petersberg.   Was it made by a Russian Soviet after the Revolution?  Was a descendant of the owner trying to sell it?  What troubles had the item been though?
      This  item has caught my imagination.   I think I might be disappointed by the item if I buy do  it.  (It might be an antique - but not valuable.)  I might have got the marking wrong.   
     My bank statement came today.  I have abandoned alcohol and there is money to cover the cost.   I could buy a similar object in England but would this awake my imagination?
 I do not gamble.  I am not a winner.  I can see the appeal of antiques but I have no interest in buying any.  What has gone wrong?
 

 

Next Friday, 11^th May, will be Woody’s first birthday, the day he came to live with me; the day my neighbour plonked a nearly dead baby bird in my hands who took over my life for several months.

Many of you accompanied me on that voyage of discovery, first trying to work out what this bald, helpless little bird was, then following his development into a handsome magpie, who’s days were filled with adventure, raisins, bling, fun, anxiety and laughter. And more bling. And don’t forget the wasp stashed in my ear and the parcelled up daddy-long-legs slotted neatly into shoes. And his penchant for filling holes. Grouting the window frames with hummus, stealing shiny pink radishes, checking each and every roof tile for treasure, cuddling on my shoulder or sleeping on the computer screen as I typed his story, day after day. His near misses with the crow attacks and the fox and the cat, which left him too frightened to go outside. His duels with Pidge on the henhouse roof, and the time he went missing for two days and I thought he was gone for good. Then his miraculous re-appearance, swollen with adventures, and the rejoicing that followed.

My cheerful little bird laughed when tickled, roosted on the top of the bedroom door and licked the sleepydust from my eyes in the morning.

You may also remember that as he grew, he flew wider and higher and longer, visiting a local park regularly where he played with the dogs, popped in on a building site where he pinched the spam out of a brickie’s sandwich, and flying home through my open window to nap where he was safe.

Then I went on holiday for a week, leaving scrolls of instructions for the neighbours. When I came back he was gone. My neighbours had scoured the area looking for him, to no avail. My third blog on Woody detailed my search for clues, the possible sightings, knocking on doors, squelching through building sites, distributing my phone number to random people and following all leads which led nowhere.

The days turned into weeks and while people assured me that ‘he’d found a mate and flown off’, I knew this wasn’t true. He was too young for that sort of thing, and I used Miss Magpie and her mother as a benchmark. This pair was an adult and a juvenile the same size as Woody, who also lived in my garden. They still do, and I’ve watched Miss Magpie over the year, imagining that’s what Woody would look like now. Whenever I see a magpie, I still call out, ‘Woody? Woody Woods?’ but it’s more habit than anything else. A couple of times, a magpie has landed on my office windowsill and looked in. ‘Woody?’ But when I reach to open the window, the bird flies off. I think other magpies watched Woody and remembered him coming and going, so came to investigate, that’s all.

So what’s changed now? Why write this? I’m coming to that.

There’s one salient feature that I haven’t publicly divulged yet. Because I didn’t immediately connect it with Woody, and because I didn’t want to milk the story, and because I couldn’t be sure and I felt foolish. Then yesterday, I found something out.

To recap, I went on holiday on a Friday and returned on a Friday. There were definite sightings of him up until the Tuesday when he fetched a wasp to tuck into Amy’s shoe, and then none at all. Other reports turned out to be vague or mis-remembered, or false alarms, or any-old-magpie. I followed them all up, but no.

Then I remembered something that had happened on holiday. On the Tuesday night, while sitting with my family, I’d become overwhelmed with sadness. I started crying, eviscerating myself, and I couldn’t stop. It was embarrassing. The more I told myself, ‘for goodness sake, pull yourself together’, the more I couldn’t. My goddaughter patted my wrist and fetched tissues, asked how she could help. I snivelled something to explain it – I was feeling nostalgic, I’d had too much to drink – but I knew in my heart this wasn’t true. I was crying and crying like a baby and had no idea why.

On two other occasions in my life, this has happened. I’ve sobbed inconsolably in a public place for no apparent reason. Only later, have I discovered that someone I’ve been close to has died.

As I pieced together the last known days of Woody, I came to the conclusion that he must have died. His trail went completely – and suddenly – cold. I know without a shadow of a doubt, that if he could have come home again, he would have, if only for a visit. The continued presence of Miss Magpie and her mother confirms that they don’t wander far in the end, and have long memories. And shows me how long they still need their parents to explain the ways of the magpie.

Was it possible that he’d died on that Tuesday night – the night I’d drowned in tears? It tied in with his abrupt disappearance. But why night time? Woody, like most birds, got tired as the evening drew in and found a place to roost. By nightfall, he’d have been high up somewhere, and fast asleep. Unless he couldn’t get high up somewhere. If he’d been captured, or injured. Broken his wing, perhaps, or his leg. Then as he tried to crawl to safety, in pain, to hide from the terrors of the night alone, a fox had found him and ended his life. This is the scenario I imagined.

I kept it to myself because it was too awful to contemplate and I couldn’t prove it either way. But to me, Tuesday 26^th July 2011 was his last day on earth. I hoped I was wrong.

 

And now we come to yesterday. I was walking the chickens and we’d drifted round to the front garden. Joan, my 80-year old neighbour, ambled past. She takes a daily constitutional which often includes the park. As she promenades, she stops and chats with the dog walkers and other frequenters of the park. It was she who reported Woody playing with dogs and pinching spam out of sandwiches – a story I later confirmed when I visited that building site to search for him. The builders certainly remembered that naughty little magpie.

So yesterday, Joan paused to pass the time of day, just as a magpie flew onto a nearby roof and I called out, ‘Woody?’ as I am wont to do.

Joan looked at me and took my hand. ‘Woody’s dead.’

‘Yes, that’s what I think,’ I replied. ‘I call out from habit, just in case.’

‘No, he really is dead. I didn’t tell you because I knew how upset you’d be. I thought you’d have forgotten all about him by now.’

‘I’ve never forgotten. What do you mean?’

‘He was stamped to death.’

I didn’t say anything. It’s been ten months since he disappeared and a full year since he arrived. I didn’t expect fresh news; I thought it was only me who remembered.

Joan continued. ‘That day while you were away, when he tried to put a wasp in Amy’s shoe.’ That was the last known sighting. The Tuesday. ‘He went to the park, and three boys got hold of him, and kicked him to death.’

I couldn’t take it in. ‘Did you see it?’

‘No, but I talked to someone who did. It was over by the fence, you know, where the swings are? Near the gate. They were about thirteen years old. They thought it was fun. They stamped and stamped and said, “Got it!” then another one kicked him and the other stamped on him again, with, “Let me have a go!” They were laughing, and kicking and stamping on him.’

I said nothing.

Into the silence, Joan added, ‘I said to this woman who saw it, “Didn’t you say something?” and she said, “But it was all over in moments.” And besides, you never know if they’ll pull a knife on you, do you? I shed a few tears for him that night, I can tell you. He was such a love. I said to this woman, “Oh, I can’t tell the lady who brought him up, it’ll break her heart,” but you haven’t forgotten him, have you? So I’m telling you now. Maybe this will give you closure?’

No, not really. I ‘knew’ it anyway, but had no proof. I’m grateful to her for telling me though.

So there we have it. My beautiful, funny, trusting, joyful little bird was stamped to death, not by crows or cats or foxes, but by vicious, nasty, human boys who thought it was funny.

There’s one thing she’s wrong about. I know it wasn’t ‘all over in moments.’ He lingered for some time, until it was dark, and a fox or perhaps a dog, issued a coup de grace. Or did he bleed to death? Then he regained his ethereal wings and flew to the heavens, to find out what it’s like on the other side.

I haven’t yet cried since this news, but I can feel tears starting now.

I was on a two week break with the Mr. and the first draft of the WIP came too. The plan was to do some revisions on the terrace of the apartment we have rented up on the cliffs overlooking Mogan. No such luck!

The terrace was peaceful until 9a.m. and then a massive mechanical drill contraption started hewing rocks out of the cliff and a drill was breaking them up. They stopped at 7 p.m. The workers had ear protection, but we didn’t! The din was beyond being funny after an hour and so we headed off out. I was writing this blog for my new blog site, new hen on the blog- please check it out sometime,  with pen and pad by the marina and retreated to a cafe in a vibrant people-watching square to use their Wi-Fi before lunch. We chose an apartment without it, so that we would be internet- free for a couple of weeks, but relapsing several times for blogging, tweets and emails wasn’t’ too bad!

The self-editing ground to a halt. My kindle had lots of must reads on it and the apartment had shelves of interesting books – whenever does that happen? Let’s just say that most of my time was taken up with rest, retreat from noise pollution and reading. Must keep up to date with new books and had to escape the stress of the building site.

The rock blaster stopped for the weekend. I walked across to chat to Bosszilla, the powerful woman in the yellow jacket with the stop and go road sign. She had been there every day directing the men at work and looked fierce. She turned out to be an absolutely charming lady and explained that they’d pack up for the weekend and just needed a few hours on Monday to finish off. She was as true as her word and it took a while to get used to silence!

I had several sessions on the WIP. Yes, Really! In between sun, dips in the pool, some great and not so great books, wine and delicious tapas I got to grips with it. I worked on self-editing and some rewriting. I completed a writer’s workshop self-editing course last month and it has   been invaluable in pointing me in the right direction at this stage of writing. Emma and Debi, our two tutors, really knew how to engage with the group and teach the skills needed at several levels. They gave invaluable individual feedback each week and this was shared within the group. 

The group, a dozen new authors from the word cloud who are at the editing stage, are a talented and supportive bunch who are great at bouncing ideas back and forth. We are going to continue sharing and critiquing one another’s work. I feel that I’ve gained a great group of writing friends from this experience.

I think that my novel is changing for the better, but I hope it’s not like the wine I’ve brought home in the past! The times I have carried a bottle of fantastic local plonk home to find that it tastes different in cloudy, rainy Newcastle. That doesn’t happen to writing does it?
Hope not!

So, I've recently put Book 1 out to a selection of readers for comment.

One of my readers is a person whose opinion I very much value because she writes very well herself and so can tell me from a 'writerly' point of view what is wrong and equally what is right. Her opinion, received yesterday, confirms what I feared on sending the book out; the ending sucks.

Well, maybe that's too harsh...it doesn't suck, but it's certainly not right. The story becomes too 'straight' - doesn't have enough intrigue or conflict to thwart my MC in his aims. When he achieves those aims, it happens in rather a rush and quite conveniently. 

I've been mulling over how to address these issues, and have come to the conclusion that I got into this mess because I was overly excited at being so close to the end of the story. I rushed to get the book finished which meant the fundamental storyline suffered. And it shows. 

I've blogged about it because I'm hoping this is a cautionary tale for anyone else who is desperate to get their story finished...I've not done myself any favours by focussing on the end result rather than the journey. 


 

'Ello all.

I blogged a while ago about me possibly...maybe...having an agent.  To re-cap, they sent me a contract to sign which I've been dithering about as they are a new start up agency and I naturally wanted to play with the grown ups!

After some great advice and support from Emma and Debbi I joined The Society of Authors (what lovely people they are by the way) and the contract has been scrutinised for any cunning hidden pitfalls. It seems to be kosha though they did furnish me with some questions to ask the agency. I did this and all seems tickity boo.

You may remember that they hadn't read my ful MS, only the sample chapters, which puzzled me.   I have spoken to them several times now and they see no reason not to like the remainder of the book.  My last chat was yesterday and the agent is halfway through now and loving it...so it all looks good (she hasn't seen the ending yet!)

I still haven't signed the contract though. I want to wait until she has finished the thing, though she did ask me to supply some back cover blurb etc and a bio of me for the website.

So...I guess it's almost a thumbs up.  I'm not cracking open the chamnpers yet though!

Mac 

Penny Holroyde, Caroline Sheldon Literary Agency Ltd.
Interested in children’s books for all ages – She particularly like’s laugh-out-loud books aimed at middle grade children but also loves books with emotional depth and strong plots for older children. For her adult portfolio, She’s very interested in memoirs. Historical settings and again, a really compelling voice that works in whatever world the author has created are key likes. The Caroline Sheldon Literary Agency is one of the UK’s leading literary agencies representing a bestselling roster of authors and illustrators. Our particular areas of interest include fiction, non-fiction—especially human interest stories and memoirs—and all types of children’s books.

• When did you come into agenting? What did you do before? And why agenting?

I came into agenting seven years ago. Prior to that I was working in the USA as Director of Rights and Licensing for Candlewick Press. As I had worked for Candlewick’s sister company in the UK, Walker Books, I was quite often asked to comment very early on whether a project would have worldwide appeal and I think it’s helpful to have that hat on as an agent. More than that though, in my previous job, authors would call for help when they couldn’t understand their royalty statements or if a film producer had been in touch. As more and more authors got representation, that side of my job got less frequent and I realised that being at the coal face was a place I could be very happy, and I am.

• What sort of books do you love?

Have you ever opened a new manuscript, read a single page, and thought ‘I’m going to end up making an offer on this’? What was it about that page which excited you? Yes, I have. I started reading the manuscript at my desk and knew I had to get away from the phone and email and read it all. It was the writing and voice. Stunning. I went to a café and devoured it. When I finished, I mopped up my tears, stroked the manuscript and swore I would make the author mine.

•  What’s your pet peeve on covering letters?

‘Dear Sir/Madam’ or ‘Hi there’ usually gets me heading for the delete button. We are (we think!) open and welcoming on our website and provide a picture and an email address. Unless one of us needs a makeover badly, I think it’s quite clear there are no ‘Sirs’ working here. It bothers me when authors don’t bother.

• Of the authors who are not on your list, who would you most love to represent?

(You can pick a few names.) I’ll plead the fifth on that question!

• Where do most of your authors come from? The slushpile? Personal recommendation? Or what?

As you get more established as an agent, authors come via recommendations from other authors and from acknowledgements pages. Publisher recommendations have also brought me some good talent. I’ve got a slushpile (hate that word!) author publishing her first books this May which is very exciting but has happened to me only once!

• Do you need good personal chemistry with your authors?

I think you need a certain transparency with your authors. It’s a very close relationship so there certainly needs to be a lot of trust and the author needs to feel safe in telling me exactly what they think about something  but I don’t think that needs to extend to going on holiday with each other!

• Do you get involved in shaping an author’s career?

I like to give advice about new directions and of course I feed back to authors when publishers are asking for projects in certain areas of the market, but at the end of the day, it’s the author’s call.

•  If you had one bit of advice to give to new writers, what would it be?

Read more books and join a very critical writer’s group.

• Are e-books going to bring about fundamental changes to the publishing industry? What would you say if one of your authors wanted to e-publish their next book, cutting out conventional publishers altogether?

I think most published authors would prefer to be published by their publisher and if an author suggested direct-to- e pub, I might suspect there was a problem with the relationship; but it could also be that there was something about the project that better suited it to e pub.

• Have you enjoyed reading more since becoming an agent? Or are there times it feels like a chore?

Before becoming an agent, I probably wouldn’t have bothered to read Richard and Judy selections for example, but they were so powerful in the first place I thought I can’t really work as an agent and say ‘no, I haven’t read We Need to Talk About Kevin’ and also because I read almost exclusively books for young people for work, I’ve started to read a lot of crime in my spare time, ie something that I would never, ever take on in the course of my job.

• The grim stats: how many submissions do you get per week (or year)? And how many new authors do you take on?

We get over 10,000 submissions a year which can feel quite onerous but we work hard to respond to every one. I’ve had a bit of a bumper 12 months and taken on about five new authors but the year before that, it might only have been one.

• Do you like your authors to tweet & blog & Facebook … or do you really not care?

It’s important to publishers that authors are active in the digital space but I have also had publishers rap my knuckles for what authors are saying there!! I’m careful to tell authors exactly when something is safe to Tweet or blog – if we’ve just done a film deal for example, we wouldn’t want the producer’s press release scooped by the author’s tweet.

• Do you secretly have a book in you? And if so, tell us more …

Blimey, no way!

Penny is one of the agents appearing at this year’s Festival of Writing. Each year we invite literary agents who are hungry for new talent and who represent some of the biggest and best agencies in the business. Don’t miss your chance to book a one-to-one session with an agent of your choice.

Sam Copeland, Rogers, Coleridge & White
Sam is an agent at Rogers, Coleridge & White. Sam’s first job in publishing was at Curtis Brown, where he started in 2001.  He left in 2006 to help create the Robinson Literary Agency, and joined Rogers, Coleridge and White in 2009 when the two companies merged.   He is building an extremely diverse list, representing writers of both literary and commercial fiction, science fiction, children’s (11+), serious and not-so-serious non-fiction.  In fact, he is happy to look at anything but self-help and business books.

• When did you come into agenting? What did you do before? And why agenting?

My first job in agenting was ten years ago, when I started at Curtis Brown. After 5 years, I moved to Rogers, Coleridge and White. Before that I was a  bookseller, cleaner, market trader, door to door salesman, bar man etc etc etc… And why agenting? Because on it’s day, it’s the best job in the world.

• Have you ever opened a new manuscript, read a single page, and thought ‘I’m going to end up making an offer on this’? What was it about that page which excited you?

Yes. Recently actually. It was original, brilliantly written and completely startling.

• What’s your pet peeve on covering letters?

Pet peeve on covering letters? All the usual. To be honest, there’s a lot of focus placed on covering letters by writers (and agents) BUT REALLY, IT’S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE. Couple of lines on who you are, a few lines about the book. Don’t fret about it too much, don’t try too much (the more you try the more you’re likely to mess up..). And pick the right agent. It’s all in the writing of the book at the end of the day.

• Do you need good personal chemistry with your authors?

You don’t need good chemistry, but it certainly helps. Many of my authors have become close friends.

• If you weren’t an agent, what else would you be?

I am utterly unqualified to do anything apart from being a literary agent. Oh – actually – maybe an astronaut.

Sam is one of the agents appearing at this year’s Festival of Writing. Each year we invite literary agents who are hungry for new talent and who represent some of the biggest and best agencies in the business. Don’t miss your chance to book a one-to-one session with an agent

I once bought a card which reproduced a painting called 'Transitions' - a beautiful image of clouds, rain and waterfalls flowing to the sea.  A cyclical and symbolic image, which I embraced as a metaphor for life.

The past few months have been transitional in a shared life and I've blogged about challenges of retirement; grateful for Cloudie friends' support.

The past couple of months have held other challenges, but scans have finally disproved the worst scenario.  Now, Mr J and I are going on holiday and I believe this will be a transitional one for both  ~ and inspirational in respect of my writing.

For Mr J, it will be the first holiday for 50 years, when he will not have to think about a return to work.  No doubt there will be mixed emotions, but I sense most will be positive now that time has mellowed his new status in life.

I go away satisfied that I have met a self-imposed target as regards my poetry and  I'm taking the first three chapters of my 'opus' with me, along with many notes.  I love it as it is, but know that it needs further change to stand a chance in the commercial marketplace.  It will be good to become reacquainted with my characters.  I've not worked on this creation for a while.

Wish me luck in the sun with this goal of improvement.  I will, in time, let you know whether muses descended in force and I hope to learn, on my return to this great fluffy place, of more Cloudie successes in the arena of publication. 

Au revoir.  Go well, my friends.  :) xJ

As many of my cloudie friends are aware, I'm a lady of vertically challenged proportions.

That doesn't affect my writing...except when I'm sitting on the sofa and writing on the laptop. My legs are too short to reach the floor, so I either sit with my legs jutting out straight like a child, or slump so my feet stand a chance of touching the ground.

As a result, a days productive wordsmithing can leave me with a terribly aching back.

Not for much longer!

I have purchased a HUGE cushion...it has already been dubbed 'the writing cushion', and I'm hoping that by pushing me forward and allowing me to sit straighter, it will make for heightened and painfree productivity!

So, fellow cloudies...what are your writng aids and why do you need them?