Just did it!

Writing Wednesday

I did it!

As promised to myself last week on this blog, I gave myself the time to rewrite the final chapter of my book In the shade of the mulberry tree.

I cut it fine (yes, it was yesterday afternoon...and early evening...) but with a little determination and only a small amount of procrastination on twitter (ahem!) I managed to forge out 1666 words. New words. Well, largely traditional words strung out in a new order. But nevertheless, the basis of a final chapter was put together.

It does raise more questions, of course. How should I end the book?

  A: Drinking G&Ts in the glow of the setting African sun?
  B: Getting on the plane back to the UK?
  C: Discussing plans for the year ahead with my husband?
  D: Getting on the plane back to Zambia?
  E: All of the above? Or none?

Looking back at that list I realise that I can't be doing both B and D at the same time; nor either with A, perhaps. Everyone always speaks about how difficult it is to get the first chapter right - and it is, for it has to hook the reader, never mind the publisher and agent! - but ending is also important. It is the final feeling you have as you put a book down. Do you want to be sad or happy? Despairing or hopeful? Immediately want more, or to have space to think about issues that have been raised?

As my tale isn't miserable but is, I hope, thought-provoking, I think a bit of warm sun will have to sneak in somewhere. And I enjoy chatting with my husband (no really, honestly: I do!) So now all I have to do is turn those draft 1666 words into something that makes more coherent sense, something with fewer adverbs (obviously!) and something that sums up the essence of my first year living in Zambia.

Perhaps you'll have to come back next week...

Today I weep

Today I weep.

My day started with discovering my daughter sleeping with her head at the foot of the bed. This only means one thing: she wet herself during the night and turned to sleep at the dry end. Unfortunately, aged 9, she is now too tall for this to be of benefit. So the day started with a change of sheets. Even this would not bother me too much, but I was greeted in the school playground by her saying she needed a change of pants. Looking down, I see it is worse than that, as her tights and shoes are sodden. Why oh why oh why? Clearly our current range of medicines to help control this are insufficient. But do I want to put my girl onto stronger drugs? Do I want to control this only by chemical input? Then again, do I want to spend my whole life washing her clothes and bedsheets?

Today I weep.

For my daughter has no true awareness of her developmental issues. I can shout and scream until I am blue in the face, but she has little comprehension of her peculiarity, that she is not doing what a 'normal' 9 year old would do. Last night I said goodnight and switched off the light around 9pm - later than I'd like, but not horrifically so. Yet at 10.30pm I could hear her stereo blaring out music from two floors down. When I run up the stairs (furious) I find all lights on, Jessie J blasting out and her reading books in bed, without a care in the world. Even my arrival didn't instigate shame, such as hurriedly hiding away the books. The eventual apology was hollow, as she didn't understand why I was cross.

Today I weep.

My daughter has gone to play with a friend. This is a good thing, but it saddens me that she was the 'friend of last resort', as her friend listed out all the other girls she had tried to invite for tea but who couldn't make it for one reason or another. 'There's no-one else!' she declared, much to her mother's embarrassment. Fortunately this washes over my daughter's head, as she is so delighted to go out and play. But I worry for her, for the loss of friends as they develop at a 'normal' pace and my beautiful girl struggles to progress. Increasingly she will be difficult to play with - she won't understand the intricacies of a game or the social rules that children develop.

Today I weep.

For she is the most beautiful girl in the world. She is happy and carefree. She is trying so hard. She has a love of life and a love of people that does not judge or dismiss or become bitchy. There is nothing physically or genetically wrong with her, no diagnosable issue such as dyslexia or autism, no behavioural problems: just a markedly slow development educationally and socially. She smiles and laughs and giggles.

I have so few problems with my children compared to many people and I give thanks for the wonderful gift they are to me. Today I am seeing the black cloud rather than the silver lining. And today - just today - as I bear her pain, I weep for my little girl.

A new start for a new year?

Writing Wednesday

I am ashamed to admit that my writing has taken a back seat over the last few weeks. I can excuse myself Christmas week itself, but in all honesty nothing much has happened since the beginning of November.

I have only myself to blame. I have read many, many blogs and books about how to write. One of the pieces of advice is: JUST DO IT! You cannot be a writer if you don't write. Ignore the phone, switch off Facebook and Twitter, tell your family you are going to be busy for a couple of hours and cannot be disturbed. Whatever it takes, give yourself the space to write.

I do not heed my own advice, you note. Nor others' instructions. Instead I let all the Christmas shows take over, my responsibilities to church overwhelm, my school governor duties take priority, work - well, that just seemed an endless stream of deadlines that thoroughly deserved the Night Out at the end!

But the worst bit of procrastination is because I know I have to rewrite my final chapter. As it currently exists it is more of an epilogue but - if I were to restructure it as that - my actual book would then end rather miserably and a little in mid-air. So a serious rewrite looms and, in the odd ten minutes I get to myself, the effort to actually do that is more than I can face.

Just do it! My resolve for the week ahead is to set aside a few hours - a morning or an afternoon - and just write. Even if the result is rubbish, at least I will have a basis to edit rather than a blank page.

Then all I have to do is pluck up courage to send query letters... *gulp* !

A little late...

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Yes, yes: I know my greeting is a little late, on both counts but my excuses are many.

1. It is still the season of Christmas (up to and including, I believe, Twelfth Night or Epiphany, when the celebration of the arrival of the Wise Men concludes the Christmas story). On this ground, I am not (yet) late in wishing you a Merry Christmas.
2. We may be a few days in, but I still hope that the rest of 2012 is good for you. Indeed, this year we have an extra day to celebrate in.
3. Who really gets time to blog in the run-up to and during the festive season itself? (Oh yes: those who are more organised than me. Oops.)

To maintain that festive mood, here are two photos of the Withenay family Christmas. Firstly, the tree.

(It looked even better with the presents under it.)

And then a picture taken in the garden a couple of days before.

Isn't it great to see the beginning of Spring before you've roasted the turkey or brought lumps of coal to people's houses? What topsy-turvy weather we have been having!

So, to reassure all my lovely blogging friends, I haven't disappeared off the face of the earth. We have had a lovely family Christmas, full of good food, parties, games, fun with friends and wonderful presents. Celebrations may now be over as school and work resume their humdrum routine but it will be a year of many happy memories.

I'd love to say that I have a list of marvellous, virtuous New Year Resolutions, but I haven't. Last year I managed a month which (on past form) isn't bad. If I can myself, my house and (spot where this all falls apart) my family a little more organised, that will suit me fine.

Here's hoping God richly blesses your year ahead, filling it with love, joy and peace.

When housepride flies out of the window (again)

I don't claim to keep the cleanest house in the world. In fact, I may be competing for messiest at the moment. There is paperwork everywhere, Christmas stuff lying around and general chaos. I tell myself that this is all part of the tidying up, part of making the house look better, but somehow that 'better' never arrives.

Despite my untidiness, this discovery when cleaning the kitchen floor (you see, I do some cleaning!) was rather a shock.

How did he get into my kitchen?

*runs off to check seals on back door!*

Read the label

It is a well-known fact in our house that nothing stays in the same place for long. Pick it up ... walk around ... put it down ... go somewhere else ... can't possibly find the object ever again. The biggest culprit? My husband.

So it was with my kitchen scissors. To cut a long story short (ahem!) my husband lost them.

I've learnt over the years to show a little generosity of spirit about such things, a little patience, to give it all a bit of time. After all, who knows when something may turn up (just as you put down the forms for the school trip, or the music for the trombone exam, or you favourite pen...) Eventually most items reappear.

But after nearly two months without the kitchen scissors (yes, I improvised a lot using sharp knives) I gave in and purchased a new pair - not least because I wasn't quite sure how I was going to wrap the Christmas presents.

I buy new kitchen scissors. I get them home. I read the packaging.

Remove packaging and cut tie before use

Now just how am I supposed to do that?!

In which I wonder about my sanity...

It is winter. It is cold. I need to wear socks and boots.

This is to be expected but, as I rummaged through the sock drawer this morning to find a pair of brown socks, I wondered whether I am I the only person in the world to only choose socks that match the colour of her boots?

Black boots, black socks.

Brown boots, brown socks.

You can't see the socks once the boots are on.

And the trousers won't necessarily match either the boot or sock colour.

Have I finally gone mad?