Writing is a dog's life, but the only life worth living.

Gustave Flaubert

Helloooooo, how are you all getting on?

To supplement my lovely writers group, I enrolled in a writing class at Glasgow Uni, taught by Alan McMunnigall. It's great. Every Tuesday, I go along and we critique a couple of student pieces and focus on various techniques used in writing. The one I'm particularly interested in is “close narration”, which is what I use in my novel. Alan recommended this book to us:

There are two chapters on Gustave Flaubert, whom Wood thinks novelists should thank for modern narrative the way poets should thank spring! To this end, I downloaded Madame Bovary (free on the Kindle, by the way), and found it a thoroughly enjoyable read.

My novel rewrite is sitting at 67,260 words. I'm perilously close to where I want to be (compared to where I was, at least. I'm under no illusion as to how much work still needs to be done). I'm keen to impose what I've learned in class, but also hesitant in case it ends up reading like a cluster of creative writing exercises. As long as I let my characters continue to do the talking, I'm hopeful it will read well.

Meanwhile, I've been gladly, irrationally distracting myself with short stories, writing class and even my food blog, in some kind of Bampot drill in avoidance. I'm currently reading “A Disaffection”, by James Kelman and this passage sums me up to a T:

'But there was little to trust in reason. Fuck that for a racket. A method of approaching the thing, perhaps, was to say he had been subconsciously avoiding all thought on the subject because of a growing awareness that it could prove momentous, all too fucking momentous.'

In other words, I'm shiting myself about what to do with it once it's all done, dusted and wrapped up in a bow, ready to be subject to other people's scrutiny. I'm not one to take the nip at a critique, I promise you I'm not. But this... this piece on its third rewrite has been the work of many a weekend, lunch break, spare hour and post-work library trip for over a year. I'm filled with the crippling self-doubt and paranoia you'd expect any author to have at this stage.

On a lighter note, I've been obsessed with the New Yorker Fiction podcast series of late. Have you heard it? An author reads the work of another author and they discuss the work with the New Yorker fiction editor, Deborah Treisman. I thoroughly recommend the following podcasts: 

• Roddy Doyle reading "Christmas Eve", by Maeve Brennan
• Monica Ali reading Joshua Ferris's story "The Dinner Party"
• David Means reading "Chef's House" by Raymond Carver

You. Are. Welcome.

So what's new with you? Give me all your gossip.

Take care

Catherine x

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Writing is a dog's life, but the only life worth living.

Eyeball strain, dry heaving and the stuff of fairy tales

Helloooo how are you? Thought I'd pop in for a gab and an update!

The writing is coming along nicely. Still going to the writers group and getting excellent feedback, which has really changed the way I edit my work. I now print as I go, and set about it with my trusty highlighter and black pen. As it stands, I'm 41k into my rewrite, though I still have 2/3 of my previous draft to wade through, slice and polish. I'm not putting my head through my monitor yet; it's still exciting. I spend most lunch hours working on it, as well as frequent trips to the library after work (I get more writing done there than at home!). It's hard work, but it's a learning process.

I've become alarmingly obsessed with reading. The Paisley Library has an eye-watering “book sale” section, where I picked up these beauties on my last trip. Have you read any of them? Which one should I delve into first?:

Despite my purchases, I can’t stop checking books out of the library; it’s an unstoppable compulsion. I last checked out The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, which was an astounding read. I was tempted into reading it after the glowing review Ian Rankin gave it on Radio 4, when discussing the book he would never lend to another. The way Muriel Spark used the past, present and future tense concurrently... well it just shocked my tiny little mind. From this slimline masterpiece, I discovered a writing technique called prolepsis, or flash forward. Not sure if I’ll ever use it, but it's lovely to see a classic novel defy the confines of the "writer rulebook".

After that, I read Roddy Doyle’s The Snapper in one day. One day! It was too absorbing to put down. I didn’t even have my dinner. I turned wrinkly in a tepid bath, reading for hours, which I’m pretty sure has caused some kind of eye strain damage. It was worth it.

Next on my list is Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. I listened to an interview where he described that toilet scene in such graphic detail, I dry heaved at my desk. This sick puppy wants to read the rest.

I’ve become something of a Twitter addict of late. I spotted this tweet from the Scottish Book Trust. Have you read about the author Samantha Shannon?:

Isn’t it just the stuff of fairy tales? If it wasn’t such a hopeful and optimistic story, I’d be sickeningly jealous (alright, I am sickeningly jealous)! Read the rest of the article here.

I'll stop gibbering for now. Tell me your news, what have you been up to?

By the way, I'm going to start taking part in the #WordlessWednesday phenomena. I feel I should explain that now, since I will be wordless... on Wednesday.

Take care

Catherine x

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Eyeball strain, dry heaving and the stuff of fairy tales