No time to blog, but I had to tell you I’ve just about caught up.
Only 3 days left. I might just make it!
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Category: Books
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NaNoWriMo Progress Update 2
Day 10 and – amazingly – I’m still on target. This is what it looks like:
This is what it looked like last year:
By day 10 I was beginning to fall behind.
I hope I can keep this up. As usual, I’m not sure I have enough to say to reach 50,000.
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NaNoWriMo Progress Update 1
Not yet three o’clock on day 1 and I’ve reached my target for today.
Wait a mo while I pat myself on the back.
But that was day 1. I knew exactly what I wanted to write, so I just went ahead and wrote it – not exactly straight through from beginning to end, because I never write like that. When I reached the end of chapter 1, I went back and padded it out. If anyone says that’s not how you’re supposed to do NaNo, I’ll say: hard luck, that’s how I’m doing it.
What about the other days? What’s going to happen when I get to the sticky middle and can’t decide how to continue? I don’t know. I’ll cross those stepping stones when I come to them. If I fall off, I’ll just climb back on.
In the meantime, I’m happy. 🙂
Hope you are, too.
Cock-a-doodle doo!
I don’t know what to do.
Nano starts in just a week
And my brain is made of goo.
See what I mean?
Here’s the problem:
I want to tell you all about my trip to Japan, about the things we did, the people we saw, the food we ate. BUT my mind and my notes are all in a mess, my photos are all over the place. I have a lot of sorting out to do first. And I’m still in limbo – half there and half here.
And that’s not all.
NaNoWriMo is only a week away and I want to do it again. I have part of the plot, but there’s plenty more to plan and research.
So I think Japan will have to be put on hold for a while, although I can tell you some random facts.
The trip lasted for 3 weeks and we were kept busy all the time. We saw temples, shrines, museums. We made our own sushi and chopsticks, and were shown how they make sake, paint kimonos, etc. We travelled on trains and buses, and spent a night with families in a village, so we saw how people live. We spent a night in a Buddhist monastery. We saw children and adults perfoming traditional and other music, dance and plays.
We spent three weeks with a group of Israelis – a feat in itself – and our Japanese guide, who didn’t know how to relate to us at first, but was friendly by the end.
Certain sounds are still ringing in my ears. Cuckoos and other bird tweets every time the pedestrain light was green. Arigato gozaimas – thank you – spoken thousands of times a day. And our guide’s “and then” used to join sentences, whether it fitted what she was saying or not.
Please ask if there’s anything in particular you want to know, and I’ll try and answer in another post.
This is the twelfth and last in a series of posts describing my recent trip to England, Ireland, the Netherlands and Wales, from writing course to school reunion and more.
During the whole trip, which lasted just over a month, the only serious rain I saw was in Swansea, where I stayed with J, a friend from school. In fact, the rain began falling as we crossed the border into Wales and lasted to the next day. But even there in Wales, in my experience the land of constant rain, it cleared up and got quite hot.
But as we wheeled our cases to her abode, the downpour got heavier. Perhaps we should have taken a taxi in the end.
The next day, after visiting the busy market, I had my first ever experience of a gym. J let me choose the class, and I decided on something with music. I had no idea what I’d let myself in for.
Steps. It’s amazing what you can do with a little bench. Up, down, step, jump, left, right. However exhausted you are, you have to keep going, because everyone else is. Of course, they were all used to it, and they were all younger than us. I think we both managed very well.
Two things I noticed, both connected to my folk dancing experience. One was that, on the few occasions I glanced at J, I saw she was having more trouble following the steps than I was. It shows I’ve learnt something in my 15 years of folk dancing.
On the other hand, the instructor mostly performed the exercises with his back to us. But sometimes he turned round to face us, and when he did that he performed the exercises the other way round, stepping onto his left leg when we had to use the right, and so on. It was supposed to make it easier for us, because that way we used the leg that was on the same side as his.
But I’m used to dancing in a circle, where this isn’t possible. I’ve got used to translating: when the instructor is opposite me, I use the leg that’s on the other side from his. I think I’m making this sound more complicated than it is, but the outcome was that I got confused trying to follow him when he was facing us, and preferred to follow the girl in front of me.
We also had tea at the top of the Meridian Tower, and I went shopping for a few things to take back.
View from Meridian Tower
Alone on the train back to London, I again had an opportunity to be a writer, this time using my ears. The first speaker, into a mobile phone, had a gorgeous, lilting Welsh accent. I think it’s the best English accent (i.e. accent of the English language) there is.
“All right?”
“Is that all right?”
“So I’ll see you then.”
“Bye bye.”
“Tara.”
Later on, back in England, there were three girls behind me. I observed them as I returned from buying refreshments. They were all slim, all holding smart phones. One of them had nail varnish out on her little table. Later, while I was sitting, one of them stretched her legs out. I saw black suede shoes with very high heels. I’ve never understood how women can wear such monstrosities.
I wrote down random things they said – the ones I was able to understand.
“I just got another email.”
“He’s nice isn’t he?”
“Would you want to do two 18-hour shifts?”
“I’m just doing my other hand.”
“Haha, oh my god.”
“Yeah, we would just go to another cocktail bar.”
“It just bothered me? And I couldn’t even work out why it bothered me? So much?”
Then there was the race across London trying to catch a train to Luton Airport that I missed, but it didn’t matter because I had enough time, and even bought and ate a final egg mayonnaise sandwich before boarding the plane that took me…
As the plane taxied to its stopping place, El Al played the song that goes: “So good you came home,” and I smiled, knowing I was finally…
HOME
This is the tenth in a series of posts describing my recent trip to England, Ireland, the Netherlands and Wales, from writing course to school reunion and more.
Three more nights with M1 and her husband, who always has interesting things to say – things that make me think afterwards.
One day M1 and I met up with another friend from uni and a friend of hers. We visited Wellington Arch, a landmark well worth seeing and one that most Londoners seem not to have heard of, and various memorials nearby.
Then we had a special tea in the Tophams Hotel.
(my fringe was covering my eyes by this stage)
In the evening M1 and I saw a musical: Chorus Line, which we enjoyed. We also enjoyed watching a couple of German guys in front of us, who took loads of photos before the performance, including photos of themselves with the camera held out in front. What do people do with all those photos?
The next day, I met some more writers: Sue and Gail, who I met for the first time last year, and Sally Quilford. Sally has published umpteen books, runs courses and has a busy life, so I was delighted and honoured that she found time to travel to London to meet us. After a fun lunch together, we visited the Pompeii exhibition, which was fascinating but tiring. Unfortunately, we were so busy chatting and touring that no one thought of taking a photo, so you’ll have to trust me that we really did meet.
The next day, on my way to yet another temporary abode, I met Cathy (another writer) for lunch. Then I went on to meet Gill and other members of her family, and to join them for dinner. Yes, meeting people isn’t good for the waistline. Fortunately, the trip didn’t do any lasting damage.
Next was the school reunion. This was my third school reunion. The first one was wonderful, the second much harder. What would this one be like?
This is the sixth in a series of posts describing my recent trip to England, Ireland, the Netherlands and Wales, from writing course to school reunion and more.
As I’ve mentioned, I met several people on this trip for the first time, people I knew only online. Of those, there was only one I stayed with: David Rory O’Neill.
I’ve been proofreading and helping to edit David’s books, which he has self-published after being told by traditional publishers that his books don’t fit any genre. I don’t understand this need to straitjacket books. Why can’t one book have enough variety to fit more than one genre? Is it just so that booksellers know which shelf to put the book on?
I digress. David is a prolific writer. He has published 12 novels and 2 novellas so far, and it sounds as if he has plenty more to write. I agreed to work on one book at first, so the fact that I’m still doing this shows how much I enjoy David’s writing. Naturally, David and I have got to know each other quite well through emails. That didn’t stop me from being a little apprehensive about this four-day stay.
From Cork airport, David and B took me into the city, where I was treated to a very knowledgable tour, and to a sip of Guinness, Ireland’s national drink, and taught my only word of Irish: sláinte (pronounced slahn-CHA), which means cheers, or as we would say at home: lehayyim.
Afterwards, we visited the town of Cobh (pronounced Cove) and saw, amongst other things, a fascinating exhibition about the Titanic, situated where the last 123 passengers boarded the ship on its first and last voyage.
The next day, we had a tour of many of the places that appear in David’s novels, and here I felt rather embarrassed. Because, while I enjoyed reading about all of those places and loved the way they blended in to all the stories, I didn’t remember much about them. The real interest, for me is in the characters and their stories. The places are important, but they didn’t remain with me when I finished reading.
On the following day, B took me to Limerick University, where young people were taking part in a festival of traditional Irish music and dance. They sounded and looked very professional. We were even treated to a solo harp performance from a girl who was practising outside. Then we went for a walk along the River Shannon.
(smiling despite being scared of falling back)
Another day of touring the beautiful countryside and all too soon it was time to leave. On the way to the airport, David and B were going to show me the historical part of Mitchelstown, but that plan was hijacked by an interesting stranger.
As we stood beside Kingston College, a row of Georgian terraced houses, wondering who lived in these houses now, this stranger started talking to us. He told us how he and his wife had escaped Zimbabwe/Rhodesia amidst awful scenes and found refuge in one of these houses, along with several others from that country. Then he invited us into his house and showed us pictures of the place they’d had to leave.
So I missed my tour of Mitchelstown, but gained a fascinating first-hand insight into a very different part of the world.
What a lot was crammed into four days! I will remember the special time I spent in a beautiful country, hosted by two lovely people. Thank you, both!
This is the fifth in a series of posts describing my recent trip to England, Ireland, the Netherlands and Wales, from writing course to school reunion and more.
This is where I get to tell you something amazing.
I met Nicola Morgan!
Yes, I did. Really! She had 45 minutes free before she had to catch her train back to Edinburgh and she spent them with me. And she is even nicer than her Internet persona. I was a little nervous at first, but she put me at ease and the minutes flew by. Wow! Thank you, Nicola!
After that, I had planned to go on to meet the travel writer, Jo Carroll. That didn’t work out because she had scaffolding problems. Although I’m really sorry we didn’t get to meet this time, it would have been hard to be ready in time. As it was, I had time for a proper night’s sleep the night before (needed even more after I was scratched by the cat), and I was able to return after meeting Nicola to organise my suitcase, leaving behind stuff that I could meet up with later, before making my way to Staines. S, whom I knew only through folk dancing, had very kindly invited me to stay with her and her husband. One of her daughters was there, too, and they all made me feel very welcome. The heatwave was still on, so we ate outside in the garden. The evening air was pleasantly cool and the food delicious.
The following day, I used the time I had alone to go for a surprisingly beautiful walk by the river. I say “surprisingly” because I lived near Staines for three years while at university and never realised it was worth visiting. Since I was alone, I was able to jot down notes describing the scenes, making me feel like a real writer. I even wrote the rhythm of a cuckoo’s song:
(with apologies to Frederick Delius)
At least, I assumed it was a cuckoo, but I’m no bird listener.
In the evening, S took me to her folk dancing group in Slough, which couldn’t have been more different from the one I’m used to. There were about seven people, instead of over a hundred. They were all very friendly, but obviously the atmosphere was very different – much more calm and sedate. And at the end I didn’t feel as if I’d had much exercise, whereas usually I struggle to go up the stairs. Still, I recognised most of the dances and had a lovely time.
To round off their wonderful hospitality, S’s hubby drove me to Heathrow’s Terminal 1 early the next morning (but not early for him) for the next stage of my trip.
“In my next post, I’ll be eating the top layer,” I wrote at the end of my last post. But, well you can’t really eat a sandwich like that. Or rather, you can but who would? So I’m going to bite into that delicious egg mayonnaise, wholewheat sandwich, even though this post is about the top layer.
The Arvon writing course. A five-day residential course in an old house in the heart of Devon called Totleigh Barton. The topic was: Fiction and Experience. Wow! Where do I start?
I met some lovely people. First of all, there was the couple who run the centre, Claire Berliner and Oliver Meek, and their assistant, Eliza Squire. Then the two tutors, Jean McNeil and Ben Faccini, and the guest tutor, Anjali Joseph. And also the other fourteen students on the course.
In the mornings, the tutors spoke about various topics and set us exercises, some of the results of which we read out loud. In the afternoons, we did our homework – reading and writing, had tutorials – one each with each tutor, and made dinner when it was our turn. In the evenings, there were more sessions.
The spontaneity required for the exercises wasn’t always forthcoming from my section of the long oak table. But at other times it helped me to learn things about myself that I hadn’t thought about before. The socialising was also rather an effort, but I did my best, outside in warm sunshine on the grass, far away from noise.
I also learned a lot about writing, about some of the things writers have to think about, decisions they need to make.
Everyone involved put a lot of effort into the course and made it a wonderful experience. If that’s what all Arvon courses are like, I heartily recommend going on one – or many.
I remained in Devon for Part 3 of the Social Sandwich, coming soon.
P.S. Today, on this special birthday, is when life begins, I’ve decided. Up to now, it was all practice.
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Sally Quilford is Fifty Today
No, I’m not giving away any secrets. Sally has announced this herself. In fact she’s giving away over fifty writing/book-related prizes to celebrate, so do hop over to Sally’s blog if you want a chance of winning something.
Having met Sally on my recent trip, I have to say that she doesn’t look anywhere near fifty, but I’ll take her word for it!
Coincidentally, I have a special birthday coming up in exactly two weeks. Sixty! I can’t believe it myself.
Back soon with the Social Sandwich 🙂
Miriam Drori, Author 