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I am writing

I am writing-seventeen

There are a number of book events scheduled this year. All subject to planning and travel arrangements. Each one is an opportunity to meet readers and share my work. Generally, these are really exciting and I have travelled up and down across the country; usually with my mum or a soul sister in tow as they’ve been my glamourous assistant.

I’ve not been doing these events very long, but I’ve certainly learned a lot by going to them. I’ve been to events where there sixty authors and beyond, as well as smaller events, with a third of that number. There are themed ones, and events where I’ve probably not been the best author for the job. There have been events which are genre and multi-genre; these have seen a massive diversity of readers.

I have largely found events to be welcome. There have been events where I might have been the only brown author, but this is changing, albeit slowly. I know that there lots of brown and black authors in the indie universe, it’s a case of where does one find them and are events accessible and open.

I did go to one event, where one reader took one look at me, at my books and walked off. Charming, is what I thought as I watched them walk away. I simply wasn’t their company of tea, and it was barely concealed.

Largely, readers will say hello, how you doing, what do you write. There are warm conversations, I share what I write and readers may take a risk. On the other hand, there are some book events that are huge, feel very closed shop and as though you have to be part of a club to get in. This can be off putting, and feeds the less than, imposter syndrome way of thinking. Events that have been around for years and gave a very specific focus. Not so much a fandom. In my experience fandoms are lovely, welcoming and people connect.

I’m looking forward to this years book events, each one feels like a mini adventure,

I am writing

I am writing-Two

There was some writing yesterday. A well as a bit of organisation of writing projects. There are a number to look at.

It’s not easy to pick up a notebook, pickup where I might have left off and hurtle off at full throttle. Some of these have been sat stacked for nearly a decade, others a few years. I tend to write things down with a full head of steam. The Muse gets titrated and emptied; it all feels very hopeful. Alas, one is human and with that energy depletes.

I also never throw any writing away. I choose to come back to it at another time. This does then lead to an inevitable log jam of books and ideas. However, this does, in my opinion at least, stave off writers block a little. I have had the ideas, these have been decanted. I can go back to them, sometimes with a fresh set of eyes and have another crack.

So I have inventoried and made a vague plan of what to do over time. Each book tends to be written over a year. Typically, I start on the 6th of January, Epiphany. A good a day as any to have a bright idea. To aim for a finish on New Years Eve. Not all projects might take a year. This does depend on how long I would initially like them to be. Padmi’s Christmas Carol took a week to write. Devan Coultrie can take up six weeks. I once wrote a script for a short movie in one morning. I hasten to add, these are only ever the first drafts. I do not profess to be perfect. Not by any length of chalk. All depends on a work/life/creativity balance.

Previously, I mentioned that I would be attending book events later this year. I did post those, for information.

Book events are a really interesting part of being an indie, self published author. I get to meet new readers, readers who have decided to invest in my books; I also get to adventure across the country. Mama F or a soul sister usually accompany me and act as my glamourous assistant. I’ve been very lucky to have gone to events in Montana, USA and then across all corners of the United Kingdom. Should we get to Cardiff, then yes, I will have covered the whole of the sceptred isle.

It’s not easy reaching readers, promoting work and hoping that there will be positive reviews. In fact, I have had my fair share of one and two star reviews. These can be soul-destroying and horribly demotivating. This has been on my mind quite a bit over the last year, it’s very difficult to shake off the feeling of being diminutised. Alas, I’m trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I won’t be everyone’s cuppa tea. My books will find people, and there are readers who invest and take things from the Figments of my Imagination; reading that, is always lovely.

This year, there is a full ticket of events. Only a couple pencilled in for 2027. Nothing yet, for 2028. The future is yet to be determined.

Books, writing

ten years…this year

Ten years ago, I decided to write a book. A book based upon this blog. I even took all the pictures on my phone. My first book, the yellow one, was an interesting entry into the world of self publishing. The Yellow One and the Green one, remain two of the most popular books. (all right, the reviews for the green one, say otherwise.)

That was how my writing journey started. I was new, naive to the whole world of writing and especially that of being a self-published Indie Author. A lot has changed since then. There are certainly more books, there have been lots of book-related adventures too. Writing books set in Montana, has led to adventures there. There lots of book adventures scheduled for this year. I am going to reflect as these will continue in the future, and what other avenues I might need to consider about making sure my stories are out there for readers to find.

I’ve learned a lot of the self-publishing indie universe, about books and the challenges that come with writing and marketing. The market is huge, diverse and there stories for everyone about anything. There’s a lot to reflect upon in approaching ten years this summer.

I don’t profess to be perfect, or a rock star, for that matter. I am eternally grateful whenever a reader chooses to pick up a book and invest in it. I’ve lots of notebooks, lots of stories; all waiting for me to attend to them.

Let’s see if these actually happen.

Taking stock

At a loss for words

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At this moment in time, I am at a loss for words.

Ordinarily, be it at work, when blogging,  writing; I could waffle. I daresay, I could probably waffle for England. The hitting of a payload, a torrent of words and inspiration, does tend to be hard to stop. I experience it as un-brookable sensation, my brain is aflame with my handwriting only just keeping up with the daydreams wanting exit my imagination.

Words tumble;the whole thing is a emotional, psychological cascade. A torrent of things that might not have even been in my consciousness. To this day, I can’t read bits of Fragments, I remember my own pain.

In stark contrast then, is the barrenness of not writing. The overwhelming swirling of tumbleweed and screeching carrion birds in a desert.

I do have a list. I have a stack, in fact, of notebooks; each one has a list of things to write for that particular creating. So it’s not as though I have a block, as though The Muse-whatever form that creature takes-and I have deserted each other. The Muse has done what needs to be done, and gone off to where ever they are needed.

It is the impetus, the bounce and flow, the mojo that has gone.

At this moment in time, it’s actually difficult to look a the books. The ‘to-write’ lists make no sense to me. They may as well be written in a different language.

I think I need a rest.  Life has, after all, been rather busy.  Six books, a Bollywood wedding, a diploma in therapeutic counselling are all going to have an effect. As is not being in a stable teaching post. I have done, experienced, been part of one hell of an adventure. It is impossible for me to negate any of that; it has made me the woman, the person, the author that I am.

The diploma is now over-Just waiting for the certificate!  I am also thinking, about what the next phase of the counselling journey might involve. No idea what is happening on the teaching front; the end of the summer, would mark ten years as an educator.

That in itself, is special. I want to make it that far! Teaching has also been a journey in it’s own right.

I do feel a loss; as though I should be doing something, However, there is that small voice. The tiniest squeak, that is saying no. Something isn’t right, something hangs in the air; writing is not what I want, need,to do at this moment in time.

This, is voice, that I need to listen to. I also need, somehow, to accept, that the writing is paused. This is horribly difficult, when it has been a part of me for such a long time. I’ve enjoyed it; writing really is a facet of me. The thought of writing rubbish-whatever that might be-also crossed my mind. It’s been dismissed a couple of time. I want to value what I write, I want it to have some importance.

Self-care is the big thing here. To look after myself, nourish the elements within that have become depleted.

Who knows. Perhaps the words will come back.

Eventually.