The Longest Journey Begins with the First Step

As local authors sharing the same publisher, Rob and I used to meet in Piccolo's coffee bar to discuss our latest writing projects. The idea to start a writing group was Rob's. When pondering a suitable title we decided upon 'authors' rather than 'writers' as we wanted members of our group either to have written, or be in the process of writing, a book. We wanted them to be serious. In short, like us.

So we were delighted when Annie announced a couple of weeks ago that the novel-writing course she has been attending in Evesham had inspired her to get cracking on Chapter One of her first novel (title as yet unknown).

This is a momentous occasion for any author. I am firmly of the opinion that writing those first few vital sentences is the hardest and most daunting part of a task that will demand a great deal of commitment for a period that may last for years.

On Tuesday January 11 2011 at Tony's house in Kidderminster, Annie read out the first draft of Chapter One. Set in the inter-war period, the story begins with Isabel's arrival on an island in the Hebrides to begin a new life as a teacher.

Weakened by seasickness following the a stormy ferry crossing from the mainland, she is met by the curmudgeonly and ungracious Francis Murdoch and taken by horse and cart to a church to witness the funeral of a two-week-old child.

The fog, the looming cliffs, the waves, the ungracious Murdoch, the grieving congregation and the tiny coffin conspire to evoke a sombre atmosphere, but the chapter ends with a lift in the mood. The sympathy and friendship offered to Isabel after the funeral by the dead child's mother is as if the fog has lifted to reveal blue sky and sunshine.

We congratulated Annie on her ability to create an atmosphere and describe scenes. Rob, who has 'been there before' and is also embarking upon a new novel, suggested that the action might begin at the funeral. Isabel's sea voyage, arrival on the island and journey to the church could be revealed by a series of flashbacks.

This idea met with general approval. We debated the pros and cons of using Scottish dialect in direct speech and whether or not the island should be fictitious - or even if it should be Scottish at all. Tony pointed out that a fictitious island that wasn't necessarily Scottish would save a lot of research into culture and history and keep Annie out of the minefield of reproducing dialect that would sound genuine to a Scottish reader.

Annie - who, like the main protagonist, is a teacher - stated that she wasn't yet sure where her story would take her. Nevertheless she appeared already to have plenty of ideas about a plot. I have found from personal experience that a story can generate a momentum of its own. One new idea often inspires several others, taking the narrative in all kinds of unexpected directions. We advised her to just get the ideas on down on paper and revisit them later. Rob added that imagining the characters as film actors is a good way of ensuring consistency of description.

I left the meeting wondering where our various ongoing projects will have taken us this time next year.

Eerie tale on a cold night

The frozen River Severn at Bewdley - December 2010

The start of the coldest cold snap in the history of the UK gave us an excuse to start our final formal meeting of the year with a glass of mulled wine. Suitably lubricated, we bounded into our customary discussion of the Bewdley and Kidderminster literary scene and the vagaries of the publishing industry at large. Soon the conversation was in full flow - in contrast to the nearby turgid River Severn which was already showing signs of the first freeze across its width in living memory.

Under 'membership news' (we adhere to a strict agenda in the SVA) Tony reported that he has been given support from his employer to do research into the role of creativity in mental health care. He is keen to develop this into a proposal for a non-fiction book and is very excited about this project. Annie has written the first 1000 words of her novel which is based on a fictional island which has a history similar to that of St Kilda. Both successes were greeted warmly by the other members.

Tony read the first half of an eerie tale called A Game of Chance. We have come to recognise Tony’s writing style which closely follows his speaking patterns. I have come across only three writers who have the ability to make me hear their voices when I read their works: Garrison Keillor, Clive James and our Tony. Not bad company to be in.

We all have our suggestions for smoothing Tony’s prose or using ‘better’ words but then we ask ourselves, would ‘improvements’ ruin his colloquial style? This was the question we discussed at the end of the meeting.

Before then we all agreed that A Game of Chance, in which the narrator meets a dead person who is reading a yet-to-be-published copy of magazine in a railway carriage, had us all on the edges of our seats. We voted that Tony should end the suspense by sending us the second half of the story.

So the formalities for the SVA year ended. But seven days later the members met again to enjoy a festive dinner at The Old Pack Horse in Bewdley. Wine and good cheer were in abundance and there were none of Tony's ghosts to disrupt the fun ... as far as we know.

Shame On Me

Tears of Remorse was the name of Linda’s piece but are also being shed by me for my somewhat late contribution to the blog. So sorry folks, too many mince pies and general lethargy. However so vivid was the description in Linda’s piece that I can still remember much of it now, over a month later. Linda’s description of Madame Bonnet ‘displaying her meaty thighs and tomorrow’s washing’ was appreciated by all. As was the description of, ‘a wondrous sky of graphite, teal and petrol, like a peacock’s feather.’ In addition Linda’s heroine Lily is certainly demonstrating herself as a force to be reckoned with.

Chris highlighted Linda’s flair for description but also requested that she added more dialogue. Rob felt that the piece was full of humour and humanity. Tony’s praise was whole-hearted when he said he couldn’t wait to read the whole book as each section had been comic, touching and evocative.

Rob did request the English spelling of gaol as opposed to jail. He also gave a solution to problem of adding dashes to prose. Sometimes automatic formatting means that they appear as hyphens and are not long enough. Rob suggested using the minus sign instead which does not appear to change length willy-nilly. Thank you very much Rob.

Five misfits in search of literary recognition

Annie was having a bad day, Rob was nursing a cold and Linda looked tired. At least I wasn't on-call this week (had I really suggested at the previous meeting that we dress up for our Christmas meal: Rob as a parasitic worm, Chris as Karl Marx and Linda as a budgerigar? Oh, what a strange delirium being on-call induces.)

This evening Chris was reading another extract from his magnus-opus-in-progress Karl Marx and Careful Driving. Snuggled in a nook of the Black Boy pub, we all listened intently as Chris shared a little of this dazzling fusion of political philosophy, travelogue and autobiography: "... Stem the flow of ideas and the effect upon society would be similar to the effect on the Volvo were I to lift my foot off the accelerator. Although for a while the wheels would drive the engine, the vehicle's momentum would eventually be overcome by resistance in the form of wind, gravity and the friction of the tyres on the road surface. In the absence of a supply of fuel to the combustion chambers, or of fresh ideas to the debating chambers, antithesis no longer confronts thesis to produce synthesis. Whether mechanical or political, revolutions cease and progress comes to an end..."

Karl Marx and Careful Driving draws on Chris's experience as a self-declared misfit French graduate who becomes a driver of 38 tonne trucks. Chris writes: "... Some of the animosity I encountered was almost certainly due to the perception that I was different... people with a degree in French didn't become lorry drivers; they became teachers, translators or civil servants ..." As a French graduate who became a mental health nurse, I'm saying nothing.

The Blossom and the Bee

The standard of blogs for the Severn Valley Authors becomes more witty with each post, from 'Five Writers In Search of a Home' to Chris taking out his frustrations on his computer.

We continued in this vein at our last meeting when Tony suggested that we dress up for our Christmas meal: Rob as a parasytic worm, Chris as Karl Marx and me as a budgerigar. I know I should follow Twitter but really.

Rob introduced us to the (revised) first chapter of his new book, 'The Blossom and the Bee'. The book begins with a bang - literally - with a clever description of the destruction of the twin towers. I loved the surreal parallel between the aircraft plunging into the tower with 'a stray dart embedding itself into the soft panel of a loudspeaker'.

The opening sentence was enigmatic to say the least and completely lost on me, although everyone else nodded in admiration when Rob explained its meaning. I still don't entirely understand 'I am the life form spawned when something that does not exist fails to come into being - the positive product of two negatives'. Rob wants his readers to be kept guessing which is something I enjoy in a book but I think that most people will give up if they find it too challenging.

In this first chapter, Jon, the main character, witnesses the destruction of the World Trade Center, forcing him to think about his own mortality and spirituality and the answers that his Jewish background may be able to offer. Later on in the story, Jon meets Willie Keel 'a survivor of the Holocaust death camps'. Both Jon and Willie are suffering from survivor guilt which Rob describes as 'Like a parasitic worm'.

It will be exciting to see how this story unfolds and how Rob manages to manoeuvre through the many twists and turns of a complicated plot.

Talking of twists and turns, we will be back on the road with 'Karl Marx and Careful Driving' next Tuesday at the Black Boy. I look forward to seeing you all there.

The Ninth Step

Apologies for the lateness of the blog. Having been woken up at 2 a.m. by the usual drunken morons yelling in the street, I got up at 4 a.m. on Saturday morning with one of those 'sleep-deprivation headaches'. After spending over an hour attempting (and failing) to send a press releases about the Tenbury talk to the Tenbury Wells Advertiser, I did what any reasonable human being would do. I threw the computer onto the floor.

Accordingly I was unable to write this Blog on Sunday because the computer screen was cracked. They should make the bloody contraptions stronger so we can regularly throw them across the room with out necessitating expensive repairs. I am now £100 poorer - but I have a computer with a new screen and enhanced memory that allows me to send emails with press releases attached.

The Severn Valley Authors have found a new home, 'the snug' in The Black Boy pub on Kidderminster Road. We reunited on 5 October to trade the usual insults and discuss Annie's short story entitled 'The Sign'.

News: Annie has enrolled on a ten-week novel-writing course at Evesham College and is thinking about setting her first novel on the island of St Kilda. Tony announced that his article on the therapeutic value of writing has been published in the British Journal of Wellbeing, so I'm thinking of submitting an article on the therapeutic value of throwing a computer across the room. Rob's entry for the Bridport Prize, an annual competition that attracts some of the best writers in the country, was shortlisted in the top 100 out of 6,000 (see the entry on Rob's blog entitled 'Close but no Cigar' (http://robertronsson.co.uk/). So congratulations to Annie, Tony and Rob.

Annie deserves congratulations too for her short story, an insightful, perfectly structured and thoroughly researched tale of a woman's escape from the brutality of a drunken and violent partner that was inspirational rather than bleak. Rob drew our attention to the expert build-up of tension as the narrator makes preparations for her escape while her partner snores upstairs. Linda's suggestion that the title should be changed from 'The Sign' to 'The Ninth Step' met with universal agreement. Tony's concern about the authenticity of the narrator's voice led to a general discussion point. How, for example, does one write a narrative from the point of view of a child? And if we wrote dialogue as we truly speak to each other, it would be unreadable. The art of writing lies in the author's ordering and interpretation of events and of the interaction of protagonists rather than an exact reproduction of them.


Annie has entered 'The Ninth Step' for a competition. I have little doubt that it would be accepted (and paid for) by a women's magazine.

Five Writers in Search of a Home

The wind from the north, channeled by the valley’s sides, funnels into a gale and rips the leaves from the trees. The leaf litter swirls like torn betting slips on a deserted racecourse until a shower matts it into clumps. Then the frosts come and the clumps sparkle as the moonshine breaks between the scudding clouds. Surely, autumn is the cruellest season to be put out on the streets.

But this is what has happened to Severn Valley Authors. The advent of a weekly Tuesday night quiz at the Arches means we are to be evicted from our meeting room. Commerce trumps art.

So in our final Arches meeting it was fitting that our very own master of ‘wistful’, Tony Gillam, was reading the second extract from his three-part work, The Softness of Heads. In this part the hero graduates to junior school, goes to a Hallowe’en ghost reading, has a bath and discusses with his older brother the merits of watching the Lunar landing on their Gran’s colour television.

Not the most gripping material, you may think, but in Tony’s confident hands the accuracy of the reminiscence and the way he prompts sparks of recognition to flash in the reader’s mind made this an enthralling follow-up to part one. How about this for a heart-tug: ‘At playtime I stood in the playground and ate the Lincoln biscuits which Mum had wrapped in a piece of wax paper torn from the loaf of Mother’s Pride.  She worried that, on these cold days, I might get hungry before lunchtime.  I felt the crumbs in my pocket, crumbs of mother’s love, wrapped in mother’s pride …’

We all congratulated the Garrison Keillor of Kidderminster on this one.

Chris was absent with man-flu (Get Well Soon, mate) so Tony was spared a forensic examination of his comma-splices and on this occasion the discussion focused on the subject of ‘voice’. On the one extreme Linda feels that it is impossible not to inject hindsight and experience into the supposed voice of a seven-year-old and that a reader would be foolish to expect the voice to be 'authentic'. On the other, Rob thinks that the writer needs to be consistent and if the piece starts in the naïve voice this should apply all the way through unless the writer signifies he is breaking out of it. Tony remained tight-lipped on whose advice he will take when he looks at The Softness of Heads again.

In other news: Linda and Tony reported on a writers’ networking event in Worcester they had attended with Chris on the previous Saturday. Annie is awaiting news of a recent submission to Mslexia and Tony circulated a copy of his article, Time to Write the Next Book which appeared in the British Journal of Wellbeing.

Severn Valley Author's is thriving now but, after an Autumn on the streets, who knows what may become of us.