The NaNoWriMo Month is here

 

Last year, I concluded that participating in NaNoWriMo would be impossible. I had only recently begun working, everything was new, and getting used to days dictated by work, family and household responsibilities had seemed too much. I was very certain that in a year I will get used to my new rhythm and be ready to participate. Ha!

Enter November 2023. 11 years since my first NaNoWriMo, which I completed every other year. NaNoWriMo has helped me to commit and complete. The intense month of writing had led me to other months of re-reading, editing, proofreading, formatting… Lock-down and NaNoWriMo are the two things that helped me on my way to not only be but also call myself aloud A Writer. Lock-down because I could write without interruptions of visits, travelling, children’s parties, and errands… NaNoWriMo because it is a good challenge.

Last year, I hoped to write a blog post a day and complete that. Impossible. Also, I hoped to get better at networking and promotions. No, didn’t happen either.

The funny thing is, I wasn’t that busy last November. It was just the adjustment from a homemaker and writer to a self-employed parent and writer. I am lucky, my work grew, I gained regular clients and I got busier. I am busy now. I don’t wait around, my diary is filled with appointments. And my other responsibilities and chores didn’t go away either, quite the opposite. So this November, I am in an even worse position to start the novel-writing month. Throughout the year, I didn’t master my fear of networking, marketing, and actually putting myself out there. I had a good excuse. This November, it will be my project. I will not do a daily word count. Instead, I will show up.

When I finished my first novel, I developed a routine of morning writing. I am a morning person anyway and I figured that waking up a bit earlier gives me an opportunity to work undisturbed, get writing done, and move on to my daily tasks with a good feeling of having achieved something before getting out of my pyjama.

I have great respect for people who will sit with their creative work late at night and plough until they really must go to sleep. I can’t do that. If nothing else, motherhood ended my evening activities. Evening classes, movies, dinners out, nothing is attractive enough to beat a cosy lying down in bed. As well as the early morning, in the early evening, when everyone is fed, dishes are done, and the child has been washed and read with, there is a small window where I can do something for myself – read a book, watch a movie or a TV series, anything. It took time to train my husband out of the expectation that I would watch what he wants and when he wants. He arrives at this stage much later than me. And because I like early starts, I have to go to sleep earlier, too. By nine o’clock, I want to be in the dark, with my eyes closed, thank you very much.

I can’t bring myself to switch on the computer and work at that time of the day. Evenings are tiring and I crave quiet.

Two years ago, I changed my routine and shifted my practice to early morning. Instead of writing first, I do my yoga and meditation first. Again, great. Whatever I do first in the morning is the winner. Because my practice had to be fitted into my day, I was worried that I would make it into a chore, or strip it to very bare necessity. Some days, I could only sit, breathe, and meditate for twenty minutes and felt that because I had had a long walk and had been active in the garden or around the house, it didn’t matter that I didn’t have more practice. I didn’t focus so well.

Moving my practice – the thing that is the very essence of me – to the prime spot of the first thing of the day was something that helped me when I began working. No matter what else happens in my day, I know that I have already practised. But it shifted the writing time to later. And sometimes, writing for the sake of writing – the NaNoWriMo style of writing – stays undone. I still edit, proofread, finish, and produce books. Book number four is on its way very soon. But new ideas are only glimpses in my head and scribbles in my notebooks. Their time will come. If I have learnt something in life it is that slow and steady is the way to go. We can want everything now, but it doesn’t mean that everything now is good or achievable or better.

So let me just get on with things. And you do your things with grace. All the best if you are chasing the word count this year.

Yes, I Am! (Solstice Musings)

 I am a writer. Every day, as I edit my fourth book, I see it as a reminder of the fact. I wrapped Edit 3 on the morning of Summer Solstice - how very special. This year, I have a rhythm and structure. I need it because I also have a day job. So finding time to work on my books (important but brings no money) has to fit into work (money) and housework (no money but I am also a house elf or ex-housewife if you wish), is a challenge. Plus dear child who mustn't be forgotten, and my yoga practice which is a part of me and can't be pushed aside, and my general well-being. Luckily, yoga and books are my hobbies and I have no friends. I also love being out, but my job sorts that out for me. I can somehow fit most of the things I see as necessary to do into my day.

I am freelancing, therefore I don't know how busy I will be and how much money I will earn, but to be working again, properly, is beautiful. And I talk about it endlessly. Whoever asks, I rattle on about dog walking, caring for animals, doing special courses on dog behaviour, etc. I am happy when I am with animals and the more I meet, the more I learn and the better I am. While out and about with them, I can think, I can talk without much worry and no dreaded small talk that I just can't do. They don't care.

The interesting thing is, I have been a writer for much longer than I am a dog walker and pet sitter. Yet I am not as able to start singing praise to my writing profession as I am to the 'official' one. When I stand by the school gates with my dog walking belt still attached (because when out and about, you need stuff at hand and free hands, too), muddy boots, and happy expression, I will happily chat about where I've been, what I've seen, etc. I will discuss dogs and their peculiarities. Cats and their moods. Little pets and their habits. I will go to meet pet owners, talk about what I can do, and be at ease. And I love it. This job is ideal, it has the right amount of interaction for an introvert and is a good prospect for a reliable person like me. People need this service and when they see that you treat their very important pet well, they will stay with you and you develop a working pattern. And you keep learning. And you can become something more but still be your own boss.

However, in the morning I arrive at the school gate after a session of writing (or an outline for writing to be done later in the day when other things take my time in the morning). The writer's 'hat' is not as easy to spot. As a title, it isn't as straightforward. I am a writer. Okay, where can I buy your books? Oh, self-published. Not real then. More like a hobby, right? And then I think about my stories and people thinking that they know me, reading my books, and realizing that perhaps they didn't know me. The idea that they wonder how much of the things I write are from my life makes me blush. Putting my face to my books is a challenge. But why? My stories are good and it isn't my problem what people think about them or me consequently. As long as a book makes people think and feel something, the writer achieved something, I believe. If a book stirs emotions, inspires people, and makes them recommend or gift the book to friends, the achievement is even better. But to take the first step, put me out there and push the book forward, that is difficult.

How do I  describe my books in person? I am capable to describe them in my blog or posts. How do I connect my person with the stories? These books are mine, I wrote them and made them into the books they are, from the first word on the empty document on the computer screen to the synopsis on the back cover. But for some reason, the idea that people will find out that I am the one capable of such achievement makes me shrink right back into my shell, lock my lips and be quiet. Which is the opposite of what a self-published writer should be doing, right?

I am doing my books a great disservice. I don't treat them right. If they were someone else's pet, I wouldn't be booked again to look after them. I just let them exist, happy that they are here, but don't let them spread their wings and find their readers. It is the hardest part of the job. Marketing. Self-promotion. I more or less quit teaching yoga because I suck at self-promotion. I knew what I was letting myself in for when I decided to self-publish. Of course, like many, I hoped that it would somehow work out. It won't. There are so many and many books - traditional and independent - that finding your readers is very very hard work. Some people are more suited to it. They know how to communicate online, aren't afraid to go face to face, and promote themselves with ease (or know how to hide their unease). Some people can afford help.

The writer is often a loner, a daydreamer, a person who is happy to spend hours on his own, crafting his stories. Most of us struggle to take the step. Every time I open Twitter, I see lots of people that manage it in a very admirable way. There is hope. But I suck even at online friendships... 

Ideally, I would be like Elena Ferrante - produce my books and stay in the shadows. But I don't have her publishing house behind me... So, I have to be my publishing house. For now, at least.

When I dream about winning the lottery, besides the mortgage payments etc for the nearest and dearest, I see hiring a proper publishing and promotion team for my books, giving them what they deserve and what they need. Not for money or fame, but for them. To do right by them. In the meantime, I will need to adopt a more caring and progressive attitude. I will have to create an emotional distance between me and my books and apply the same energy that helped me build a little job within one year. I can do it. I know how to work. The time is right. So, why, oh why, am I so very scared?

What Makes a Perfect Day?

 Little things mean more than the big ones. My child is growing up very fast and always measures her time from one big thing to the next - after Christmas, she began looking forward to Easter and her birthday, then will follow the summer holidays, Halloween, and back to looking forward to Christmas. All of it is peppered with school holidays, of course. I don't blame her, I was the same as a child. The big days seemed so exciting. I also thought that a graduation ceremony or a wedding are full of meaning and promise of change. So far, only one big day had lived up to that expectation: the birth of my child. Anything else was just a day...

Life is much more interesting in the moments in between the big things that are deemed important. Preparing for Christmas is much more fun because together with the things created for others and the anticipation of their surprise and the fun in planning a menu or finding an interesting decoration, there is the anticipation that goes flat very fast once the event itself occurs.

What I have learned in life is that the everyday little moments are much more powerful and meaningful and that putting too many expectations into certain things or people leads to disappointment. My best days happen without fuss and planning. The best thing is when I actually manage to notice that I had had a great day straight away. Sometimes, it takes time to know. But inside, I usually know. Only that when I was nineteen years old, bouncing through the hills in the Himalayas enjoying a trek to the Mount Everest base camp, I didn't realize how lucky I was to be there and do what I did. I knew that I was doing something that is the best - waking up every day to spend another day going forward, walking through nature in a wonderful land. I knew it was awesome. I wished I could have walking in the hills as a job so that I could do it every day. But I also didn't see it as extraordinary. I was nineteen. I thought that there was more to see, learn, happen, and experience. I lived from the transformational energy of the first special adventure for a long time and I forever know that my time in Nepal was indeed one of the happiest times in my life. Only when I am older do I see these moments in their true light as they happen, not retrospectively. Also, they don't have to happen in such a spectacular background.

Yesterday, I was home all day. After a few busy days, I was able to sort things that were being put aside. One of the major ones was finishing the first edit of my next book. But beside it were other little tasks like sorting out birthday plans for my daughter, menu for the Easter holidays, book reservations, some appointments, orders that were needed but could (and did) wait, laundry, putting away winter clothes and shoes, taking out spring things... Mundane, everyday things. But as I was ticking off the list knowing that my manuscript was being printed so that I can read it through and do some changes, I was feeling like I was having a great day. 

Do I look as if I am now lacking in ambition? I don't know. I had made walking my daily job, I am a dog walker, so the girl who was so happy in the Himalayas is still holding some influence. I knew back then that yoga and writing were important to me and they are still in my life, the major part of my life, really. But I also have a home and a family. And taking care of them is part of my life, too. I can't pack my bag and leave for two months. But I have somewhere to return to, someone who is there for me and with me. I didn't have it back then. Regarding happiness, I've found it. I've never lost it. I had learned that life is about the little everyday invisible achievements, about a break in the evening after a day of work, about the mundane, little moments. They build a mosaic that the one Christmas day or a lit-up birthday cake next to a pile of presents can't beat. The best thing is knowing that you are happy right now and allowing yourself to enjoy it.

Reasons To Smile

                                  

 I can't help but feel happy. Maybe it is because I had a good night's sleep. I had another one last week. Waking up knowing that I had managed to keep just sleeping throughout the night, that the brain didn't wake up enough to make me think, that I was comfortable enough to position myself properly, and that I feel good upon waking, is something I have learnt to appreciate with age.

But there is another reason. This is my time of the year. The time around Imbolc, the more mysterious festival in the calendar, is mine. It announces the slow waking up of the earth, the gentle stir that happens quietly in the background. My birthday is approaching, too. It is the more real new year's celebration for me personally. The wheel is turning. While after Christmas and before the new year I need to hibernate, keep quiet, and celebrate the New Year only in terms of stationery, the beginning of February is the time to stretch, smell the air, be out, look at the sign of life, smile, talk.. and be happy. I am more alive than during the darkest days of winter.

This morning, I was contemplating happiness. How it isn't seen as a natural state, but something that needs to be fought for, deserved, hushed, and guarded. If you are too happy you seem too extravagant, perhaps even ungrateful. But when you think about your average days in which the weather is okay, you are managing your tasks, and are reasonably healthy, you may notice that you are actually pretty happy. Sure, you have goals and plans and ideas in your head about how much better life could be if - (insert whatever occurs). But when you think about that average normal day as it slowly closes, you might just allow yourself to see that you are indeed happy. The little moments that you almost forget are often the happiness you remember only when it is gone. Ask any parent of kids who had recently moved out or any owner of a pet that had passed over the rainbow. We don't see happiness when it seems ordinary. But the ordinary little things in our lives are happiness. They have more meaning than the big, extravagant, and rare moments.

So, with this new Imbolc and my approaching new birthday, I am very quietly happy. I have a sudden urge to start clearing out the garden and check how the little buds are doing, I want to go and find what seeds are left, get whatever is needed, and start planting, growing, and doing. I organize things and think about little projects - something to knit or sew, I want to do things with my hands. I bake and organize the kitchen. And while I busy myself like that, my head keeps plotting. Because stories want to come out, grow, and materialise just like everything else.

This year, I managed to bring my book just in time to coincide with this special time. My book family is growing, I am now the author of three full-grown, published books. I am happily working on the fourth one. The characters are quietly moving into the vacated premises of my plotting mind. Being a writer is part of me, an essential part of me. I am feeling celebratory and happy because I stopped dreaming of being a writer and had become one that not only thinks up ideas, but writes them, finishes them, edits them, improves them, and publishes them.

Sometimes, I think I see signs in the little moments. Like when earlier this week, while the teachers were striking, I walked in town with my daughter. We went to look at the display of soft toys in the toyshop. She likes the little TY toys with their names and birthdays printed on their tags and usually takes way too much time checking them out. This week, as my book was freshly out, the first toy she had shown me was called Star - the title of my new book - and her birthday was my birthday. Of course, she had to come home with us. And how can I not be happy??

My Dear Body

Here is to another year of you and me. We used to be a great team. We've been through a lot. But nothing lasts forever, does it? Forgetting the little episode when you tried to get rid of me at the age of four with a burst appendix (clearly an unsuccessful attempt), you served me well. Until about after thirty. We were strong, flexible, dancers and yoga enthusiasts who could eat anything, didn't know what a headache was, and never had a problem falling asleep. Apart from hay fever, which in some years got pretty bad, we were golden.

Until. The metabolism slowed. The skin stopped being effortlessly great at all times. I realised that getting pregnant and staying pregnant wasn't a given. Sleep wasn't that easy. Not all positions were suitable to sleep in. Thoughts could become really dark when I didn't watch it. 3 a.m. thoughts were introduced to me... I could go on.

Still, we are trying our best. We figured out how to eat, drink and live our everyday life to maintain good general health. Some things we don't do anymore, other things we do more of. We can cope with almost everything. And we are still lucky, we are healthy and strong. Of course, I know that I will change. Besides that, I never was one of the women who want to look like she is in her late twenties forever. To be honest, getting older is liberating. Because we know ourselves better. We stop giving so much f**k about what other people think and listen to ourselves instead.

But I do hold a grudge. I do. Because I went through the first long pandemic and lockdown with a frozen shoulder, got over it, recovered, and thought all was well, and then what did you throw at me? A funny feeling in the other shoulder in the late summer. It was getting gradually worse. Being wise and being through it, I tried my best to manage it. But no, by October I knew exactly where I was heading. By November, my practice was again strongly affected, no matter how early I added all the physio exercises I could still remember. By December, I wasn't sleeping so well. Because there wasn't an easy way to get comfortable. And simply turning in your sleep? That can be forgotten. I have to prop myself up every single time... But it wasn't enough for you, was it? In the most hectic days of Christmas preparations, you also threw covid at me. Why not? The last time you did it was during the Easter holidays, I suppose you are trying out a new tradition, body, aren't you? Well, stop it. I am one of the last people who still cleans her hands all the time, feels guilty if accidentally touches her face, and never ever ever sneeze or cough without covering my face (didn't do it before the pandemic either, basic manners, just saying).

I am over covid, in a way it was OK to have it when I had it because I could just rest after Christmas and slowly recuperate. But the shoulder isn't improving fast enough, it is once again the slow, painful journey I've been already on. At least it isn't my writing and most used side and I don't overcompensate quite so much on the other side (is that the reason for suffering now?). So I am taking it one day at a time. And I still like you, my dear body, and wish us both a very good and healthy/healthier year.

On and On We Go

 The proof copy of my last book had arrived in the post. Nothing beats the feeling of holding the physical book in your hands. I can edit endlessly, make files, back up files, consider the work done, but the book itself is on a very different level. Even though it is not yet quite done. 

This is my third book and so far, the read through had always brought changes. First time, I played a lot with the cover itself. Second time, I was smarter with that, but still picked enough issues in the text. I also figured that no header means more space and less pages to print.

With my third book, my editing process was very organized. I have finally built a system that hopefully works. Proof will be in the proof copy read! To print the text and read it through on paper is an old trick that really works (and guarantees lots of printer-related frustration), but interestingly, the book print shows what even the A4 paper format print missed. Something about a real, physical book makes the little mistakes jump out of the page more. Because they don't belong in a book! Also, any blunder in formatting shows up nicely.

Reaching the end of bringing my third book out to the world reminded me that life is indeed going around in circles. Bigger, smaller, lapsing, stand-alone circles. Time is something that flows round and round, it doesn't travel in a line. Seasons, years, occasions, even fashion come and go. Year ago, I was winning NaNoWriMo with Star, working on the story every day, then I carried on through December, finished the first draft and while doing that, I had my first proof copy of Bodies to read through (I used so many sticky notes to mark issues with the text!). Once Bodies was polished and finished, it was published and I began editing Star. And now I have Star in my hands, going through the final stage of this project. Another cycle is reaching its completion.

One thing I have to say is: I will miss my characters. I like all of my books, they are very much influenced by what I have learnt, seen, and experienced, but somehow, Star and the other people from her story are very dear to me. Do I have a favourite? It feels unfair, like asking a parent which child they like the most. Impossible, but with an inner twinge. It will probably change once I start living in an inner dialogue with my new characters, but at the moment, I am a little sad. Maybe I will return to Star and her story. Why not?

I finished the first draft at Christmas and the feeling of accomplishmet was very much subdued by a feeling of loss. After so many early morning with Star and the others, I was lost. Besides, we are meant to be with our nearest and dearest at Christmas, so why were these characters over? Maybe I will have a finished, polished book by this Christmas. Hopefully, I will take the separation more easily, being a little more used to it. Besides, I will be ready to send them all out to the world, endlessly proud.

Writing all of this feels good. Three books finished. I am a real writer. Unknown, rubish at marketing, but real. I am making a very slow progress, but honestly, that is the story of my life. Things take time. I've learnt that much at least. Besides, number three has something about it that pushes me forward. Of course, three books bring much more confidence with them. We all could put together the one story we believe we have in us and publish it. Self publishing makes it possible. Two books are better, but still, it might just be an ego boost. Three books mean business. By the end of the second book, we writers (the self published kind) know how much work goes into the story. Writing a draft is only the beginning. Finishing the third book means that I am here to stay. Quiet and shy, very much on the outside of the amazing writing community, but here, claiming my place. And plotting my next book, of course!

November

 November marks the approaching cold season, count down to the end of the year, and, of course, NaNoWriMo. I am busy polishing off the manuscript that was born during last year NaNoWriMo. After a year with the characters, they are basically part of the family (in my head at least).

I was noting down ideas for the next project throughout the year, too. NaNoWriMo is ideal for that: putting the ideas together and shaping a story. First draft, mad creation, whatever you call it, knowing that there is a challenge to write certain amount of words each day is perfect for that. But, in all honesty, I knew I wouldn't manage this year. I participate every other year anyway and even though I was tempted, I had to be realistic.

This is my first year with a job of sort. I am freelancing, not working full time, but it makes a difference. I have to be more organized, more flexible with my time, and (sigh) my housewifing won't do itself. Besides, I am not putting much effort into networking and promoting myself in the working field and I am doing very very miniscule effort with promoting and marketing my writing.

So what if instead of writing I started the more difficult thing - talking, communicating, promoting? Wouldn't it be a challenge on itself? Much harder than the desired word count.

I was seeing myself writing and updating my blog every day, posting on social networks, researching all the possible ways of making people aware of my stories... Let's see. We are one week into November and I am hoping to finish and publish the first post of the month that was of course meant to be out last week. I had a hectic week, more work than usual and after ticking off all the tasks each day, writing was lacking behind. Only scribbled notes are a witness that my brain didn't give up. But I was also feeling proud and very accomplished. I have managed to do everything I had to, I did it well and I ended the week on a high note, because I was feeling good. Not exhausted, drained and in need of rest, but balanced and happy. Because I have made time for myself. I still woke up early every day, had my practise, took care of myself as well as the others, ate right... Isn't it easy to forgo all these little things in the pursuits of other goals?

So my plans for this very productive month (because what we don't do in November, creative-wise, we will truly struggle to accomplish in December) is to be as creative, open, communicative as I can, but also not to forget to keep things in balance. Yes, I want to sell books. But also, I want to be in the best mood and health possible. I won't have a chart on the NaNoWriMo website cheering me on, there will be no badges, but I hope that I will be able to reward myself with the knowledge that I have done the best that I could. That is good.