by admin | Jul 28, 2018 | A Good Liar, marketing, plotting, retirement, selling, structure, Uncategorized
Regular readers might have picked up from recent posts that I’m having a bit of a crisis about my writing and whether to continue. It’s not about whether I can write: I think I can, and have published some good stuff. Readers love my books and tell me so. No, it’s not about quality, it’s about commitment.
When I decided to write my first novel, about ten years ago, I seriously underestimated how long and how difficult it would be to finish and get it published. I thought I would find a publisher – wrong. I thought it would fly off the shelves – also wrong. Getting it into print, into bookshops and into readers’ hands was all more difficult than I anticipated.
I anticipated an easier ride the second time around, so I wrote another one, then another, and so on. Now my sixth novel ‘Burning Secrets’ is out, and although the process does indeed feel a little easier, that’s mainly because I’m no longer surprised by how much time it takes.
In the years since I started writing I’ve established a loving relationship, nested happily into my new community, and retired from my education consultancy. My life is happier and more settled than it was, but now I want to make sure that I’m pursuing more of my interests, without the writing becoming the cuckoo in the nest that pushes everything else out.
I’m probably thinking too much about it, so I’ve decided to stop deliberating for a while, enjoy the summer and then come to a proper decision. To help the process, I’ve booked myself into a four day writing course in September, away from home, with unfamiliar people, to let the right choice bubble up into my mind more clearly than it’s doing now.
It’s an Arvon course, which is some guarantee of quality, although as I’ve learned before, you’re still dependent on the skills of the tutors and and the commitment of the rest of the group. I paid a lot for one Arvon course that was not well led, and distracted by group members who seemed to have come for the entertainment and late night drinking. I spent the whole time in my own room writing. My mood was reflected in what I wrote that week – the darkest passages of my first book ‘A Good Liar’.
One of the tutors in September is the author of one of my favourite books – ‘The Pike’ by Lucy Hughes 
Hallett. It’s non-fiction, but such a great read that I’m sure I’ll learn from her. I just hope she’s a good a tutor as she is a writer. The components of the course look useful too – plotting, narrative voice, dialogue, and more. And no doubt there’ll be discussion about publishing, promotion, and other aspects of the business of taking a book to market.
My hope is that by the end of that week my mind should have cleared, and a decision about whether to continue will have materialised out of the current fog. It could go either way.
by admin | Jul 7, 2018 | author talks, Burning Secrets, creativity, Lake District, landscape, readers, retirement, selling, speaking, thinking, Uncategorized, West Cumbria
For what seems like the first time in decades, I have nothing much to do, think about or worry about, or plan for, or worry about not planning for – you know how it goes. No matter how many things you’re juggling, there’s still the worry that you’ve missed something vital that will scupper everything and it will all be your fault. Not familiar with that feeling? You are truly blessed.
Maybe it’s something to do with the weather, which has been unusually consistent, and not consistently grey and wet as it often is here. Day after day of dry, sometimes windy, sometimes a little cloud, but no rain. Not for weeks. The current daily routine consists of exercise, watching sport on the tv – cricket, World Cup football and now Wimbledon – occasionally seeing friends and relatives, and watering the garden evening after warm evening.
I do have the odd commitment, and ‘engagements’ will arrive quite regularly over the next few weeks as I do the usual round of libraries, bookshops and groups talking about the new book, and hopefully selling some. That means getting in the dusty car and driving, meeting people, talking to them, answering questions, signing and selling – all of which I enjoy. Once the routine is established I’m prepared, and it doesn’t take much effort.
Inevitably, people ask about my writing, what am I planning, when the next book will come out, and my answer is now always the same – ‘I’ll think about that after the summer.’ And I will. Maybe when the weather finally breaks, which will probably be just when the kids finish school, I’ll get twitchy and start thinking about the next big project. That could be writing, or it could be something else.
I have a perpetual urge to be doing, creating something, but there are other ways to scratch that itch. I’ll just wait a while and see what turns up.
by admin | Aug 23, 2017 | accident, slow writing,, retirement, thinking, Uncategorized
Things can certainly change pretty fast, especially when you fall down the stairs.
At around 1.45am on August 15th I was bouncing backwards down the steep staircase in my house. By the time I’d stopped moving and was lying in a heap at the bottom I’d torn my right shoulder ligaments and ruptured my left Achilles tendon, plus bruising and friction burns. The past week has been a blur of tests and visits to hospital and now I have a large boot, very like a long ski boot, wrapped tightly round my left calf, ankle and foot, where it will stay for several weeks.
I cannot imagine how someone without health insurance in a less enlightened society would access the expertise and care that has been so quickly been available to me at no cost, through the NHS.
The shoulder is improving, but using the keyboard can be painful and the physio recommends only 30 minutes maximum without a rest. And mobility will be an issue for 6-8 weeks while the big boot remains in place.
Being partially immobilised is – at its most objective – an interesting experience. Every movement has to be considered and planned cognitively, to find the most efficient and painless way of getting from A to B while protecting the damaged bits of your body. The processing as much as the physical constraints slow you down. Nothing can be taken for granted and done fast or automatically.
Clothes are an issue: getting trousers over the big boot is almost impossible, I hardly ever wear skirts or dresses, and the top half garments have to be donned without too much pressure on the shoulder. Even underwear takes time and care. And the key criterion is that all these necessary daily functions must be done without help. I have lived alone for most of the past 35 years and value being able to do so.
I know that many people have far harder challenges this to deal with all the time. My accident has brought temporary inconvenience and I understand how fortunate I am by comparison. Much of the necessary adjustment is in my head, to stay practical and positive and not sit around feeling helpless and old. And I’ll have to learn to ask for help when I need it, at least for the next few weeks, and not to demand too much of myself. I have no doubt I will make a full recovery. Being retired I have no work considerations or responsibilities to worry about.
Things happen. Unexpected events make you think, and jolt you out of assumptions and habits. In that sense dealing with the unexpected is probably a useful part of our human existence, as long as it’s not unbearably painful.
by admin | Jun 12, 2017 | retirement, Uncategorized
I’m in Winnipeg, Manitoba, at present, visiting for a few days. Over the past two decades I’ve been here dozens of times, three times a year for several years, in the fall, the deep winter and the very early spring, working with teachers and school leaders in various parts of the city and around southern Manitoba.
This will probably be the last visit, and I was in two minds about it. Part of me wanted to see again people I’ve worked with closely, seen in their schools, shared evenings with and many glasses of wine. It’s a couple of years since I was last here, and as the plane touched down yesterday I hoped it wasn’t a bad idea to return.
Going back can be difficult. Times change, people move on, the work we thought at the time was so significant may by now have blurred and faded, or been forgotten all together. New people are in the schools, new ideas in the air. Would they remember me? Would some say, ‘Ruth Sutton? Who’s that? What did she do?’ All that may be true, but I’m still glad I came. The city I’d seen so often in monotones of white and grey, snow on the ground, nothing growing, deeply cold and crackling dry, is now clothed in full leafed trees, stretching out towards the plains beyond. Balconies and porches smell of flowers, children play by the river and in the parks, the air is soft.
There’s a party tonight, a retirement and farewell party for me – the only one I’ve ever had – and I’m touched by the thought of it even before it’s taken place. So maybe coming back wasn’t such a bad idea. I used to be a teacher and an educator. Now I’m a writer, with five books already out and another ‘Burning Secret’ taking shape in my head. But I’m still the same person, and happy to see however many of my old friends and colleagues will come and say hello.
By the way, to hear more about the writing, here’s a link to a conversation I had recently, about all the writing and publishing I’ve been doing since my ‘retirement’. It’s quite long, but I think you’ll enjoy it.
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