joannafaye

This week I've finished reading Anthony Swofford's Jarhead and have to say it's much better than I thought any war literature could be. Perhaps that was an oversight of mine but I was genuinely suprised to find that Swofford's book has a voice that I can relate to. At times the story can be dramatically heartbreaking but is also humourous, especially when we are given an insight in to what the soldier would like to say to his superior but cannot. The pace changes between second person, directly addressing the reader, which is mostly in the present tense and first person past. I think maybe this reflects those memories that Swofford can remember vividly compared to those that he is reflecting upon with a less clear memory of. I also found the ending intriguing and interesting to contemplate seeing as Swofford leaves the military a bitter man with resentment against war, although it was always his dream to serve at war. I wonder if we all end up bitter about our pasts and the friends we've lost in whatever way, but seeing this from the perspective of someone who lived through war, an experience I can only ever imagine, gives an interesting account of a different way of life and makes you value what you take for granted. I think Jarhead will be a huge inspiration to me as I continue to write my Kat story and think about the kinds of values I want to portray and also in the respect that Swofford's autobiographical nature of writing does not paint him as faultless, something which I have set out to achieve with Kat from the start.
  
So since last time I've done a little bit more work and here is what I have so far. Again, it needs to be edited meticulously so please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors that you are bound to find! 


Kat Continued:

As I drifted off into my own world of thoughts and philosophies about how the world works, I didn't notice a group of three girls sit down at the table opposite mine. Only when their conversation reached a rapid and excited pitch did I break from the seclusion of my own mind and inevitably begin to eavesdrop. I say eavesdrop, but it was one of those conversations that you just can't help overhearing, so perhaps it would be more apt to say I was forced in to listening. Then again, perhaps I just don't like to admit I was eavesdropping.

The two girls sat across and opposite from me were brunettes who looked like they'd co-ordinated their wardrobes before they came out. Both wore blue v neck t shirts, although different shades, and denim skirts, also of different shades. The third of the party was a pretty blonde girl who wore a deep red, long sleeved top that I noted wasn't of the v neck variety and black trousers. As their conversation progressed, I decided that she was the most tolerable of the three.

“Yeah well I heard that she was so drunk she passed out and then, then - ”

Brunette One interrupted Brunette Two with “then they tried to bring her round like, but like, they just couldn't!”

Both brunettes turned to the pretty blonde for her contribution to the gossip. “Well, I didn't hear anything about it except that she left.” She said, with an uncommitted shrug. The mindless brunette duo went back to discussing rumours. “I heard one rumour that she had to move away because of 'issues'” One said.

“Ooh sounds interesting!” The other squealed in the delight that only women seem to take in other people's lives and particularly misery. “Spill! What 'issues' were they?”

The blonde leaned forward and spoke unexpectedly. “Personal ones, I heard. The kind that no one will ever really know about!” She sarcastically attempted to mimic the over excited tones of her lesser minded friends to show her disinterest in their mindless conversation that was really nothing but speculation.

I stopped listening around that point, already decided that the brunettes were idiots and the blonde had some sense, except for the fact that she chose two morons as her travelling companions and presumably friends. I was not interested to know the story of the person being discussed and speculated. It makes me angry that people talk that way about other people. I mean, if this girl had problems, who's business is it? Evidently the elite v neck twins with no decent life experience on which to draw or relate to other people's misfortune. I glanced out the window and tried not to think about human nature and it's unfairness as the train stopped to pick up and drop off more passengers. When I turned around, the trio had gone, just as unnoticed as when they arrived.

 

Insert modified details of travel to station with extra passenger in taxi – older man talks memories of the west. Perhaps used to be or family used to be jester.

 

I look up at the magnificent structure of my new home, Carew Castle.  It's maintained it's castle-like appearance to a point but now there are proper windows instead of the small but practical slats that castles usually have in their towers. Now those are long forgotten in favour of double glazed windows that open at the top. The front door to the castle is a little way up a path from the main road, and seeing as the weather is dry, I told the driver that I didn't mind walking. Just as I begin to regret that choice I'm faced with the front doors of my new home, above which are letters that read 'Carew Castle - Open to Lodgers'. It's meant to look like old fashioned writing and it's all bronzed over but it still manages to add an air of modernity and elegance to an otherwise quaint and historical statue. I stand for a moment, gaping so it would seem, as the man from the taxi ride overtakes me and jests about how simple city girls really are. I smile back and think to myself of the semi detached three bedroomed house back home where I grew up in contrast to the majestic castle where I now live. I can't call it home until it feels like a home, and so I step through the door to meet a middle aged lady at a desk. She sits reading a novel and it is only the sound of my suitcase wheels that alert her to my presence.

“ Hello?” She smiles with a fake air of pleasantries and I'm immediately inclined to dislike her. Give her a chance, I tell myself. If you don't want to make enemies, you shouldn't be so judgemental. I exhale slowly and force a smile back at her. “Hi, I'd like to check in,” I tell her.

“Name?” She replies in the abrupt fashion that is either a successful attempt at being dismissive and rude or just her way. I've yet to decide.

“Kat Briggs,” I introduce myself and she merely nods her bespectacled head and hands me a key. Thanking her reluctantly, I step in to the lift, my luggage in tow. I guess I'll just have to wander the corridors until I find room – one glance at my keys – 37.

The lift only goes as far as the third floor, and since my room begins with the number three I think perhaps this is a good and logical starting point. I run in to Mr Jovial from the lift in the corridor and he asks my room number. “Thirty seven's to the left. In the tower, you are,” he tells me helpfully and I'm glad that he doesn't offer to help with my luggage. Chivalry can be nice, but not when you're trying to be a career woman and something tells me that Mr Jovial may have the knack of coming across ever so slightly patronising with his lilting mocking tones and jolly intonation. On the other hand, maybe I'm too quick to judge. Cities do that to you.

My room turns out to be to the left and up a narrow staircase. It's the kind you usually find in castles, that spirals around inside the tower only these have been renovated so that the stone isn't so crumbly and there is a sturdy handrail to save luggage, or me, from collapsing to embarrassment. Room 37 is only about twenty or so stairs up and I turn the key in the lock. Startled, a maid emerges from the room and I'm unimpressed by a rural business's ability to get necessities done on time. If a busy city centre hotel can clean it's rooms for hundreds of guests to check in on time, then why can't this quiet lodging do the same? The maid apologises and smiles sweetly and as she does I note the lack of age in her face. She must be sixteen, but a young sixteen, I decide. She holds the door open for me with one hand, the other clutching a basket full of cleaning supplies. I thank her and before I can decide if I'm supposed to be tipping her for cleaning, she scurries off. I think nothing of it and sink down on to my comfortable bed.

I take a moment to look around my room and familiarise myself. The room is cylindrical, which gives it an individual quirk that I decide I quite like. My single bed is placed just underneath a double glazed window, and I wonder if this window is one of the ones I looked at earlier from outside. I have a wardrobe placed on the other side of the room, next to a dresser with a chair and large mirror. I can see that it's supposed to resemble the kind that ladies from the middle ages would have supposedly had and I smirk to myself at that, thinking about how tame women back then were. I don't think I would have gelled particularly well with society those days, my independent nature going against the entire principles of 'thy shall serve one's husband' that ladies were expected to conform to back then. I have a bedside table with a lamp and a picture mounted awkwardly on the cylindrical wall, of the sea. I like that, and I wonder if this room was purposefully given to me and if all city girls who book in to the castle are given picturesque scenes of the coast in their rooms. I doubt it. Mrs Dismissive on the desk downstairs, who I find I dislike much more than I like already after only one brief encounter, doesn't seem to put too much thought in to what she does. Unless it's a front and she's actually the kind to over-think stupid little things like whether her name should be Mrs or Ms since her husband left her or she's actually a mastermind behind some covert military operation waiting for smugglers from the coast to book a room so that she can alert the authorities and get a pat on the back. Rolling on to my side, I decide that I'm being ridiculous. I've no idea of Mrs Dismissive's marital status and her involvement with the military is a product of my overtired and over travelled weary mind. Whilst considering options for what the true story behind the desk clerk's life could be, I drift off into a blissful and undisturbed unconsciousness where I remain until the middle of the night, or morning if you prefer.

Either way, I wake at two thirty am and wonder where I am for a second. I can hear no traffic, an unusual sensation for me and quite an unsettling one until I realise that I'm no longer a city dweller. I switch on my bedside lamp and considering that I've no neighbouring tenants to think of, I begin to unpack.

Of my three pieces of luggage, I choose to unpack the suitcase first. I'm not sure why because all my essentials, like clothes, are in my holdall but then again two thirty in the morning is not the time to be making rational choices. So I unzip my poor old suitcase, who I bet is relieved at the prospect of being empty after all his hard labour, and begin to fill Room 37 with my belongings. I've a small stash of books to read for leisure and I pop these in the bottom drawer of my bedside cabinet. Similarly I've a stash of make-up but I think this is best suited in one of the drawers of the old fashioned dresser. My laptop finds a home on top of that dresser and with some difficulty I manage to discover a second plug socket hidden behind the wardrobe. My radio is positioned next to my lamp on the beside table, along with a tiny square alarm clock that probably came from a pound shop somewhere. After about ten minutes, it's ticking in the quietness of the room begins to annoy me so I take the batteries out. Mobile phones have replaced clocks anyway, I reason to myself, and stow the clock away in the top drawer of the dresser along with my first aid box that my mother insisted I take with me 'just in case' (in case I have a headache whilst needing to bandage my ankle and cutting my hand in the treacherous countryside that holds so much more danger than the city). Whilst I'm reminded of my family I look at some of the 'good luck' and 'congratulations' cards that I've been given. There's one from my nutty old Gran babbling on about how I'll have to remember to pop back home for a cuppa tea and biscuit with her and how she's expecting a phone call to say I'm settled in and enjoying my new job, which doesn't even begin for another few days anyway. My parents have written sickly sentiments about how 'their little girl is growing up' and how proud they are and how brave I am. Personally I think they're making a huge hype over a tiny thing. Everyone's got to grow up some day, and everyone has to find a job. That's another of the world's little quirks, unless your aspirations amount to watching daytime television whilst you wait for your dole money to come through. Mine don't, so I don't see any other options really.

The sentimental cards don't upset me or make me emotional or any of that. I think it's too soon for that and maybe I won't start to feel homesick or emotional until this new room and new place feels like home and I'm made to think about what I've left behind in terms of loss. Maybe it doesn't have to be that way though. Why can't I have two homes? Perhaps that's greedy of me but it's not unreasonable to have two places where you've built memories and feel fond about. In that respect, places are just like people themselves.

Enough musings. I put my cards on the top of my dresser, just to the left of my laptop. They decorate the room and it feels a tiny bit more homely now that there is, in some small sense, a reminder of family. Thinking about it, I'm sure I brought some photos to put up with me, so I turn back to my battered old suitcase and root through the remaining belongings to find them.

As I do so, I hear footsteps from outside. They're quiet, as though someone is walking in slippers rather than shoes. I hold my breath in hopes that this will somehow help me to hear better, but there is no need because a few moments later my bedroom door is opened. I must remember to lock that from the inside, I mentally note and curse myself for being so careless. In wanders the cleaning maid from earlier. She shuts the door behind her, a polite girl, I think to myself, but what the hell is she doing letting herself in to my room at – I glance to the beside table and forget that I stowed my clock away. Maybe I'll get that back out later, I think, and I reckon that it must be at least three o' clock, if not a little bit later.

“What're you doing?” I ask her, a note of panic creeping in to my otherwise calm and steady voice.

“Nothing,” she replies, and sits down at my dresser and begins to brush her hair with my hairbrush. This takes the piss a little bit, so I tell her as much and she just looks at me with a confused look on her face that makes her seem more like thirteen years old than the sixteen I estimated for her earlier. “There were snakes,” she tells me in all seriousness. “Snakes in my room, at least three of them.”

I'm not sure what to reply to this. Is she mad or are there actually snakes lurking around the castle? Whilst I evaluate her claim for a moment, she gets up and wanders back out of my room in the same self assured manner that she came in. I'm not sure whether to lead her back to her room or not, but I think, she made her own way here so she must know her way back, and leave her to it. I decide she must be a sleepwalker and think nothing more of the incident. Living in the city you get used to a lot of strange things, and strange people for that matter. One of my university house mates had been a sleepwalker and whilst it was slightly alarming to hear her claims that there was a man in the garden when it first happened, after a while I learnt to leave her to her crazy ramblings because they never ended up to be true and it was usually down to some wacky programme or horror film she'd been watching before bed anyway. I wonder if the cleaning maid has been watching a documentary about snakes, or is just extremely fearful of them, and then I wonder how old exactly she is and decide that next time I see her I'm going to ask her.

With that decision made and my bedroom door safely locked, I soon forget all about the incident and get back to arranging photo frames on my dresser, bedside table and windowsill. There are photographs of me and my parents from when I was much much younger, more recent photographs from last Christmas of me, my parents and my Gran with some distant family members whose names I couldn't recall. These got placed to the right of my laptop along with a photograph taken after graduation of me and some friends that studied English language with me. On my bedside table, in favour of the too-loud clock I placed a photograph of me and my five house mates. It was taken on holiday last spring on our Easter break before our final exams, when we had all decided it would be a great idea to go camping. The trip had turned in to a bit of a disaster when we discovered one of the tents was broken and all had to cram in to what was meant to be a two man tent for the entire week. Our luck didn't change much seeing as it rained for most of the holiday, in true British fashion, and on the way back Liz's Vauxhall Safira broke down in the middle of a long stretch of motorway that was rather inconveniently nowhere near a service station. Afterwards it became a bit of a running joke between the five of us but at the time, being stranded by the side of the motorway waiting to be rescued like damsels in distress by some beefy AA worker with a truck was not particularly amusing.

I think about my house-mates and wonder what will become of them, and where their lives will take them. Responsible Liz, the Safira owner, should by rights become extremely successful but I wonder if her good natured-ness and laid back spirit will let her down when competition gets tough. Crazy Becky, art student extrordinaire with different coloured hair every week and a mish mash of clothes bought in various charity shops that only she could ever pull off to look fashionable somehow, will probably end up working with people. I can't imagine her being stuck in some office and she was always the outdoors type so I decide she might one day become some sort of outdoorsy campaigner or something like that, that'd suit her free spirited outlook. One of the other girls I used to live with was a Chinese exchange student whose real name was something beautiful but unpronounceable, but to us she was Li. I think it was short for Lianne, her chosen English name, but it might have been a shortened version of her birth name. Either way, she was very academic and clever, especially in languages. She always had a love of travelling and so I decide that she's going to work on a cruise ship. She'd love that. I smile as I think of the lives I'm planning out for my friends and make a mental note to message them when I have the chance. We parted on very good terms and always said we'd keep in touch, but does anyone who ever says that keep it up and if they do, how long for? I decide I'm going to make a conscious effort to regularly message all five of them – Liz. Becky, Li, Sadie and Alice. With memories and laughter floating around my mind, I drift off in to a peaceful and undisturbed sleep.

 

The following morning I'm awoken by the blinding sunlight streaming in through my window. I yawn and roll over, burying my face in the pillows until I realise that the sunlight is still streaming in and I'm still awake. I sit up and remember last night's events, the maid with the snake phobia and the vague memories of a dream I had to do with my old house-mates. I decide that today I'll try to find that maid. She intrigues me. She seems young but so worldly wise that she can't be any younger than fourteen. Still, the curiosity in me wants to know what sort of life brings a girl to be that way. She seems to have grown up so young, and whilst I think people need to toughen up, I can see a small child within her that craves for the nurturing that all children deserve.

I make a mental note to message my old friends too. It's been a few months at most and we're all leading separate lives but that doesn't mean we can't still talk. Sometimes the best of friendships are forged between the most unlikely people, or so I reckon.

Bravely, I venture out of my room and down to the lobby where Mrs Dismissive sits regally, her head tilting up at an angle so that it looks as though she is literally sticking her nose up at me. This amuses me and gives me the confidence to approach her and ask, in the friendliest of tones, 'Excuse me, which way is breakfast?'. She sits up with a sharp jolt and looks flustered. I smile at her politely, enjoying her discomfort. I'm sure there is an amused twinkle in my eyes because she simply points to her left and fixes me with a cold stare for about thirty seconds before saying 'To the left, Miss Briggs' in an equally icy tone. I thank her cheerily and make my way towards what must be the kitchens, wondering if the maid with an affiliation with my room will be working this morning.

As I walk in to the kitchen, which is set out much like a school canteen, I see Mr Jovial from yesterday, and he's waving at me to sit with him. I don't want to seem rude so I choose an apple from the counter, receive a scowl from a matronly looking cook who stands behind a counter full of cooked goods that she's obviously prepared, and make my way over to Mr Jovial.

'Morning lass! How was yer stay so far?' He asks and I find my sceptical self thinking that it's a weird question, seeing as he's been staying here too.

'Good morning! My stay's been fine, a good night's sleep after a lot of travelling. Think that's what I needed. How about yours?' I reply in a friendly tone. Mr Jovial seems like the kind to respond well to friendliness and make you feel extremely uncomfortable if you're unfriendly.

He doesn't reply for a few seconds, and I glance at him to see that he's suspiciously eying me as I bite in to my apple. Uncomfortable, I smile at him encouragingly.

'Aye, my stay was fine lass,' he tells me. 'But I've heard some strange things to go on in Room 37.'

'Strange things?' I probe. If my room has a reputation, I've a right to know. Besides, this could be something I could write about, something that could contribute towards my new publishing job.

'Well,' he begins promisingly, but a sharp look from a wide female sat across the table forces him to change direction. 'If you've not encountered anything, you must be a lucky one. Or perhaps they are just rumour aye. You know what old folk like me are like for myth!' He chuckles throatily and excuses himself from the table. Finishing my apple, I leave too but not before noticing the woman across the table and making a mental note to remember her. I get the feeling she knows something, and that's something I'm not supposed to know. If there's anything that spurs me on, it's being told I can't, so her attitude that I can't know something really rattles me. I add two more tasks to my to-do list. Find out who this woman is, and probe Mr Jovial, whose name I really should discover, for information. Something tells me he'd let slip more information than Wide Lady would like him to.

With that, I head out to Tenby town to pick up some essentials for my room and just to get my bearings of my new home. Armed with a tourist map and a road map I head off and enjoy a quiet, undisturbed stroll.

As I meander across a field I make a mental check list of the things I want to buy in town, more to pass the time than because it's necessary. I mean to get some sort of kettle for my room and a mug and probably a mini fridge that I can keep essentials like milk in. I try to imagine my room and think of what I'd like there. I really want to add some colour to it, to personalise it a little bit, but I'm not really sure what would look nice and match what's already there. I picture my room, but all I can see is stone walls, the kind of stone used on the outside of the castle. I can picture the sleepwalking maid in my room. Random. I'm probably too tired and jet-lagged, if you can be said to be jet-lagged from travelling by road that is, to think straight, and besides, I haven't been here long enough to recall my home perfectly.

Coming back to reality I take note of where my legs have wandered in my mind's absence. I'm on a road, a town road by the looks. Hmm, perhaps my legs instinctively know the way to Tenby. Clever legs. Houses in different colours line the sides of the road and as I walk I see some faces come in to focus. A group of children wander past , laughing amongst themselves as they re-tell stories from school. In the distance I can just make out a group of girls, perhaps about my own age or a little bit older. They remind me instantly of the gaggle from the train and I wonder if I'll hear similar conversation from this group as they pass me on the street. An elderly lady is in her front garden tending to her plants, so I smile at her and she smiles back. People here are so much friendlier than they are in the city! I look back at the street and see no-one. The group of girls must have taken a side turning or perhaps they live on this street. I wonder what it would be like to live on this street. All of the houses have names like 'Elder Cottage' and 'Grove Place', pretty sounding countryside names. I wonder what my name would be if I were a house here. I think I'd be something like 'Oak Lodge' or 'Cedar House'. 'Cedar House' sounds much better.

The line of houses comes to an end and I realise I'm practically in the town of Tenby. I aim for the old wall that runs through the town, one of my favourite features of Tenby. It's kind of vintage and I like the reminder of history there, never to be forgotten that there once stood an epic castle in the midst of the town. Things like that stop places getting taken for granted. If I had to walk through a castle arch every time I wanted to visit a shop or a café, I'd think more about the town's history. It's nice to think, this town had a life, as did I, before we met each other. On the other hand, maybe after so long of walking through said castle arch to visit said shop or café, I'd eventually forget about history and take it for granted. I do it with my own home town. I barely even notice the castle in the city centre any more, and I've never thought about it's history. Maybe I should.




So that's all I've got so far. I need to go over it a fair bit because I'm not a hundred percent convinced of it's consistancy but that will come after many corrections and read overs. In the next week or so I aim to be finishing Sophie Kinsella's 'Shopaholic Abroad' which is also written in first person present tense and continuing some more with Kat. Let's see where her story will lead her next! 

 

 

I've been reading through some of the authors that I mentioned last time and I've found them really  helpful with regards to my own work in first person and present tense. It's been a bit of a challenge and I tend to find that when I do sit down to write my story I like to have a good few hours free so that I can really get inside Kat's head. So here's some of what I've written so far. It needs editing as yet, but this is a rough draft

So, I'm sat on a train on my way from my home town, Cardiff, to West Wales. I'm a university graduate and after studying English language for three years I've managed to land myself a job at a small publishing firm in West Wales. Smart career move? Probably not, but I'll take it.

Maybe I should start from the beginning, how it all began. As a child, I visited Tenby and it's surrounding areas frequently. It's always been one of my parents' favourite holiday destinations and consequently, I fell in love with the serenity of the countryside. Having grown up in Cardiff I've always been surrounded by the hustle and bustle of city life, with the constant noise of traffic and rush of people. Learning that just a few hours away there existed a haven away from all of that, where all you can hear at night is the occasional cricket and scurrying wildlife, and you can see the sky clearly, free from the city's illumination, was a discovery that stayed with me.

Holiday after holiday I discovered more of the surrounding areas and became more familiar with West Wales in general, and grew to love all of it's little curiosities away from the main centre. I love being by the sea, a trait that I think I might have inherited from my father, and so Freshwater East and West are a few of my favourite places to visit. The sea has a calming effect, as does the entire atmosphere of the countryside, but I've always felt an affiliation with the ocean.

So the years went on and my love for West Wales remained. In university, I studied English Language. I wanted to work in publishing, and my efforts and aspirations led me to stumble across a small firm in Tenby. And so my career began.

Sat on this train there isn't much to do but think. It was just over a week ago that I received that phone call, offering me my dream job. It's Friday today, and I start on Monday. This weekend's for moving in, settling down and probably thinking too much. It's just as well, my mind is clearest near the ocean.

Over the last week all my worldly possessions have been squashed in to a suitcase, a holdall, and a rucksack. My supportive parents waved me goodbye at the station and promised to keep in touch and visit. My friends scattered across the world after graduation, each following our own paths after sitting in the same university lecture halls for the past three years. Time changes circumstances, and circumstances change times, but I suppose that's the way the world works. It's finally time to make my own way and become fully independent in a place where I am currently unknown.

That's the scariest part. I grew up in Cardiff, so it's always been home to me. Every street corner and hidden short-cut is familiar to me. Uprooting from twenty one years in a place where I've built memories and friendships is a difficult venture, but I've never been one to back down at any challenge.

That's all I'll post for the moment, although I do have considerably more written down. So that's the very beginning of my story, and I think from that you get a fair idea of what sort of person Kat is. In the meantime I'll carry on writing and editing and post some more up soon! 

Last time I wrote that I needed to work out what minor events, such as who Kat meets and how many ghosts she speaks to, are going to occur in between the major events. I was thinking about this, and as I'd already written a fair bit before I really knew where my story was going, I thought I'd try to edit that to what I want it to be rather than throw away all the effort I've already put in. It's just the beginning really so Kat's on a train and she reaches her new home, so not too much had to be changed. However, after I edited that piece, I thought about taking a different approach to my writing.

Usually I'll meticulously map out exactly what it going to happen and when. Generally that works, but I thought, why not break the mould with Kat and try something new? So when i edited, I added in quite a lot of minor events and found that for this particular story it seems to work to just sit and write, rather than plan beforehand. It might sound a bit daunting, and to be honest I'd be lying if I said it wasn't, but seeing as I'm writing in first person and in present tense, impulsive spur of the moment decisions about Kat's journey seem to be working well. I think it fits with Kat's fiery impulsive character ans whilst it might mean that I go in to detail about people who may never end up being important to the integral story, I think it's truer to life, because more often than not we pay attention to people who don't end up being important in the long run. So that's the approach I'm taking with Kat.

It can be difficult to just sit and write in someone else's voice, and so I've been on a bit of a mission to find other authors who write in a similar style. So far I've come across Stephen May, Sophie Kinsella and Anthony Swofford. Although none of their books are the same genre as my story, I find it helpful to read as I get to see how other authors tackle problems like character development when you only have one view point to go by. I find writing this blog helpful in itself, because obviously I'm writing in first person here and I'm writing as I think with no pre-planned events to describe.

So at the moment I'm happy with the way my story is going and I'm enjoying trying writing in a different style and in a different way for me personally too! 

After much changing and re-thinking ideas, I've finally got a definite idea for my story. The story will follow Kat, moving from Cardiff to West Wales to live in a future version of Carew Castle, where she rents a room. Kat can see ghosts and they talk to her about their memories and life. All of the ghosts she encounters talk to her about having to find someone, so she is pulled in to a mystery about who needs to be found and why. I've got the ending mapped out as well but it's meant to be a bit of a twist in the tale so I won't say too much.

At the moment I know the general direction so it's just a matter of filling in theblanks and trying to bulk out my skeleton of a story so far. I need to decide how many ghosts Kat is going to communicate with or whether there are going to be a few central ones or a variety of them, as well as what characters Kat will encounter in real life. So to speak, I have my beginning, middle and end and now I just need to work out what minor events are going to occur in between these major events.

So that's all I have to update with, it's quite a short post this week! 

Now back to working on my story!

Yesterday I finished reading Avix Nixon's 'A Tenby Lifeboat Family' and here is my review of it.

Avis Nixon's touching account of life in Tenby begins when her father, Alfred Cottam takes a job as at the Tenby lifeboat station and the family are uprooted from London to Tenby. Tales of her father's rescue missions are aided by informative resources to ensure accuracy, whilst personalised with her own vivid memories and deserved hero worship of those that risked their lives to save others at sea.

Nixon skilfully relates her childhood thoughts and views in a sophisticated and philosophical manner, and in doing so mixes the naivety of children with the wisdom of age. Throughout the book, Nixon recalls various people and events. We follow the lives of her five older sisters and one younger brother as their family struggles through poverty and the second world war. The author spends her time carelessly wandering around Tenby with her friends and sisters, eager to learn and explore, enchanting and impressing many of the adults they encounter including headteacher Ossie Morgan and elderly neighbour Mrs Gibbons. As well as documenting the family and neighbours who are dear to her, Nixon re-tells events from a child's perspective, unquestioning and accepting of changes to her surroundings and life. Perhaps the most notable change inducing event told here is that of the second world war, where Nixon's eldest sisters and father were called upon to perform duty for their country in one way or another. Taking it all in her stride, she accepts the changes in society and perhaps more so in hindsight than anything else, appreciates the way that those left behind to cope shared what little they had and rallied around to support one another through a difficult era. The Cottam family are not blessed with material wealth or riches but are, from the author's point of view it seems, blessed with good friends, a close family, and kind neighbours and strangers.

However, the story recounts several tragic events. As well as those lost at sea, whom the lifeboat failed to save or who died trying to save others, Nixon and her family have experienced much personal loss. Beginning with the departure of her mother, Nixon goes on to then lose her father as he drops his two youngest children to her mother and new partner's house for reasons that are never really explained nor explored but can only be speculated upon. Whatever his reasons, and I personally feel that it is likely to be financial difficulty that led him to make that decision, it is a heart wrenching retelling that for me, highlights the impact of the war on individuals and the sacrifices that had to be made. The author herself sacrifices her dreams of attending grammar school, mature enough to realise that these things cost and money is scarce in a post-war era. Despite the tragedies and unfortunate circumstances that seem to befall the Cottam family, trips to the cinema, circus and encounters with gypsies are fondly retold amongst accounts of the many different homes and characters, some of whom the author worked for, all talked about in a favourable and nostalgic manner. To someone who has grown up in what could only be described as a privileged manner in comparison to Nixon's poverty and war stricken childhood, the lack of resentment or bitterness towards individual people or circumstances in the pages of this book are admirable. I particularly like that the author notes that she has been reunited with some of the childhood friends that the reader meets in her story years later and that friendships forged as youngsters are not forgotten or broken by time or circumstance. A touching recollection of a humble, simple yet overall happy life.


I've also been working more on my own story and I'm leaning towards setting it in the future with a mystery based in the past that has shocking revelations for Kat. I'm still planning it out at the moment because I won't start writing it until I'm completely happy with my basic idea and direction, so I won't say too much in case that changes, which it's bound to, as when I start writing other ideas come to me so what starts out as a simple story can often end up with many threads! The basics that will stay the same are that I'd like to set it in Carew Castle, but not Carew Castle as we know it to be today as I'm setting my story in the future. There's likely to be a supernatural element to it because those are the kinds of books I read, but I don't want to go as far as making it a 'supernatural' book itself. I'd like it to be more real life than that but perhaps with some supernatural element. That's all I'll say for now but I'll have more to update with next week as my story becomes more concrete in my own mind! 

So last time I blogged I said that I'd started writing a story based in West Wales. Recently I've been trying to make some changes to the story that I had mapped out because it just didn't feel right and to me, if I don't believe in a story then I can't write it. I have to know my characters inside out and feel for them as they feel for themselves, because if I don't then my readers surely won't. So I've been thinking about what kind of person my main character, Kat, is. I've decided that she should have always lived in the city and have a love of the sea, I said last time that I need to know everything about her and all of my characters, such as how she would react in any given situation, but the only real situation I've written her in to is her struggle to fit in somewhere new. I thought I might modify this slightly and create a more dramatic situation for her, because without a difficult situation we can't learn about her character from her reactions.
   I said in my last post that there needs to be some mystery about a story in order to keep a reader hooked, which can either be an ongoing mystery that needs to be solved or, as in a biography, a mystery of how the end result became. Because I want my readers to identify with Kat and progress as she progresses, I feel that my story needs to have an ongoing mystery. Here I've been thinking about incorporating myths and legends and perhaps allowing Kat to delve in to these and try to separate what she believes to be fact from myth in order to solve a bigger mystery. As I find out what kind of person she is, I can envision her in more believable situations with realistic reactions so I've been doing a lot of thinking about how to portray Kat at the start of the story, as the reader often gets a good idea in to what the main character is like at the beginning of a book in order to build their relationship. So far I have a street wise heroine with a love of nature and particularly the sea who comes from a literature background but what can I do with that? At the moment I'm looking at local myths and legends and have some ideas of where I'd like the story to be set. I have a very rough idea of where my story might go but in order to make that a more stable and achievable idea I need to build up a believable and three dimensional character, which I don't feel I've acieved as of yet.
   So my aim at the moment is that; to discover who Kat is in every aspect and work that alongside the ideas I already have floating around plotwise.

Okay, so I haven't blogged about this before but I've started writing a story based in West Wales. The basic idea is that it follows a city girl who gets a job in a rural publishing company due to her love of nature and Welsh culture. I've been researching local myths and legends so I'm hoping to incorporate that as well. At the moment I'm writing about the main character's struggle to fit in, and I've been looking at photographs from Tenby and West Wales for some inspiration. I love the sea, so I'm thinking that perhaps that's an attribute I can share with the main character because I can identify with it. I've always lived in the city so that's another trait I share with my main character.
   I get a lot of my inspiration from being by the sea, because I find it so relaxing but in terms of literary inspiration, that comes from a diverse range of places. I like to read authors like Laurell K Hamilton, Kelley Armstrong and Patricia Briggs,so that's what'd fall under the 'urban fantasy' genre. But I love to read historical fiction like Philippa Gregory and Michel Faber too. All of these authors, although they write about totally different types of subjects include a strong mystery element in their writing, and so that's something I tend to do in my own writing. It may sound like an obvious statement, because if there's no mystery then what keeps the reader hooked? But novels such as Laurie Lee's 'Cider With Rosie' and any other autobiographical or biographical works don't usually have a mystery element in the same way; if the author is simply recalling their memories then the only mystery is how they got to where they are. Despite saying that, when Laurie Lee was published he was unknown so he didn't hold the same element of celebrity intrigue that a lot of autobiographies out there do.
   So I also draw my inspiration from writing styles like Lee's, where perhaps the main appeal is wondering who the writer is and getting to learn about another way of life, or if you are from the country, reading a tale you can relate to that's told by a gifted writer.
   Bearing all of this in mind, I set out to write my own story and hope to make it readable and intriguing becuase of my writing style and not just any mysteries that crop up in the storyline. I want to make my characters identifiable so in sharing traits of my own personality with my main character, and perhaps writing from a first person perspective I can draw on how someone similar to myself sees the world and people and things around her. Obviously i don't want my main character to be a carbon copy of myself because she's going to find herself in situations that I haven't, and also because I need to have a clear idea of everything about her. That means, I need to see how some reactions she has are irrational or how some things she does aren't understood by other characters, and if you're trying to do that about yourself it's much harder because you have a biased point of view and perhaps don't want to believe certain possibilities about yourself. So in making my main character similar to myself in some ways but different in others, I feel I get enough understanding of her to justify her doing and thinking the things she does but also enough difference to realistically see her actions and words as other characters may see them.
   So those are my scribbings for today and I'll update again with more soon! 

I've been reading Sion Pysgod's 'Preseli Bluestones' and I finished reading that yesterday. It wasn't what I expected and even though at points the scientifical logic lost me a little bit, I did enjoy reading the book and didn't find it too science based for someone who isn't a scientifical thinker to enjoy. So here's my review:

A refreshing look at history, combined with scientific theories and logic, 'Preseli Bluestones' delves in to one of Pembrokeshire's local myths and demonstrates why our country's history is important to society and culture today.

We follow our heroine Binns, a likeable yet blunt, modest yet intelligent protagonist as she tries to prove that aliens exist. Accompanying her is the intriguing character of Carter, an ex-CIA agent who is supposedly from outer space and claims to be in love with Binns. As she struggles to be taken seriously, issues such as sexism and racism are brought to the surface. The way that Binns shrugs this off and perserveres on her original mission is admirable and a lack of retaliation to any of her dismissals adds to the respect I found myself gaining for this character. As the story progresses, Binns and Carter travel time to discover other eras with other ways of life where they converse with stone age druids and medieval monarchs, highlighting history's impact on society today and how decisions made today can affect the far future.

Binns' attitude to Carter provides much comedy throughout the novel with her no nonsense replies to his persistent attempts at romancing her. Seen from Binns point of view these attempts are a slight annoyance, though depending on which version of Carter's seemingly fabricated past you believe, they could be seen as unbelievably sweet. As for Binns, hints to an uneasy adolescence leave you feeling in awe of her life achievements rather than evoking the sympathy that could be demanded here.

All in all, Pysgod has delivered a sci-fi themed novel, incorporating history through well rounded and likeable characters. Sprinkled with tidbits of local knowledge about Tenby and Pembrokeshire, local pride resonates throughout the pages to create an original account of a local legend.

So, I finished reading Dave Ainsworth's 'Silly Mid Off' this week and I was actually suprised at how much I enjoyed it. I can't call myself a cricket fan at all but the book has hidden depth in amongst it's humour. Here's my review:

Set in Pembrokeshire and its surrounding areas, 'Silly Mid Off' is an intriguing blend of nature, sports and relationships. The story begins with its main theme, cricket, but intertwined is a small window of insight in to each character's life. The cast of characters is more diverse than one might expect from a book that is, at first glance, about cricket. From Chris Lawler's marital struggles to seemingly eternally single Bill Nicholson and Peter Stillman's blissful ignorance to his wife's adulterous ways, Ainsworth presents believable characters in realistic situations.

Aside from romantic struggles, Ainsworth also showcases the cricketer’s career struggles, including journalist Phil Manning’s rise to the top and the implications that his actions later have on fellow cricketers. Old Giffo, as he is named, is unsurprisingly the eldest of the team and provides much of the comedy that is to be found in this remarkable story. What Ainsworth has managed to do is to take serious issues such as adultery, betrayal, and guilt and turn them in to a light hearted look at what a rural life involving cricket could be.

With what I would call an undisputable ending, ‘Silly Mid Off’ discreetly asks you to review your life and think about what is really important as you live through each individual character’s struggles and choices. When one of the most betrayed members of the team finds his light at the end of the tunnel at the close of the book, it leaves the reader with the feeling that whatever happens in life, something good can come of it. To mix this moral in amongst humour and serious themes in a writing style that flows naturally is no easy feat but one that Ainsworth has achieved here effortlessly.

 

So, the purpose of this blog is to document my efforts in creating a Facebook page for Tenby Publishers. How did it start? I'll go from the beginning.

As a child, I visited Tenby and it's surrounding areas frequently. It's always been one of my parents' favourite holiday destinations and consequently, I fell in love with the serenity of the countryside. Having grown up in Cardiff I've always been surrounded by the hustle and bustle of city life, with the constant noise of traffic and rush of people. Learning that just a few hours away there existed a haven away from all of that, where all you can hear at night is the occasional cricket and scurrying wildlife, and you can see the sky clearly, free from the city's illumination, was a discovery that stayed with me.

Holiday after holiday I discovered more of the surrounding areas and became more familiar with West Wales in general, and grew to love all of it's little curiousities away from the main centre. I love being by the sea, a trait that I think I might have inherited from my father, and so Freshwater East and West are a few of my favourite places to visit. The sea has a calming effect, as does the entire atmosphere of the countryside, but I've always felt an affiliation with the sea.

So the years went on and my love for West Wales remained. In university, I'm currently studying English Language with a view to work in publishing when I graduate. Whilst trying to obtain some suitable work experience, I looked for publishers in Wales with Welsh themed works. I found Tenby Publishers, and sent them an email to enquire about work experience. John Fish, the managing director of Tenby Publishers, emailed me back with the suggestion of creating a Facebook page for the company, as this is something that they did not already have. So I set about creating this, and encountered some problems in the process.

I decided to create a group for Tenby Publishers, so that members would be able to join in discussions. The only problem with this was that I couldn't find a way to create a friendly url such as www.facebook.com/tenbypublishers for a group. In order to do that, I had to create a user profile that features a link to the group. This works well, as more people have added the user as a friend than joined the group, but does have disadvantages such as there is no option for discussions on a user page. However, both serve the same purpose so I thought, nothing's really lost there!

Another area I struggled with is determining what the end aim would be for the pages I've created. Raising awareness of the company and it's works is one result of my pages, and experience in maintaining a page for a company that actually exists is a positive for me. Tenby Publisher's works (which I will blog more about soon!) are centred around local legends and myths, so another aim is for people to discuss these legends and their opinion on them, or even learn about these legends if it's something that they weren't already aware of! As for anything else, I'm taking the attitude of 'I'll take it as it comes' and see where else my efforts may lead me!

So, in creating these pages, I effectively joined the team at Tenby Publishers as a Social Networking Co-ordinator. You can follow my efforts by adding me as a friend and joining the group at www.facebook.com/tenbypublishers

I'm currently reading Dave Ainsworth's 'Silly Mid Off', which you can learn more about at http://homepages.which.net/~j.fish/silly.htm

Keep posted for my review of 'Silly Mid Off' and more news and challenges from the facebook page!