Frydmania

I struck a deal. I got time off twice in one day, took to my bed and read. In great gulps, the way I used to read, when I took multiple books out of the library on a Saturday, and had read half of them by the same evening.

This kind of reading is hard to find these days. Time is divided up into many chunks, and being able to read at length is something of an indulgence. Has been for a long time, in fact. Even in the full time working days, it was usually the holidays when I could manage to read novels.

So, I got one – and now it’s gone. Which is, of course, the way books work. You read it, it’s done, and you look for another. Or, sadly, you pause and work out if there is time for another before the holiday is over.

I used to write a bit like that. I would stay up late, and write into the small hours. It felt like the night was a ship, and by writing, I was sailing her, steering her along with my words. There is more space at night for words.

Now, it’s a bit more like dog walking. You take words out for a run a couple of times a day. It’s part of the pattern. But now and then, even dog walking, you might chance across a clear view of the stars. Or see a badger. Or something else that makes you pause.

Perhaps that will have to do for now, following the routine of writing, but hoping that something will turn up from time to time. Something that helps me feel I too can slip the leash for a while and just run…

I’m on early riser duty this morning. When it comes to getting through holidays, it’s all about divide and conquer, especially when neither adult is good at mornings. So we take it in turns.

Two of us are writing stories this morning, except my device doesn’t have built-in music or “wow! Good job” type comments. But it goes to show that you can write when there’s lots of noise, requests to admire the other person’s efforts at half-minute intervals and the washing machine at full tilt…

For preference, I do like peace and quiet for writing. I haven’t taken to wearing headphones on my times in the office, although I’m thinking about it. The best scenario is writing on my own with the house to myself. Bliss.

But sometimes you just have to zone out the sound and get on with it. Another good discipline. It’s taking time to learn, but on that ‘feel the fear and do it anyway’ thing, making yourself keep going, despite distractions, is hopefully going to pay off.

But I’ll look over what I’ve written later, when I’m not competing with the Mystery Machine…

Reading a chapter of Horrid Henry out loud this morning. As you do in holiday week. Part of the fun is what it tells us about our strengths and our limitations.

Perfect Peter is of course more goody goody than feasible, but in today’s chapter, he also seems to have an OCD thing happening with his soft toys. He KNOWS Henry has been in his room because one of his toy sheep is facing the wrong way. And is crooked. Oh the agony.

I know that the author wants us to realise that we are not as good – or as bad – as any of the characters. We all have strengths, and blind spots. So what might this mean for our own writing?

We want our characters to be real. To live, rather than just be ciphers. Because we need characters to relate to, to share our burdens, our sorrows, our joys, our embarrassing moments. Glimpses of enlightenment.

As I’ve been thinking about things emerging in writing, rather than being planned out, I’m reminded of how even established authors can get caught out by their characters. They expect the story to go one way but find that the character wants to go somewhere else. Behave in a different way.

I’m kind of hoping to find a character like that, one day. The sense of knowing they are whole, in some way. They are consistent, in and of themselves. They are there to point the way, when so often we don’t know where our path leads us.

There is something deeply comforting in the idea that, as they guide themselves home, we can, in some senses, follow on behind, and know we are where we should be.

Charity shop trip turns up six new audio CDs. Because they were free with newspapers, shop can’t charge me for them…though I give them a donation instead.

Audio CDs – or story tapes as we end up calling them, showing our age – have become a small obsession in the last year or two. Mine, that is. Partly because they’re easy to track down, partly because you get such good narrators on many of them.

Tamsin Greig on fairy tales. Simon Callow doing The Twits. David Tennant doing the Hiccup the Viking series. Lots more besides.

One of my little ambitions is to get to read stories for a living – because I adore reading aloud. Children’s books especially, but others can be good too. I don’t think it’s about fame, necessarily – it’s the mouth feel of delicious words, puns built in, choosing voices for characters and so on.

Lest I seem to be straying too far from the self-imposed subject matter of writing, reading aloud what you write is a great test of whether it works or not. We’ve grown accustomed to blogs being conversational, and a lot of good web writing is in this vein, but it applies to more.

Lots of newspaper columnists write in this way. Children’s books need it in particular because they are so often read aloud. Poetry needs to be heard as well as read. I dare say you could apply it to much quoted conversation in fiction too – would someone actually say it like that? Does it feel real?

How to hone it? Talk to someone. Listen to them in return. Sit on a bus, or a train, or near someone on their mobile, for a few minutes. You’re not eavesdropping, you’re finding out how they use language. What they say. What they don’t. What’s understood.

One of the most wonderful phrases to say aloud is ‘Once upon a time…’ Why would you not want to continue?

Library trips are often followed by a great big luxurious readathon at home. That didn’t happen this time, but managed to look at a few, which probably means that’s why I remembered them.

Here are the ones I didn’t remember first off:

– One about a flying cat, Blue. Michael Rosen on words, Michael Foreman on pics. Both masters of their craft. Got to be done, and haven’t seen them work on a book together before.

– A Friend for Little Bear, by Harry Horse. Partly chosen for simple text (important at the moment for solo reading). I’ve read rather too many ‘value of friendship’ children’s books, though this one is a bit different as it pits possessions against friendship.

– Another Fine Mess. Don’t know the author or illustrator from before, but a fun read re rubbish, recycling and the imminent arrival of a fearsome relative. Good combination really. I also rather like Improving Themes hidden in fiction, but conveyed with humour. Blame my inner pedagogue.

– The Lying Carpet, by David Lucas. Suddenly realise that this is the same illustrator as the Skeleton Pirate one I mentioned yesterday. A longer illustrated book, which is quite nice as a change in format.

Skimming through, I can see snippets of verse, lots of interesting pics, and usefully, some part sections, which can be helpful when reading aloud and working out where to stop. Plus I’m pretty sure there’s talking animals. Generally a winner.

Findings: there are some authors always worth reading. And some illustrators always worth looking at. You may not like everything they do, but so much of what they do is good that it would be silly not to check.

It’s nice to have the familiar – and the new, when it comes to format. It’s equally worth taking a punt on someone whose work you don’t know, if the subject matter seems good, or seems handled in a different way.

Where does that leave the fledgling author? We can’t rely on our work being read as much as for established authors. But there’s always room for more authors, it seems, as long as we have a good story to tell – or a good way to retell a familiar story.

There’s also the notion of writing for oneself, rather than for the market. I’m guessing that the more I read, the more I know both – what I like, and (presumably, as it’s in the library) what others are expected to like.

Children’s books are both very simple and very complex. Daunting when you love them, you want to write them, and you’re more than a bit overwhelmed by what else is out there. But maybe the answer is to start with stories, themes, new handlings of them if possible, and let the rest of the writing unfold.