In the Face of Adversity
Broken dreams, the ripple effect of alcoholism and an accidental breakthrough
I’m back! I have been drowning in guilt about not posting here. Thanks for waiting. I appreciate your patience.
Let me tell you a story...who remembers Max Bygraves? (Apologies to my overseas fans, Max was a British comedian, singer, actor and variety performer). He would start his sketches with this phrase. I digress. My brain is addled.
When the developmental headache, sorry, edits, hit my inbox, I had no idea what a mammoth task they would be. You can read all about how I tackled the structural edits here. Having completed the structural edits over Christmas, which took me six weeks, I thought the worst was over.
Knocking a novel into shape is a bit like kneading bread. You keep working it until eventually, it turns into something beautiful. Except you can’t eat a book. Nor does it have the fragrance of freshly baked bread. But it does have all the ingredients to be satisfying and fulfilling. And that is why I have been working so hard.
My editor, Lauren Ilbury at RomaReads Publishing, has been amazing. She has cajouled me, directed me, nudged me and guided me. She also keeps an eye on me. Checks in from time to time, asks how I’m doing. It’s great to have somebody in your corner. Particularly as writing is such a solitary process.
I hope all the effort will be worth it. I can’t wait to share my cosy crime novel, The Mysterious Disappearance of Marsha Boden with you. As soon as I am able to, I will do a cover reveal! But it hasn’t all been plain sailing.
If you enjoy reading my posts, perhaps you would consider upgrading to paid. I hope, by the time you finish reading this post, you will get a sense of how much work goes into honing an article to post here, as goes into crafting a book. It’s straight from the heart. My heart.
A paradise island getaway
One cold, wet and dark February evening, when my husband and I were hunkered down in front of the log burner, he foolishly suggested we get some winter sun. The next thing, we’re heading to Mauritius in the Indian Ocean. The journey wasn’t without its fair share of drama. Our flight was delayed by twenty-seven hours, I got charged for an airport hotel room that we didn’t use and, when we eventually reached our resort, it was not what we expected. It was billed as a 4* but it was probably a two-star at best.
Fortunately, having received the round of developmental edits the day before, I packed my laptop. I was glad I did. I would have gone hurtling into panic mode if I hadn’t. I worked for a few hours each day, early in the morning and then during that lull in the afternoon, when it’s too early to go out, but too late to sit by the pool. Besides, there is only so much sitting around one can do.
We enjoyed a wonderful catamaran trip to five islands and watched some dolphins diving and ‘dancing’ in formation. It was magical. Synchronised swimming in its purest form. Apparently, it was their mating season.
We also played two rounds of golf - just what I needed. It all seems like a distant dream now, except I still have a lovely tan. And some beautiful photographs.
The ripple effect of alcoholism
As a little girl, I loved books, and I was always fascinated with words. In fact, I wrote my first book aged 7. It was called My Baby Sister and yes, was all about the arrival of my little sister. It therefore saddens me beyond words to see her self-destruct. She is drinking herself to death. Both my parents died young, in their 50’s to cancer, and my older brother was killed in a road accident when he was 20. That left me, my sister and younger brother.
After all that we have been through as a family, I cannot comprehend what she is doing. Nor why she can’t see how heart-breaking it is for us all. Her siblings, her children, her grandchildren and her wider family and friends. We have lived with her behaviour for decades. She has clambered onto the wagon and fallen off it again, more times than I care to remember. Things never change.
She will probably lose her job. The one she told us all that she loved. “It’ll be different this time” she’d said. We all hoped so too. It wasn’t. Her relationships have been car crashes waiting to happen.
Alcoholics are incredibly selfish. The ripple effect of their behaviour is catastrophic. But they don’t care.
Dreams can be broken
My dream of having a loving sister by my side when I need her, has long been broken. I have accepted that.
But I almost gave up on myself and my dream. I felt completely overwhelmed by the re-writes in order to make my mystery crime novel work. I was asked to send a list of bullet points for each character to my editor, explaining how their plot lines all tied in together. I have been working on this book for such a long time. It is very dear to me. The fact that it is being published via the traditional route is, for me, validation that I can write. I am soon to be a published author. Or so I thought. But now, it could all be in jeopardy.
I cried. We were supposed to be having a relaxing holiday. But I had had enough. My dream was about to be broken. I was going to give up. It was all too huge. I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t capable. Becoming a published author was all a pipe dream anyway.
Those thoughts lasted for a nanosecond. I squared my shoulders, went outside to enjoy my beautiful surroundings, and cleared my head. Of course I can do this! What was wrong with me? I had come this far. My husband was right there for me. He spent an hour going through the notes and picking out the relevant points, meticulously outlining what I had to do.
When I went back to it though, it still seemed insurmountable. Despite his kind help and support. This thing was bigger than me. It was no good.
Then something happened. No, it wasn’t a divine intervention. It was a complete accident. I had the navigation pane open in Word. I had used the ‘Write a novel’ template for my book, which is excellent. The TOC was updating properly. All good. But I was getting lost in my novel chronologically. With over 300 pages to navigate around, making sure I dropped clues in all the right places without giving anything away, was tough.
But, with all the chapters listed in the navigation pane, I had an idea. I wrote notes alongside each chapter heading to help remind me where I was in the timeline of events. Then I discovered something even more exciting. I could move chapters around by dragging and dropping them. All with the click of a mouse. No more highlighting the entire chapter, finding or deciding where it should go, then pasting it in place. This was so much easier. I was on a roll. Moving and slotting chapters into place until eventually, things were beginning to make sense.
I still had a long way to go. Another two weeks of being at my desk at 5:30 am, working my regular job four days a week, working again in the evenings, sitting at my desk for twelve or fourteen hours a day at the weekend. But now I had a system. A system that worked for me. And that was what I was lacking. Once I had discovered how best to navigate my way around my book, it was so much simpler. I was even enjoying the process.
I listened to the entire book. It helped to highlight clunky or long sentences. It was well worth doing. I was relentless and I have never worked so hard in my entire life. The flame had been fanned. My dream would come true because I was going to make sure that it did. I hit my deadline, returning the edits on the due date. I did it!
I don’t know what my editor will think of the re-writes after all my hard work. I think it works well and is a much more cohesive book. I hope she likes it. I have a good feeling about it. I am, once again, upbeat and positive. I have fallen back in love with my book.
My biggest regret is that my baby sister is too wrapped up in her world to notice what’s going on in mine.
I'm sorry about your sister, I have a brother that is similar to what you've described, and it's awful. Well done on not giving up on your book x
Congrats on doing that huge work! I've authored scientific papers that required editing, which is not the same at all, but I nevertheless recognize the sheer terror in having to edit everything and do major structural switcharoos. I hope you do send your sister the published book. You never know what a gesture stirs in a person, even if they never end up expressing it to you.