Recently, I’ve been getting down seriously to the next book.
Having spent months going through the refining process for Eden’s Garden, it’s quite a strange experience going back to first draft and getting to know a new set of characters. Of course, most of them have by now decided to go off and be somebody else entirely, leaving the author stumbling along after them, desperately attempting to maintain some semblance of discipline. On the other hand, the thrill of excitement as a new story (fingers crossed) starts to take shape is the best buzz out there.
Okay, I’m going to have to admit this: I can now spot when I’m not quite sure what I’m doing. My writing goes into long-winded, pompous mode. Kind of like Dickens, but without the Dickens, if you see what I mean. (Deep blush)
So thank goodness for the day job. Filling in funding application forms certainly helps to focus the mind on convincing an audience without deviation, repetition, or general waffle, bombast or flummery. But over the past few months, I’ve also had the privilege of helping with some of the oral history projects I’ve been raising money for.
I’d forgotten quite how much I love helping with the oral history. And how much it can teach you about writing from the heart. This time, we were given the original diary of a local man who had fought in the First World War. This was something not written for publication, nor has it even been published. I think the time it really struck us, was when we recorded it as part of a contribution for the Talking Newspaper for the Blind.
Workman’s books from New York Cottages Museum in Penmaenmawr
The diary was written as it happened. So the first part is a young lad leaving home, going on a big adventure, with the details of the train journey and the new experiences. Then the training, and finally the journey to France, where nothing happens much at first. Then grenades begin to fall. Then come the shells and the snipers. This isn’t a famous battle, just a skirmish on the outskirts. There are no great details, but you can see so much behind the restrained words.
It’s one of the most powerful things I’ve ever read, because it is real. Because it is authentic. It’s not someone being literary or clever, but a human being trying to make sense of being thrust into the truly unimaginable. The language is simple, but to me it still has the same power held in poets like Wilfred Owen. Words stripped down, so that the truth and the humanity comes shining through, alongside the horror.
A domestic cooking range from New York Cottages Museum, Penmaenmawr
And yes, that is what I love about Maeve Binchy’s novels. Not that she is writing about war. But, like Jane Austen, her subject is the human heart, in all its strength, its vanity, and its frailty. And those, in the end, are both the journey to war, and to the rage against war’s senseless cruelty: both the worst and the best at the heart of all of us.
So this morning I am returning to the Work in Progress determined to ditch the flummery (or B***S**, whichever you prefer) and simply write from the heart.
Which, in the enviable comfort of not being in the middle of a war – surrounded by horrors and in fear for your life – is strangely enough one of the hardest things to do. Well, for me, anyhow.
Deep breath, sleeves up, my First World War soldier and a copy of ‘The Copper Beech’ at my side – here goes!
To be continued …. (I hope 
)
Glad you’re on to the writing Juliet. Maeve was a brilliant writer, and so easy to read. I loved evening class, and lots of others, circle of friends. I have heart and soul on my bookshelf to read. I might just start on that next, in memory of a fabulous writer. xx
That sounds like a great idea, Susan! I didn’t find Maeve Binchy for years, because she wasn’t a ‘literary’ writer. More fool me! Enjoy!
And thank you for the lovely review of Eden’s Garden on Goodreads, which I’ve only just come across while catching up. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Thank you! xx
Great post, Juliet! I think oral history projects are awesome — there are so many stories that get lost through time that have great value, so kudos to you for helping to keep them alive. When my mother-in-law died and I found her journals, I couldn’t believe the gems that she left behind, and we are so grateful to her for doing so.
I also love the way you’ve described the writing process — the highs and lows of it. And, you’ve shown in a beautiful way what good writers know: that regular reading makes us better. When I have someone tell me they’re writing novels but don’t read them, I am left scratching my head. Good books, bad books, they all teach us our craft.
I agree about oral history, Nadine. It’s the real history of real people – the story of all of us. I only began to feel passionately about it after my dad died. He was born during the First World War and so had memories of nearly a century of huge change. He hadn’t written it down, and I never thought to record him until it was too late. It made me realise just how precious these stories are. We’ve just found my mother’s letters from the Second World War – I haven’t read them yet, but they will be fascinating. We want to try and transcribe them so they can be kept as a document. I’m so glad you found your mother-in-law’s journal. There’s a BBC drama series here called ‘Writing the Century’, which is largely based on the diaries and letters of ordinary people, which the BBC have asked people to contribute. It’s a great idea!
And I agree about reading! It’s the only way to learn!
Best post…just best.
You put into words some of what I’ve been thinking, feeling, experiencing since hearing we had lost Maeve Binchy. Probably writers out there all over the place thinking similar thoughts… She was/is/will always be a standard…
As an exercise last night I took three pages of a chapter I had written and tried to dispense with the you-know-what, be as honest and straightforward, as down-to-earth – all things Maeve Binchy…
Isn’t as easy as she made it appear, is it?
Thank you, Jen! That’s lovely. And yes, it’s only when you try and dispense with the stuff that hits the fan that you realise just how skilled a writer Maeve Binchy is. I find fancy words can so easily impress with their glitz, but cost the writer nothing. Being honest means reaching into your own depths. The hardest thing to do – but the only way to deeply connect with our readers. We all share the same experiences, however different their form might be. Keep on writing!
What a wonderful discovery and an appropriate and inspiring read for where you are now, it just goes to show that being away from the desk or computer or the pen often contributes to the creative process in ways we couldn’t have anticipated. Recharged and rejuvenated, bonne continuation Juliet!
Merci, Claire.
I think most of us feel guilty when we’re not chained to the computer. But of course it’s life that inspires fiction. It was such a reminder to live. And that not just ‘great literature’ is wonderful to read.
x
A great blogpost. I am very interested in oral history and how we can facilitate people to make a more permanat record of their lives, whether it’s for their familiy or for the public. Your work sounds really interesting.
Like Dickens without the Dickens….know exactly what you mean. I can be the same way with job interviews….those long winding sentences full of polysyllabic words that trail off into a weak smile and a sudden instruction to the brain to look the interview panel in the eye – all 16 of them.
Inspiring post… a no BS morning, right. I’m on to it. In memory of Maeve.
That made me smile, Bridget! I know all about those interviews. I’m the same too. (twitch)
Still trying to have a no BS morning.
Thank you Maeve!
