You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November, 2007.
I’m away writing. This is a good thing. No computer. (Probably) even better. Notice my shaking hands.
However. I’m resolved. And relieved to be getting my head down with the new novel (by which I was ambushed two weeks ago). And some more poems. And some of the memoir.
It’s cold where I’m going, and maybe not even much sun. The heat will have been off since October.
And yet. The views are spectacular. I know them and love them well.
Til then.
Just a little one. Just a little prone to it, me.
It’s a sidebar widget, songs on it. I’ll try to keep updating it with whatever makes my skirt fly up. At that moment. Look left and you’ll find it, close to the bottom of the page. Requests, anyone?
On a completely different musical note (sorry) - went to M’s first proper concert last night. She was the youngest performer, held her violin with considerable panache, her head high too, ponytail perched. Despite a rather quavery quaver section (eighth notes for Americans, I think!), she did herself and us proud as lead desk in a band of five under-9s. Bless.
As in ‘watch out, it’s just going to keep coming!’. I’ve never known if this is a saying unique to my mother, or of the Southern US in general. If anyone has an inkling, do let me know…
There’s good reason to make such a comment this morning, though, because another fine review of Losing You has surfaced, this time from the Authortrek site. Despite blushing from the ‘flavour of the book’ section, I’m of course delighted — here’s most of the review bit, about which I’m blushing too, come to think of it (hence the pink):
This is a truly fantastic first novel from Patricia Debney, which all kicks off when Marilyn’s son Lewis asks “What happens when you die?” The prose and the plotting are very subtle, but also deliciously enticing. It’s not a surprise to discover that Patricia Debney’s short stories have been published in various anthologies, and that she is an award-winning poet…Her characterisation is superb, as Losing You is masterfully split between the narratives of Marilyn and her friend Hilary, along with very convincing portraits of their husbands…So, hats off to Bluechrome for recognising another brilliant writer.
Heavens!
Anyway, glad to see plaudits directed at bluechrome as well. Us authors have been swishing our hats off to the fastest growing publisher in Portishead for some time…
***
Also through today from Authortrek is a super review of Deborah Rey’s Rachel Sarai’s Vineyard. Which, coincidentally, I’ve so nearly finished myself! I won’t say more yet — but it is thoroughly engrossing.
All this just as Losing You comes out in paperback — and when Rachel Sarai’s Vineyard isn’t even on general release yet.
So watch out.
Much of the day now I’ve spent registering the changing weather and reflecting on the life and writing of Elizabeth Bishop — long-time favourite poet of mine, too easily below the daily radar somehow.
It’s rare for me to take a break of any reasonable size in a day, so I surprised even myself when I told good friend Nancy that yes I would listen to the Radio 3 programme she’d forwarded to me on Bishop, and soon.
I’m glad I did. Presented by Lavinia Greenlaw, this 50 minute programme is a striking, acutely sensitive celebration of part of Bishop’s creative and physical geography, located in Great Village, Nova Scotia. Listen if you get the chance. I was completely gripped.
Today is a rainy day, and it’s Tuesday. Although yesterday was rainy too — more on that later. Anyway this morning M had her Grade 1 ballet exam. All well. I had the very peculiar experience of peeping through the skinniest little gap between two doors, and seeing her beaming face as she petit jete-ed, hands on hips, then chassee-ed across the room, her arm rising to the diagonal as she went. For most other things she was out of my line of vision, but her shiny slicked back hair and sheer delight will stay with me for quite a while!
Last night I had what turned out to be the real pleasure of going to a ‘bulk’ bluechrome reading at the Poetry Cafe. Trains being what they are, I missed the first reader Mike Hogan, but settled down to enjoy Leah Fritz, Ruth O’Callaghan, and finally Nigel McLoughlin. I was particularly taken by Nigel’s work, and bought his new book, Dissonances, which I read cover to cover on the way home. With great enjoyment, I must say.
Oh, and it rained. The whole trip. While I was walking around London. No umbrella and a wool coat. Bleh.
If you’re interested in more bluechrome happenings, a good way to find out about them is by joining the wonderful world of bluechrome on facebook. A great stable of writers there — and entertaining to boot.
And yet two more good things (do I begin to worry when they come in threes?): my son E played in a piano festival today and won all his classes. Not for the first time I fought tears while he played. Too soppy. He didn’t see me.
Second, two copies of Losing You arrived today. Lovely. Deep red end papers. Substantial in the hand. Love it.
It’s evening. I remember once having seen a crescent moon seeming to lie settled in the sky something like this:
Of course tonight (too soppy) it’s a smile.
Things are roaring along. One bit of good news is that M has moved from the sofa to school today. Second bit of good news is that NIGHT TRAIN 5 is coming down the tracks.
Night Train is an annual anthology of student work produced at the University of Kent, edited by creative writing staff. Having a seen a number of anthologies of student work at a number of conferences, I can hold my hand up and declare that Night Train is amongst the slickest on the circuit. It’s professionally designed — and the work inside is really cracking, of professional standard as well. But don’t just take my word for it. Here’s what people said about last year’s NIGHT TRAIN 4.
The launch for NIGHT TRAIN 5 is coming up, co-MC-ed by editor Andrew McGuinness and yours truly. Details:
Day: Thursday 6 December
Time: 6.30 pm
Venue: Gulbenkian Theatre, University of Kent Canterbury Campus, Canterbury UK
Tickets: £8/£7 concessions, includes a copy of the book,
glass of wine, and cabaret entertainment. (Mezze food available from the Cafe Bar from 6 pm.)
Okay, I want an honest answer. A book? Wine? Music? AND readings? Not sure it gets any better. See you there.
A not-so-secret obsession of mine, appropriately following on from yesterday’s post: Complaints Choirs. Check them out. My favourite is Birmingham, always has been.
We’ve started one here in Canterbury — well, made the first forages. I suspect that when it happens, it happens — boom! — and then there’s this poetic collection of things which takes off like a boat into the unknown. Sum of the parts greater than … etc.
There is something regenerative about it. I think.
I like this photograph of paper doves — made by schoolchildren in Seattle, Washington, as part of the World Harmony Run earlier this year — because they look so hopeful, well made. Never mind that they’re lining concrete pavement: a little wind, and they might be off.
Several years ago I was ready to give up writing. No biggie, perhaps. Except to me of course. I’d been writing since I was eleven, and had never wanted to do anything else. Yet the frustration of not getting my work out had completely undone me. I was ready to stop, to tuck that bit away, rather than fail — as I saw it — again and again.
I think it was R who then said to me, probably with more than a hint of irritation: well, what do you want? And I couldn’t answer him. Not properly. I made grand statements, I whined.
That day or the next, self preservation kicked in. If I couldn’t articulate what I wanted, how could I possibly even come close to realising it?
I decided I would have to try — one last time. I made three sentences for myself that encapsulated how I wanted to approach my work (not achieve — those sentences came later!), how I wanted to think about things — in an ideal world.
I deliberately chose areas in which I was most insecure. It took me a long time to make sentences that were easy to remember, but concise, resonant, concrete, in the present tense — and not copping out. Once I’d made them though, I repeated them to myself whenever I could, several times a day. I was willing to try anything.
And almost immediately, something in me changed. I felt stronger. Things seemed possible. Over time, I’m sure the sentences led me to do what I wanted to do. They brought clarity and focus. And — no exagerration — within 18 months I’d published my first book. Scout’s honour.
So when I woke in the night a few nights ago, feeling a little waffly and out of focus, I knew what I had to do. I’ve done it lots the last few years: get the birds to fly.
M ill these last two days: a horrible throat and croup-y cough. Still out of sorts enough to lie on the sofa and say that she’s fine really, fever giving her shiny, other-worldly eyes.
Meanwhile one image keeps surfacing in my own addled, care-taking brain: 
It’s by the same person who lent me the header image for this site, Nancy Wilson — an excellent photographer. And fine friend, come to that. I think she’s particularly good with light and shadow, reflection, time standing still. Which seems about right.
Great news last thing last night: the London launch for Losing You is set. Hurray! Details:
Venue: Crockatt & Powell Ltd, 119-120 Lower Marsh, London SE1 7AE
Date: 13th December 2007
Time: 7 pm
Come one come all…. I’m pretty sure the holiday season adrenaline (or champagne?) will mean that someone will have to peel me off the ceiling, but hey.
I have to confess I love launches, love parties in general. I especially like my own birthday parties, of which I’ve had precious few, truth be told. The last one was some time ago (ahem!), when I turned 30. We invited everyone we knew and I made Mexican food. What I really, really loved was that everyone turned up with a present — this aspect of ‘birthday party’ hadn’t occured to me for some reason — and that everyone actually did sing the song. We took turns reciting (stumbling through) poetry…and then I think that was when one of our dining room chairs fell to pieces, a guest ending up literally under the table. Whereupon we burned the wrapping paper (and chair) in the fire. Ah, those were the days.
A launch is a bit like that of course, a celebration of something specific. Which explains my fondness for them. Somehow though I don’t think the kind people at Crockatt & Powell would be best pleased if we start breaking chairs, never mind chucking them in fires. So control yourselves. (Well, a bit of singing perhaps.)
I’ve just had one of them. Over on Your Messages. If you don’t know about it, or do and haven’t done it yet: go see, and go do. It’s a fabulous idea, and the original book by Lynne Rees and Sarah Salway is fabulous too, about to be published in a new edition.
Today was my first time, and I can see it’s going to be hard to resist, if indeed I manage to resist at all. And yes, the whole thing is a bit like that: instant attraction, speeds up the heart. What good thing isn’t, though?
Visited today — as is the way of things — by the gas man. Didn’t say much (him), even when I had to close a series of doors behind him so the cats (still young) didn’t escape. We went to the meter, which happens to be by the front door. Whereupon he discovered three pieces of post, picked them up and held them out to me, taking the utmost — utmost — care that our fingers did not touch when handing them over.
Did not know what to make of this (me). Either very good or very odd. Am reminded of the time — M was small — when I was visited by a Mori poll man who made comments about how he used to do a survey that involved holding up pictures of bras. And how he got to the point where he could tell what kind of bra someone was wearing. My complaint led to £50 of Marks and Spencers vouchers. I’ve never known what to make of that either.
I’m scratching my head about headers and titles and meaning, for heaven’s sake. And implication. Thus any thoughts about whether the title of this site/blog means that all visitors will be looking for (and not seeing/seeing, har har) CATS are welcome.
Because this isn’t strictly about cats, although it might sometimes be. We have two of them after all, much loved and adored, called Schubert and Tilly.
Strictly about… I don’t want this to be strictly about anything. Except trying to catch some things that might otherwise slip by, from the past or the present. Either real or imagined.
It’s a habit hard to break, the fear of loss. My whole life I’ve projected being without the most important people/things — what if, I free-fall, what if. Sometimes these projections make it directly into my writing. Most often, though, they just niggle at me: I can’t leave without doing x, without gathering up y. A low-level crisis mentality — all the time.
That sounds much more complicated than I thought when I started. Good grief. Not sure it matters. Is it too early for a glass of wine?
I’m impressed with myself, I have to say. Two pages (sort of) made. Links and all.
Looking-wise, on the way to school this morning M and I saw tall, magnificent trees still in full leaf, a shade past bright yellow. They were regal, in full finery, stood at the edge of a field as if observing the dancefloor. We had to tip our heads to see the tops of them, nearly crashing the car.
