Author Archives: moraghastie

Musings on Moniack Mhor.


At the beginning of the year I stumbled over a link for week long writing retreats at a place called Moniack Mhor in the Scottish Highlands — I had never heard of the centre before and hadn’t ever really considered doing a writing retreat. However, after poking around their website for a few minutes I was in love with their space, their location, and the idea of spending a week in their company. When our sabbatical trip became a reality and I knew we’d be located in Scotland for nine months, it didn’t take me long to log back into Moniack Mhor to book a place as an early 40th birthday treat to myself.


Room with a view…

I was thrilled with the idea of a week of doing nothing except thinking/working on what I hope will one day be a novel. I was giddy at the idea of not having to decide what anyone else was going to eat at every meal, and that I wasn’t going to have to do phonics homework or handle tears over not getting to watch cartoons, or dish out time-outs. All I had to do was eat, sleep, and write. I got the train up from Tweedbank to Inverness last Monday and thought I had a pretty clear idea what the week would be about. I thought I would breeze through 5000+ new words on the book and that I would have to contend with imposed solitude. However, the week played out in a totally different way.

IMG_0644I opted to attend a tutored writing retreat partly cause the timing of the course was good, but mainly cause I liked the idea of getting time to talk with published authors about their work, the industry and my own work. But, I was also invested in doing a retreat versus a workshop as I was interested to see if I could spend a whole week with just me & my imagined world, and come out the other side wanting to make writing a career. So why was it different to what I was picturing? In part because I hadn’t really read the course info and so didn’t realize there was such a great social aspect worked into the week, with communal cooking, group dinners, and readings each night — but mainly because of the wonderful group of people that the course brought together. I thought I would have so much solitude that I would go a bit bonkers, but instead I found a kind, fun, considerate, and welcoming community.


The last nights refreshments!

Each one of the people that turned up at the course, though at different points in our writing experience and individual projects, was serious about writing but not serious about life or about ourselves. Each dinner time we had easy and fun conversation along the long communal table. Each evening we had wine and whisky beside the log fire while listening to readings, chatting about the trials and tribulations of writing, or laughing together and sharing stories about life. Since I’m a “coffee shop” writer and like background noise when I work, I opted to sit at the dinning table during the day and got a lovely balance of interaction with people, and peace to think.

The tutors selected for our course were Paul Murray and Amanda Smyth. I hadn’t read either of their work before arriving at Moniack Mhor, but now find myself with them both firmly on my TBR pile. Although my one-on-one conversations with both of them were very different, they were both generous, thoughtful, and resourceful in their suggestions and advice. Of course, I would have loved to pitch up to my tutor sessions and for them to declare that my work is the best writing they’ve ever read (honestly who doesn’t dream of such ego validation!?!), but instead they both beelined for weaknesses in my novel, and writing, and expertly probed those weaknesses. Which just highlighted to me how good they both are at what they do.


Note to self: don’t step in a bog while wearing Converse!

Of course, having my raw points exposed did smart a little, but I got over myself fast and found my head full as I tried to absorb their thoughts and find answers to the questions they posed. It actually got rather noisy in my head and that is why my word count for the week was rather pitiful, but I’m okay with that. A week ago, before I got the train to the Highlands, I thought I had a path toward the end of my novel, but now that path has vanished. But all is okay because I have faith that when I find my path again the novel is going to be all the better for it (and I’ll be a better writer).

So, I guess the ultimate question after doing something for the first time to know if it was a success or not, is “would I do it again?” In the case of Moniack Mhor, the answer is a resounding, yes! I would absolutely go on a tutored retreat again, but I am also itching to try a straight writing retreat to test out if the peace of the Scottish Highlands gels well with my writing. Fingers crossed I don’t have to wait another seven years until our next sabbatical to return to the beautiful, wonderful Moniack Mhor.

Paul Murray’s books can be found here, and Amanda Smyth’s here. They are both lovely and I await future books from them with glee.


Navigating Groups

I first tried my hand at fiction writing when I knew my astronomy career was coming to an end (or at the very least a pause) about six years ago. I look back at words written then and I’ve discovered I would write a line of dialogue, and then write three or four lines of narrative explaining the dialogue. Something along the lines of:

“Hello, my name is Petal.” She said with trepidation and a wobble of unsureness that made the words come out with more syllables than they should. She was wary that her ‘out there’ name would offend the people at this private school that all looked so conventional in their purple and gold uniforms. How could they ever like her with her odd name. She’d picked ‘hello’ rather than her typical ‘dude’ cause she needed to fit in. At least she needed to try.
“Hello.” Came the cold and clipped response from the tallest girl in the pack.
“Hello.” Petal said back, this time she tried to make it more solid greeting.
“Petal is a stupid name. Were your parents hippies or something?” The girl said with a snarl that made the corners of her mouth dip down towards her chin.

You get the idea. And although this type of writing can be done well, I certain was not doing it well. Also, the more I write the more I want the to narration to get out of the way  and to just let the voices have plenty of clear space to speak. This desire was stoked further when I took a class in playwriting and wrote a couple of short plays. I love writing plays. Everything has to be conveyed through the words the characters say – or the actions the do on stage. It is like writing in 3rd person objective (which I also love to do). You have no access to thoughts, or intentions, of the characters. All you can do is record is the words that come out their mouths and the actions that they do. The words the characters say have to be good enough to express what the characters are thinking/feeling or how they are relating to others around them. This has led to me completely stripping the passages in my story that concentrate on dialogue right back — I rarely now even use dialogue tags. For example:

“What? I can’t hear you. Come back, would you?”
Kathryn turned back and returned to the end of the pier and Davy. “What else did your Mum tell you about Bruno Downey?”
“I’ll tell you everything I know if you sit down and have a beer.”
“And no more yelling at me, or hitting me? Agreed?”
“I didn’t hit you!”
“Fine. Agreed.”

This is my much preferred way of handling dialogue now — though I will admit that often I have to go back after I’ve finished a conversation to slot in some action/internal thoughts of the main character, etc. Elmore Leonard says in his “10 Rules of Writing” to never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue. And I like his rationale, namely: The line of dialogue belongs to the character; the verb is the writer sticking his nose in. But said is far less intrusive than grumbled, gasped, cautioned, lied. Indeed, this is why I’ve gone the route of dialogue-tag-less writing. However, how does one do this when there is more than two people speaking? Minimized or removing dialogue tags are easy to do when there are two people having a conversation, but the thing I’m about to tackle in earnest for the first time is to portray a group conversation. And frankly, I’m a bit intimidated.iStock_000031430998_Medium.jpg

Mr. Leonard also includes in his ten rules to never use an adverb to modify the verb “said” as it interrupts the rhythm of the exchange. Again, I agree with him, but how does one do this for a large conversation and it not turn into a bit of a said overload? I mean, does something like the following even feel right?

“Pass the butter,” said Peter.
“I don’t want to pass the butter,” said Sarah.
“Don’t be rude to your brother,” said Judith.
“Yeah, don’t be rude to your brother!” said Peter.
“Both of you stop acting like children,” said Andrew.

To me it feels clunky and annoying. But, then how does one switch between speakers and help the reader keep up with who is speaking? Who has managed to do this successfully?  Any hints and tips for a somewhat-baffled newbie writer?


The long and the short of it…

I haven’t been inspired to blog for quiet sometime, perhaps because most of last year I wrote very little fiction. I was writing, just not fiction. In the first half of the year I took a class in Creative Non-fiction, or the “Art of the Personal Essay”. Good grief it is hard to dredge up twenty-year-old memories of a school trip to Russia, then try to write an engaging, fun essay about it! (It was as engaging, fun trip that involved a lot of sauerkraut for us non-meat eaters, but it was also eye opening and remarkable and — looking back with adult eyes — a huge privilege to travel to Russia so soon after the fall of Communism!) But, I actually felt for the the younger students in my class who were not even twenty-years-old … at least I have twenty(and thirty, and almost forty)-year-old memories to go digging about in, no matter how spotty the details are! The second half of last year was spending working on an length literary essay on the novel Trumpet by Jackie Kay. I loved doing the work, but I can safely say it put paid to any thoughts of going off to do my masters in literature. At this point in my life, I don’t want to eat into family time to study other people’s novels, I want to spend that time away from the hubs and the girl writing my own novel! IMG_9112

Which brings me to my 2017 challenge. I have set myself the goal of having a complete 250ish page first draft of a novel written by the end of the year. Things have just fallen into place for this to be the “right” year to concentrate on doing this challenge. Firstly, I’m getting to take a class on novel writing from a professor that I throughly respect. Deadlines are my friend — and although I can at times fake myself out with personal deadlines, deadlines set by other people are, without doubt, the best motivator for my productivity. So it is thanks to that class that I have written 80 pages so far this year.

***Can I just take a little aside to say, good lord writing a novel is hard! I can bash out a 1500-2000 story without too much sweat these days. But writing 80 pages — making those characters move from scene to scene, getting those characters to be where they need to be — it is hard! I now have a new appreciation for anyone that can put enough words down on pages to get a novel length story. That isn’t to say I have a new appreciation of every novel that gets published, I don’t, but that is a whole other rant blog post.***

Secondly, I have treated myself to an early birthday and booked myself on a writers retreat at Moniack Mhor, Scotland’s Creative Writing Center. The idea of being in the wilds of Scotland for five days with, literally, nothing to do but write and learn from accomplished authors is pretty much bliss wrapped up in chocolate. And further, this workshop is specifically for people who have substantial works in progress. Deadline #2. I’ll need to get my derrière in gear to get the page count up – I’m thinking 200ish is a good target.

Thirdly, my baby girl is growing up and will be starting full time school come August. This frees up my days a lot, and as I won’t be in a position to start looking for work outside the home until summer of 2018 — I owe it to myself to grab this time and make it count. Why can’t I start work for at least another year, I hear you ask? Well, that is the forth reason this is the “right” year to tackle a novel. My professor husband has been granted sabbatical for the academic year of 2017-2018 and we are taking this chance to go live in Scotland as a family for an extended period. I’m excited on so many levels — I haven’t lived at home in over a decade, I haven’t lived close to family in as long, I miss the hills, and the sea, and the cities — so many reasons. I’m also excited (and a bit terrified) cause this is the only time I will have this sort of time on my hands, with family nearby for sharing in the parental duties, to dedicate to writing my first novel. It is this year that I will discover if being an author is what I am, or if it is a daydream that will forever live in a montage in my head.  Eck!



Do we really expect so little?

cartoon-monkey-scratching-his-head-02I haven’t been doing a lot of writing this year, a lot of reading yes, but very little writing. I am very deadline driven and since I’ve had no fiction writing classes this year my writing has taken a bit of a backseat. It hasn’t been a bad thing – I have read more books this year than I have in donkey ages, and since I really do believe that the more good stuff you read the more good stuff you will write, my year has been far from wasted.

However, I do need to write more so I joined an online critique group. The premise is actually really good. You earn ‘credits’ by reading and commenting (constructively) on other people’s work and once you have accrued enough credits you can upload your own piece for others to critique. I mainly joined to give me motivation to work on my novel (I hate saying that, it sounds so snobby, but I’m trying to be less weirded out about it) which I have been ignoring for quiet sometime. I joined a couple of months ago, critiqued some work, uploaded the first chapter of my novel, and then waited with a healthy mix of anticipation and excitement for the critiques to roll in.

On the whole I’ve found the community in this group really lovely – polite and professional. Some of the comments I’ve received have been extremely useful, some very flattering, and some a bit random. Rather what you would anticipate from any writers group that is primarily made up of amateur writers. However, one comment got me wondering about what we as writers expect from our readers.

To offer a little background – the main character in my novel is Kathryn. She is a mid-twenties English woman who is the product of an affair and was raised by her single mum. She is a very ‘detached’ person – detached from her family, detached (as in doesn’t take responsibility for) from some questionable behavior in her past, detached from any real purpose in her life. She ends up living in Arizona married to an older man, and with a step child who she is only 13ish years her younger. In the first chapter you are introduced to Kathryn at this point in her life, then an event happens that shakes her up, and sets in motion her finally taking responsibility for herself and her life. The Event happens at the end of chapter one, and I strongly believe that I need to use the bulk of chapter one to make the reader invested in the characters so that they themselves are affected when The Event occurs. Of course, this means chapter one is fairly non-eventful until the very end. But, non-eventful doesn’t mean not engaging – at least I hope!

One critique I received was positive about my writing style and the topic of the story but (and I’m paraphrasing here) that today’s reader wouldn’t be prepared to read for a whole seven minutes before The Event happened, and that because of movies/computer games etcetera they need faster gratification. Really? Seven minutes? Really? Do we expect so little of our readers these days? I’m not saying that the critiquer is incorrect – in fact he probably speaks a lot of truth but it saddens me to think that he may be right. Of course, it depends on who the reader is.

I love books that embrace language and character. I’m not plot driven so I can be very forgiving of a novel’s plot if the language wraps itself around me in a luscious hug, or if the characters are so well painted that they feel like people I’ve known my whole life. What I can’t read are plot driven books which give no consideration to language or character development – which rules out most ‘best sellers’, let’s be frank. But of course, it is a balance. The indulgence of language can ramble on for too long, and the character description can get way too detailed (I’m looking at you on both fronts, Victor Hugo!!)

One of the best books I’ve read recently is Trumpet by Jackie Kay, and it does a wonderful job of balancing the two worlds. There is plot though would probably be deemed ‘slow’ as there isn’t any action within the timeframe of the novel. It centers around a secret about the main character, Millie’s husband that becomes uncovered after his death (he dies before the novel starts). Kay then uses the rest of the novel to delve into how the reveal effects Millie and several other characters connected to Millie, including her son. But, nothing else happens as such, it is just a gorgeous book about how people cope when life slaps them in the face.  However, it is certainly not a best seller – it was first published in 1998 and even in Kay’s native country, Scotland, it isn’t widely known.

Thus, as a writer, I need to decide who I want to write for. Am I writing for the best seller market that is swamped by high-action, straightforwardly-written stories that feed into this need for inpatient reading? Or do I write for the reader like me that will hang with a story as we weasel the plot out while reveling in the world the author creates with their words? I know this makes me sound snotty about ‘plot driven’ novels and I don’t mean to be that way at all – indeed these are the books that I will sit up all night and devour in one sitting, but they are typically not the ones I remember after a few months have past.

However, back to my first chapter. Although I don’t agree with the gentleman that I need to get to The Event in the first paragraph, I also don’t believe my first chapter is ‘right’ yet. I need to take on board a little of his sense that I need more conflict/foreshadowing or the like earlier in the chapter to hook the readers, but without sacrificing my integrity for my own love of language.

Decisions, decisions, decisions…

When I was younger I was ruthless in my decision making. My choice of university was easy (once I got the grades to be accepted!) after hearing so many stories from my Dad of his days spent studying at St. Andrews. Post undergraduate my choice to quit one job even when I didn’t have another one was simple – I knew I could find another one fast enough (and I did). Doing my Ph.D. was a no brainer once I knew I needed it to do the job I dreamed of. Post doctorate it took me about half an hour to accept a job in Arizona – a state I had never visited in a country several thousands miles away from home. But, all these decisions were made when I was a free-n-easy single gal.

Even after the hubby and I got hitched decisions were easy. Indeed, the hitching part was pretty straightforward too – not just the decision of who to tie myself to for, you know, all eternity but where, when and how we would do it was simple even when life threw in a couple of curve balls. Then when it was time to up-sticks and move from the South-West to the Mid-West and give up my career so that the hubs got his dream job I didn’t give it more than a passing thought before I jumped onboard. It took us a week to buy house – a week from the starting-to-look phase to the signing-on-the-agreement phase, and at no time was there indecision. Then something changed. We had a baby. And now that baby is a three-year-old and suddenly decisions seem difficult for the first time ever.

Not the everyday decisions – though I have to be honest and say that making the decision every-freaking-meal what two of us are going to eat rather than just me gets tiresome! – those are still easy. It is the BIG decisions that now seem overwhelming. Where-should-kiddo-go-to-school?, do-we-stay-in-our-house-or-move-to-a-better-school-district?, when-do-I-go-back-to-work?, what-do-I-do-when-I-go-back-to-work?, do-I-go-to-grad-school?, do-we-have-another-kiddo?, aaarrrhhhhhgggg …

When we first moved to Toledo the hubs and I agreed I could take a year off and do what ever I liked – it was during this year that I started doing English classes. It was a complete surprise, albeit a quiet lovely one, when my first creative writer gave me really positive feedback and didn’t send me packing like I had somewhat expected. However, even for the first couple of years I never really considered ‘writing’ to be a future full-time endeavor, probably because I was too shattered from feeding our newly born daughter every 2.5 hours. However, in the last year or so I’ve become more and more intrigued by the question whether or not I have the ability (with a bucketload of hard work) to make ‘author’ into a career. But, how do I do that now that I’m not single and can’t change my life on a dim without consequences?

I know there are a billion writers out there that are dedicated and steadfast in their pursuit for publishing opportunities and free-lance work – many while raising families and holding down day jobs. And I applaud them for it, I truly do. But, I don’t know if that path is for me. Obliviously, I have to keep chasing publications as it is the only way to make me write and to make me better at it. And if I ever get to the point where I am ready to apply for an MFA, or approach literary agents I’ll need proof on my CV that I’ve been working hard at my writing. But what is the ‘end goal’? To be the next JK Rowling? To be the next Raymond Carver? To see my novel on the shelves at Barnes & Noble published by Random House? To teach creative writing at the college level? To teach writing workshops locally with a non-profit? To write one short story a year and just enjoy it as a hobby? All of the above? Esh! More decisions!!!

If anyone needs me I’ll be sitting in the corner hiding under a pillow and willing the right decision to fall into my lap….

Waiting Room of Books

My dear friend Eleanor, who blogs at Stitches and Seeds, wrote a wonderfully delightful post late last year about her ‘waiting room of books’ – or more commonly referred to as the pile of books we all have sitting beside our bed patiently waiting their turn to be read. Eleanor introduced us to each of her books as if they are friends and explained why they are hanging out in the waiting room – it made for a charming read, and I’m now going to steal her idea!

So, without further ado here is my current waiting room …


Let us start at one end …


My Prudent Advice: Bought for me by mother right before I became a mother, she is a beautiful book in which I’m suppose to write my own ‘prudent advice’ on different subject matters for my own daughter to read when she is of age. As soon as I find my ‘prudent advice’ I will endeavor to fill her out!

The Tilted World: One of my most favourite reads in the last couple of years has been Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin and so I went out to find more of his work. I ordered Tilted World simply cause she is written by Tom – I want to get to her soon and lose my self in the beautiful language that I know she has within.

The Selected Levis: Poetry is the cool, artistic kid who is effortlessly gorgeous in an oversized Nirvana T, ripped jeans, and a slouch-hat even though it is sunny and 70F. She is the kid I’ve always wanted to hang out with but never felt creative enough. She is my girl crush. I’ve been taking tentative steps to introduce myself to her – forced to by her being required reading – and it is going ok. But, baby steps. I’ll keep flickering through Selected Levis to read her from one of the greats, and hope that by the end we’ll be firm friends & some of her artistic mojo will rub off on me!

The Silver Linings: Bought for $1 at the library sale, she has been lurking in the waiting room for a while now. She seems quiet content just kicking it, patiently waiting her turn. I suspect she is going to have to wait for a while yet cause if I’m honest she was only bought cause she was $1, and I’m not sure how committed I am to actually reading her.

Seating Arrangements: I throughly enjoyed Seating Arrangements’ sister, Astonish Me, largely because she is set in the world of professional ballet and once upon a time I had, extremely unrealistic, aspirations to be a ballerina (and perhaps rather embarrassingly I had aspirations when I was much older than the typical three-year-old girl). I have started Seating Arrangements and I’m afraid she didn’t capture me straight-away, but I have hope that she will when I give her another chance.


Beautiful Ruins: Bought her when she was highly recommended by a very learned friend on Facebook AND she is partly set in the Edinburgh Fringe – which is extremely dear to my heart. I got half way through her, and I was loving her, but I dwindled in my commitment and she remains only half read. I will return to her soon – she won’t be in the lounge for too much longer.

Moth Smoke: Her author wrote one of those books that I’ve not been able to forget since I read it, The Reluctant Fundamentalist, and I picked her up as I wanted to see what else her author could offer me. I hate to say but, she is another book that has been half read then popped back into the waiting room – she wasn’t ‘bad’ but she wasn’t her sister either and I couldn’t quite get over my expectations for her. Perhaps when I’ve distanced myself from her sister a little more I can have a truer relationship with her.

Straight Man & That Old Cape Magic: These sisters were bought when I discovered their author was heading to my university to give a talk. I try to at least read some of the work of the authors I go to see speak, so I hopped on the intertubes and ordered this pair (cause if you haven’t realized by now, I am incapable of buying one book if I can buy two.) My toddler got sick and so, in the end, I wasn’t able to go hear their author speak, and these two remained untouched. Straight Man has been highly recommend to me by someone who is much better read than I, so I will get to her … but her sister … I fear she might be relegated from the waiting room to the living room bookshelves soon, and returned to in a few years time.

The no-cry sleep solution: I have a three-year old. She is like me – she likes ‘company’ when she is drifting off to sleep. I have crap I need to do so can’t sit for hours while she winds down. She is now ‘going to sleep like a big girl’ by herself but if I had taken this gal out of the waiting room and actually read her, perhaps we would have got to this point a couple of years ago!!!

The Falling Sky: This lady’s author has a similar path to me – PhD astronomer who left research to undertake her creative writing degree – except Pippa is further down the path and is a fully-fledged, published author. Falling Sky is a novel set in the world of the professional astronomy, which makes her pretty unusual. I’m excited to get time to sit with her and get to know both her, and her author, better.

The Clean House & other plays: My dear friend & neighbour, Brooke, has a ‘little free library’, and one Sunday morning I found this gem sitting waiting for me – as if it were fate. I’ve read Clean House but she is still in the waiting room as I need to find the time to read the other plays she has to offer. Soon though.

In the Time of Butterflies: A year or so ago I read The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao in which the legend of the Mirabal sisters of the Dominican Republic make a cameo appearance. Their story stuck with me and led me to discovering Butterflies – in which her author tells the tale of the ill-fated sisters. I’ve read so many wonderful reviews of her, I’m eager to get to her.

Are We Lucky Yet: A collection of short stories written by my professor/friend/mentor Jane Bradley. This little book really should be promoted from the waiting room to the bedside table – she will be a wonderful little respite from this semester’s required reading. Off to do that now!

Americanah: I fell in love with Americanah’s author when I read her debut novel, Purple Hibiscus. Americanah sings to me as it features an immigrant on American soil. I want to read her, I really do, but she 608 pages long – she is a commitment and I’ve yet to muster up the resolve – once I start her I won’t want to stop.

Things Fall Apart: Bought when I read an interview with Adichie and learned the author, a fellow Nigerian, had inspired Adichie to write. Things Fall Apart is on my hit list – she isn’t just loitering – she has places to go and she’ll be moving soon.

Faulks on Fiction: Sebastian Faulks – author extraordinaire – wrote this gem which has the subtitle: Great British Characters and the Secret Life of the Novel … doesn’t that just make her sound amazing? She has been lurking for a while but once I’ve cleared some other non-fiction that is on my bedside table she’ll be coming to join me for some bedtime sojourns.


Salvation on Sand Mountain: She is required reading for my non-fiction workshop, and just between you and me, she isn’t a book I would have picked up under my own steam. But, she and I powered through 120 pages yesterday, and I’m hooked. My knowledge of snake-handling churches of the American south is increasing in leaps and bounds!

Caucasia: Another required reading, but this time I would have certainly picked her up if I were to have meet her randomly in the book store. Getting started on her tonight – can’t wait.

White Boy Shuffle: The last required reading for my African-American lit class, but as it would happen White Boy has been lurking on the living room book shelves for many years – untouched and unloved. Now is her time! Well, after Caucasia and three other books that I have to finish first!

Down By the River: The last required reading for my non-fiction workshop – again, not sure I would have had a meaningful encounter with her if she wasn’t on my ‘must buy for class’ list – time will tell if she and I get on, or not.

Instructions for a Heatwave: The other week I was having a rubbishy day and I had a 20% voucher for Barnes & Noble in hand – so in order to cheer myself up a little I went on a on-line shopping sesh – but not before I asked a couple of super-duper-reading-girlfriends what to buy. This little lady was what was recommended in record fast time. Looking forward to curling up with her soon.

Sunset Song: Along with my aforementioned super-duper-reading-girlfriends, I am undertaking a reading challenge this year which involves checking off books that fall into certain categories. One such category is ‘should have read at school’ – Sunset Song is the book I’ve picked for this. It’s not like I was suppose to read her in English Higher class but got lazy – instead she was a book that other classes were assigned but mine wasn’t. She is from a different era so may not be the quickest of reads, but I’m so looking forward to immersing myself in my home again, and reveling in all that I miss.

Between the World and Me: Desperate to read this gal but waiting for the perfect day where I can clear enough of my ‘stuff’ (and by stuff I mean daughter and husband!) out of the way and read her in one sitting.

Station Eleven: I have heard so many, many wonderful things about this book and I’m so eager to read her – in fact so eager to read her that I borrowed her donkey’s ages ago from a friend. And I’m not paying empty lip-service when I say I want to read her, I really do but you see, she is a hardback and every time I go to extract her from the waiting room and set her beside my bed I look at her longingly then think “but I’m going to have to hold her up.” Lame, I know. Utterly pathetic, even.

On Writing: I’m not a Stephen King fan per se, indeed, there is a high chance I’ve never read an entire book by him, but this book was recommended by a creative writing prof for all the great tips and hints contained in her. We’ve had a good few conversations – I just need to pour us a glass of wine one night, and finish up a few loose ends that we need to chat about.

Phew – did you make it all the way through with me? I’m equal parts impressed with your staying power and thinking you need to get out more! Seriously though, thank you for letting me introduce my waiting room of books to you. They are all loved books and will, one day, make it to the ‘read’ pile. But for now, I should probably buy some comfy seats for these ladies as some of them might have a bit of a wait yet …


… and the current, actively reading pile!

The fear of the personal

When one first ventures into creative writing there is often a piece of advice that gets thrown in your direction: write what you know. I used to understand this as being: only write about things in your fictional world that you have experienced in your non-fictional world. And if one takes it that way, one would run out of things to write about pretty darn fast; unless you have lived a truly remarkable life filled with an unfathomable number of adventures. The more I write fiction, the more I believe what this advice actually means is: write what you can embody and write what you can do so ‘believably.’ If I take it this way I can certainly get onboard, and understand it to be very valuable advice rather than stifling anti-advice.

As I continue to write and create fictional characters, then attempt to tell their stories, I feel more confident in allowing their realities to differ from what I’ve lived, but are still ones that I believe I can do justice to. There are still many, many characters or experiences I believe I will never been able to write authentically – but perhaps in time that will change too. This all being said, events, conversations, people, and experiences from my ‘real’ world certainly leak into my stories. Fragments of conversations with my husband have made it into a play, a tragic even from my childhood was used in a short story, and my characters are often composites of people I ‘really’ know. This is entirely to be expected of any fictional writing, assuming it has been written by a human that hasn’t lived out their entire lives in solitary confinement.

IMG_5973But what of writing non-fiction. I don’t mean a carefully researched article on a historical event, or a commentary on a topic of social importance but rather the ‘personal essay’. Non-fiction that is suppose to be a (re)telling of an event that truly happen in your non-fictional world – one that you, you know, actually lived through. In the last few months I have ventured into the world of the personal essay and it is, frankly, terrifying. Not because I’m worried about laying bare my ‘soul’ for critique by persons both known and unknown to me (you have to overcome that hurdle when you first do any form of creative writing), but, because, well, why would anyone want to read an essay about my life?
At the start of his chapter entitled “Modesty and Assertion” in his book, To Show and To Tell, Philip Lopate says if better than I ever could.

The most difficult hurdle confronting the would-be essayist or memoirist is the fear that one’s own life story, one’s own experiences, ideas, and impressions are of too little importance to pass on. “Why should I talk about my happy or unhappy childhood? Or my appreciation of nature? Why burden other people with the unsettled debris of my mind?” thinks the student.

This! Exactly this!

But then if I take a step back and breathe for a second rather than letting the panic set in I realize there was a similar emotion when I first started writing fiction: why would anyone read what I write? That fear has been dissolved (somewhat) by positive feedback – by letting people read my work and getting affirmation that it is worthy of reading, and that they found it “good” or “enjoyable.” Like anything in life, if we are told “you are worthy” we find the motivation to move forward and to grow in our chosen endeavor.

And so to the personal essay. I expect to learn a lot over the next couple of months as I study, and write, this format but I think I’ve already learned something that has allowed me displace the dread enough to put pen to paper. Firstly, people will read things that are well written – if you as the author put your efforts in writing well rather than stressing about whether or not your essay is ‘entertaining’ or ‘informative’ or ‘insightful’ you will end up with an essay that will be read. It is then in the hands of your reader to find their own connection to the story – and each reader will identify with your work in wildly different ways. The unknown-to-you reader might find something that resonates with their own experiences or an insight that they never considered before. The known-to-you reader may find themselves (literally) on the page and revel in the shared memory, or be aghast at your interpretation of the event that you’ve chosen to regale. But ultimately, it is not for you, the author, to worry about those things – just write!


When reality supersedes fiction

One of the most favorite new things I did in 2015 was start to write plays. I’ve been involved with amateur dramatics in one way or another most of my life. It started at the age of four with the quintessential end-of-year ballet show where I hopped across the stage with my fellow pint-sized bunny rabbits. Then my repertoire expanded to include jazz and tap dance and a very brief delve into musical theatre (I still have my Oliver & Annie costumes stowed away in my parents attic). I stuck with dancing on the stage until my first year of university, after which I preferred to be ‘behind the scenes’ as an choreographer and stage manager until the day I was coerced back onto stage as a chorus girl for my hometown’s production of Copacabana (which was a hell of a lot of fun and I kinda wish we got to keep the costumes!)

However, since emigrating to the US in 2007 I haven’t orchestrated a way back to being involved in local theatre beyond being an as-frequent-as-I-can-be patron of productions, small and large, about town. But I still love the theatre. The buzz that rattles through the audience when the house lights dim and the orchestra hits the first note of the overture – it gives me chills every time. Or, when the first actor bursts on to the set and drags us into their world. I’m thrilled that the toddler is getting old enough for me to finally introduce her to this passion – though I have to admit I won’t be rushing back to see Peppa Pig Live! again in a hurry!!

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Can you find me?? Copacabana 2006. source:

And so, it isn’t particularly surprising that I jumped at the chance to take a course in Playwriting when it was offered last year. The course requirements involved writing one ten-minute play (does what is says ‘on the tin’ – a complete play that takes exactly ten minutes to run. My attempt at this can be found here) and one one-act play. I wanted to challenge myself with my one act so I decided to tackle something that is a ‘hot topic’ today in the USA and most of the world – Islamophobia and the reaction to terrorist acts carried out in the name of Islam. But I wanted to look at it from a human level rather than a strictly political one.

My premise is straightforward. An eclectic group of girls who meet during their college days are still friends twenty years later even though their lives are now vastly different. They come together for the funeral of one of the girls’ mother – who just so happens to be Muslim.  Oh and did I mention the funeral takes place on the day that a fictitious attack, similar to the attack on the Charlie Hedbo offices in Paris, occurs in New York City. Throw into the mix a new boyfriend who is meeting the group for the first time and is ever-so-slightly (insert sarcasm) Islamophobic.

As of yet, I’ve not posted the play here, or on the website, because it is currently only around thirty minutes in length and I have (had?) notions to expand it into a full length play of around ninety minutes. I strongly believe that the theatre stage is where the ‘extremes’ of real life should be explored; that the reality seen on the stage should be a heightened version of what we experience in our ‘actual’ lives in the hope that we can untangle how we feel about things. To this end one idea I had for extending my play was to paint a ‘heightened’ version of contemporary America where all Muslims are forced to register themselves with the authorities and wear a visible label/branding on their persons at all times in order to make it clear to society around them that they are Muslim. You know, like the Jews were forced to do in a certain country at a certain period of history.

I thought I was onto a winning idea of where to take the play next and how to take it deeper. Then enter stage left, Donald Trump and his run at the US Presidency. For those of you who don’t know me personally it is pretty safe to say, politically speaking, I lie firmly in the ‘left’ camp on most all subjects. But even if I didn’t, even if I were a centrist or even right of center I strongly believe that I would still consider Mr. Trump to be a vile human being. Not only for what comes out of his mouth but because I think he says many of those things just for effect (if you have been lucky enough to miss what Donald has said in recent weeks about Muslims, go do a google search, it won’t be hard to find!)

[Editor’s Note: I deliberately made one of my female characters English so I could have her call The Donald a T*at … and this was before the presidential race started!]

I am an immigrant. But I am one of the fortunate ones. I came here through choice. I didn’t have to flee my home under the very imminent threat of death. I came here for a job and I stayed here for my marriage and family. I also don’t have any outwards signs of being ‘different’. I am Scottish (if I were any more white skinned I would be transparent!) and even though I do still have a slight accent it is deemed ‘adorable’ by strangers rather than ‘frightening’. I can’t fathom what it must be like to come here after escaping war & refugee camps and then hear a person that is running for the highest office in the land call you a potential (probable?) terrorist just because you happen to share the same religion as some thugs that are using that religion to justify acts of horrifying violence.

Are we really entering into a society where daily reality is started to encroach on a fictional world that I thought was ‘extreme’? Or is this all hullabaloo that will settle down again post-election? I have my fingers and toes crossed for the latter.

So where does this leave me with my play? Do I push on and expand it the way I had intended but scratch my head to come up with even more extreme/scary prospects of how America could end up if it starts down the path that Trump claims to want to take it on? Or do I close the book on it. Leave it where it is …


Pipe dreams



It was when I was a freshly minted university graduate at the ripe-old-age of twenty-one that I experienced New York City for the very first time. My friend, Sarah, and I had travelled over the ‘pond’ from Scotland to Richmond, VA to meet up with another friend, Jacqueline, from uni – an American none-the-less – whom we had met and become BFFs with during her JYA studies in St Andrews. Although we’d all know each other for a couple of years, Sarah and I waited until we turned twenty-one to make the trip to see Jacqueline in her native country for the simple fact that we wanted to be able to sit around and have a cocktail or three during our “Great American Adventure”. After some time in Virginia we all hopped on the train to The Big Apple. We arrived at Penn Station (which is directly below Madison Square Gardens) around 9pm on a weekday evening and as Sarah and I followed Jacqueline up to street level we felt like we’d been whisked straight into a movie set.

We were suddenly surrounded by skyscrapers taller that we could fathom, yellow cabs with drivers leaning on their horns, police in ‘funny’ outfits with ‘funny’ squad cars, steam pouring out of manholes, people going in all directions but miraculously not bumping into each other, and a city buzz that instantly intoxicated us. I fell in love with NYC right that second and it is a love affair that has lasted almost twenty years. I’ve been very fortunate that I’ve been able to return to the city countless times in the intervening years and I always assumed that I would one day live there. This weekend I was again in the city. The reason for going was bittersweet but I always cherish time with my Jacqueline regardless of what brings us together. I also got to go solo leaving my toddler in Ohio with her Dada. Again I fell under the spell of the city. Of course, when you are staying in a delightful apartment on the Upper East Side with family and your wonderful host is, frankly, one of the best cooks you know, it is easy to drift off into a lusty haze and imagine you actually live there for real.

IMG_5074Although I was away from Ohio for the weekend I couldn’t completely tune out my life here for three days – aside from putting calls in to speak to the toddler and her Dada I had a homework exercise to complete for class. The exercise was simple, write a mock query letter looking for representation from a literary agent. To make it even more fun we were tasked with finding an actual real live, living & breathing agent that would be interested in the type of fiction we write. I first thought about Ian McEwan – cause who wouldn’t want his career! – but after some internet snooping I learned that the agent he worked with passed away last year. I poked through the company of the late agent but didn’t see a ‘perfect’ fit with any of the other agents.

Contemplating other authors I like I decided to be more “realistic” and pick a new, young author whom I have just discovered. Maggie Shipstead has two novels out and I recently read her second – Astonish Me. I like her style, it is approachable but her language is more lyrical (and by that I mean, better!) than most ‘best sellers’ and I am an absolute sucker for flowery language that wraps the character’s world around me as I read. The novel is a family drama set in the professional ballet world and since in another life I’m totally a prima ballerina it was right up my street. Researching her literary agent came up trumps too and so off I went to write my query letter to Ms. Gradinger of Fletcher & Company whose offices, of course, are in New York City, New York! Fifth Avenue between 13th & 14th street to be precise – only a short(ish) bus/subway ride from where I was staying in the Upper East Side.

And so my brain took off and really launched itself into a fantastical dream-world where I am a celebrated author, represented by Ms. Gradinger (who I meet with often to have business meetings over a martini), and I live in a beautiful apartment on the Upper East Side (or Upper West Side, I like them both, I’m not picky). Of course, in this fantasy world you can totally afford to live in a palatial apartment in NYC off the proceeds of selling one novel … it is fantasy, people, fantasy!!

Needless to say re-entry back into my at-home-mama-mid-west-america-suburban actual life has been a little bit bumpy this week but it has been made easier by toddler (and her Dada) cuddles and kisses. But the really great thing is that I now have this query letter sitting on my computer ready to go – should I ever feel brave enough to send it out (and brave enough to receive the rejection that will follow). I may never get to live in The Big Apple, and I will certainly never have the bank account that would be needed to live in the style that my fantasy paints, but one day I may be a bona fide author that is represented by a literary agent with a publishing deal under my belt… maybe, just maybe…

Never gonna join the circus

I’m bad at juggling. Terrible at it. Truth be told I can barely catch one ball far less keep multiple balls in the air in some wonderfully beautiful choreographed jiggery-pokery. The ball catching genes landed firmly on my big sisters shoulders – she can stick her hand out at the last second and a ball will glue itself to her palm. Me? I could have a half hour warning of the incoming projectile and I still fumble the catch.

Sadly, my inability to juggle isn’t just limited to balls – I’m also truly terrible at juggling ‘things’ in my life. When I focus my energy on two or three things I can do those things really, really well – but when the number of ‘things’ creeps up beyond that (painfully) limited number things get dropped, fast. I have a number of friends that are my heroes for their ability to do all the things all the time. It boggles my mind how they do it – and still look more rested and put together than I do on any given day.

My life is incredibly uncomplicated. I don’t work. I stay home with my toddler who is as content to stay in pjs for big chunks of the day as I am. On most days we don’t have anywhere we have to be at any specific time – no school yet, very little activities that we have to be on time for – really we are so relaxed that most people would be jealous of the life we have created for ourselves. For example, here is a list of ‘things’ that I’m ostensibly responsible for.

  • keeping my daughter alive (2.75 years in and we seem to be doing OK)
  • keeping my daughter entertained (mmmm … I would say I have a 50/50 hit rate on this)
  • class work (this semester that has been writing personal essays, workshopping classmates fiction & compulsory reading)
  • this blog (yeah – not going so well)
  • writing (been going great!)
  • reading (horribly, horribly failing on this)
  • running Love Letters To Toledo (so much fun and a really lovely creative outlet!)
  • housework (the hubby will testify that I’m shockingly bad at this!)
  • paying the bills (not had our electric cut off yet so I must be doing ok)
  • keeping my daughter alive (see #1)

So you can see – not exactly a lot! But yet, two things on that list have been resoundingly dropped recently: namely keeping up with this blog and keeping pushing with my reading. One could argue that it is better that it is these things that have been dropped and not the only thing I’m really, truly responsible for – the well being of my daughter. But … if I’m serious about being a “writer” then I need to get better at doing the multitasking dance, for life will get more complicated in the not too distant future – my daughter will start school in the next year or so and I will be looking to re-enter the working world & will be required to be out of my pjs before noon.

But, I hear you say, surely reading and this blog are only for ‘pleasure’ and it is really inconsequential if they are ignored for a month or two. Well, yes, in a way that is true but if I am wishing to pursue the completion and publication of a novel at any point in my life these two things are important. Firstly, all successful authors are avid readers and I know for certain that my writing is better when I am reading frequently. And secondly, this blog not only keeps me accountable to keeping writing at the forefront of my thoughts but it makes sure I frequently flex the ‘writing’ part of my brain which is critical to keeping it lubricated and functional!

So how am I going to get better at the juggle? I guess the same way we get better at anything, practice. Now that class is wrapping up in a couple of weeks and I’ve completed a (super-teeny-tiny) micro-version of NaNoWriMo I can shift the focus slightly back to blogging and reading. I have a long way to go to catch up on my 2015 Reading Challenge but the winter weather is settling in and my fireplace is begging to be curled up in front off with a book and a hot chocolate! How do you all manage the juggle? Anyone come up with a wonderful new way of keeping those balls up there without sacrificing your mental health? I’d love to hear all about it in the comments below!