As the saying goes; ‘When you’re up to your ass in alligators, it’s easy to forget that you went in there to drain the swamp.’
I started this blog two years ago after a (more successful) writing friend told us about ways to advertise your writing. I write for fun, but the idea of starting a blog sounded like fun as well, so I did. Since then, it’s been a blog about all the other things I do – gardening in a large space, star gazing, getting the trees in our community orchard identified, travel, cats. Occasionally, writing. Rarely, writing, which is the original point.
I haven’t stopped writing for long over the last two years, though there have been times when I haven’t written or read a single original word for a fortnight. I had one of those times in mid-September to early October, starting with a small set-back and snowballing to being unable to even think of writing. What set it right was someone giving me an honest critique of something I’d written before the standstill and saying that they really enjoyed it. This is someone from a hard-boiled critique group, where they know they have to point out all the flaws that let the whole piece down (“He tells her that he’s from the future and that she should invest her life savings in a tech start-up she’s never heard of… and she does??? Hmmm. Wouldn’t you think – ‘Scam’?”).
That one enthusiastic ‘Like’ set me to writing again. I’d entered Globe Soup’s Historical Fiction competition with a will in early September, had three weeks of not being able to write and had three weeks to write four stories. Two of which I had no idea what I could write about (GS sold tickets in five assorted colours, and you chose a ticket without knowing which time period you’d be assigned). I had pretty much written off any chance of writing any coherent fiction based on Ancient Egypt and I know a lot of the contestants were struggling with the kind of racist language that both sides would have used without question or alternative during the American Civil War. But I had a decent World War II story and now a 1920’s one that somebody else liked… And I was off and writing, three new stories in the historical challenge finished in three weeks flat.
Strike rate this autumn so far; the fastest rejection ever for my Crazy Cat Lady story, five varied historical stories sent to Globe Soup (including a very strange one set in Ancient Egypt – and one set in the American Civil War without any words that might be offensive to anyone unless they’re from Edinburgh). Bought a couple of tickets for Globe Soup’s next competition – Paranormal – and got assigned the two categories I wanted. Not a peep about the Shallow Creek competition, and The Literal Challenge has stopped sending out prompts.
I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few weeks arranging a meeting for my OU writer’s group this month – we studied online and chatted through the OU’s forum for a year and agreed to meet up at the end of the course. We’ve been meeting up in person or virtually every year since 2011. Every year, we start with last year’s resolutions and admit what we have or haven’t done – spend time catching up, exploring the area and writing. We end the long weekend with a session where we each say what we mean to do over the next twelve months, and one person writes it all down and circulates it later. I organised this year’s meet with the knowledge that again, I belong to a group of nine writers where six have at least one published novel, half of them have sold a short story or two, one has won an award and one helps to run a literary magazine. I’m the comedy act at the end of the session with null points.
With days left before we meet again – I got an email. I had won the short story competition in Writers’ Online, please send photo and author bio, payment to follow shortly. Yes, I checked it wasn’t a scam. No, I don’t quite believe it. But still, I’m going up to Cromer in a few weeks with a shortlisted and a win to my credit, with another five stories in the judges’ in-box that might get a mention – or a home somewhere else.
Julia Chalkley 