annanotbob's Diaryland Diary
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Cat on a hot wooden fence
So R said to take notice of how I feel after being with different people - who leaves me feeling good and who doesn't.
Jan does. I was kind of intimidated about her to start off with, about the idea of her and who she was and what she's done. When we first met she was about to leave her job as head of art in a big secondary school, to pursue a life in music. I was taking a career break from being a waitress/shop assistant/barmaid, living on benefits, single mum of three rowdy kids. But she was always so easy to get along with, that I forgot all that when I saw her and now, after a gap of twenty years, we're both in a different place.
She says lovely things to me - things that I should write down and put in my box of nice things to read when I'm feeling crap (ha, as if I've ever remembered to look in the bloody thing when I need to). After she'd had a meal here with Jane, Sarah and Michaela, she said how nice it was to see me with my friends and know that I was surrounded by so much love.
Tonight she fed me at her place, down the hill a bit (I say that, but from hers I'm up the hill a lot). She called to invite me for a meal out, but I didn't feel I could go into town so she said she'd cook. I told her I wasn't in a very good place and she just said come on down. I took a bottle of wine left over from Sara's party (did you get that? Wine, left over from my daughter's party, God's honest truth) and she told me funny stories about her last few days at school (she's a music teacher now) as we sat in the garden. She tells a great story - out of her seat, playing all the parts, different voices. She gives great teenager.
Then she started asking me about my novel-writing - I'd been in the middle of nanowrimo when I first got in touch with her, then started yet another novel, at a more sensible pace in early '07. I've been thinking and even talking about the two nanowrimo novels in the last few weeks. Not actually doing anything, although I did give the first part of one to Sarah and Michaela, who were very enthusiastic and wanted to see more.
So I launched into a great long spiel about me and writing and how crap it all is. I mean, I try and think of myself as a writer, but writers write, that's their defining feature and it doesn't mean spewing your guts all over the internet after you've had a spliff or two.
But listen, this is the good bit. I told her about the first novel and how the first agent I sent chapters to wanted the whole lot then called me to a meeting with her, and Jan nearly exploded with awe. I had somehow forgotten this, because I don't mix with people who are or have been professional creatives - that this just doesn't happen to people with their first approach. Jan had a career as a musician in Germany, with a recording contract and all, she released 12 albums - her reaction was orders of magnitude different to other people I've told, who just say, 'Cool, what happened?' First total breakdown, that's what happened. By the time I emerged, that agent had moved on and so had technology. Mobile phones and the internet had transformed our lives and totally fucked up my plot.
Anyway, suddenly in Jan's eyes I'm up there as a serious creative and this element needs to be factored in to my recovery needs. Fucking hell, of course it does. What have I been thinking?
What alarms me is that I've almost always written under big time constraints, squeezing it into stolen hours. Apart from one summer holiday, the six weeks off school, with the house permanently full of young teenagers, when I wrote all day every day to finish that first novel. I was on such a fucking roll, it was magic. I could flip in and out of the zone, making sandwiches, stopping fights, going to the beach for a swim every couple of hours.
Anyway, I've got two first drafts, either one of which I can get excited about, but I don't know where to start. Do I need to write to recover or to recover to write? I'm gonna give it a shot - just writing this down has made me realise exactly where I need to start. Woo and indeed hoo, with quite a lot of way hay!
This morning I went to the arts and crafts group where we did ribbon-weaving:
That's going to be on the front of a small pillow, stuffed loosely with lavender, to put over my eyes when I do my yoga relaxation. I told J that yesterday's writing topic had been distressing to both me and T. She was appalled and asked if I wanted to see someone after the group to talk it through. I can't quite get my head round this whole concept of not having to deal with things on my own. But I don't - I am a well-supported little bonkers person.
Grateful for:
1. Ending the day feeling much better than I did when it started.
2. Friends
3. Going to Sammie's for the weekend - her git of a partner is off on one of those vile stag weekends so she's invited me and Sara up to create a bit of mayhem.
4. I love living here. I get scared of the insecurity but I just love it and REALLY want to stay here.
5. Haven't seen Sara all day - sounds mean, but there you go. She went swimming, to college, to work, to her friend's house.
Sleep well, hunny-bunnies xx
11:19 p.m. - 08/05/2008
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