tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74159788043539033642024-03-14T02:12:37.229-07:00Jayne Baldwin BlethersJaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-89202269355271535982014-08-25T03:51:00.001-07:002014-08-25T03:51:26.040-07:00Blog Tour <span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been a very busy summer! My last blog was back in June and since then I've been out and about with my new children's book. But I've been prompted to return to my blog thanks to the invitation from writer <a href="http://www.krissnichol.co.uk/" target="_blank">Kriss Nichol</a> to take part in the <b>Blog Tour. </b>So here goes....</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Q1: What are you currently </span><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">working on?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm actually about to revise my first book<b> West Over the Waves, The Final Flight of Elsie Mackay</b>. The book is officially out of print but there will be lots of interest in it next year - I'm told! American best selling author <b><a href="http://www.idiotgirls.com/" target="_blank">Laurie Notaro</a></b> is publishing a novel interweaving the story of aviator Elsie Mackay along with two other women (Ruth Elder and Mabel Boll) who were also trying to the be first female to fly the Atlantic. The book is being published by Simon and Schuster next summer and Laurie has told me she'll be pointing readers towards my non fiction book! So it needs to be available. There is also talk of a film based on Elsie Mackay, who was the actress, designer daughter of Lord Inchcape of Glenapp, and I've read a very wonderful script by screenwriter <b>Tony Lindsay</b>. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm not sure I have a genre! I originally trained and worked as a journalist and because of that I feel that I am a jobbing writer, willing to turn my hand to anything! I write a newspaper column, short stories, creative non fiction and children's books. I also have a stack of ideas for a novel if I ever have time. I am a huge fan of Kate Atkinson and love the way her work cannot really be catagorised to a genre. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Q3: Why do I </span><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">write what I do?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's a compulsion! Simple as that. It just happens. If I get an idea or an inspiration I just have to get it down as fast as I can. Both of my non fiction books were researched and written quite quickly because I become obsessed. Even my new children's story - due out in spring 2015 - landed in my head fully formed while I was walking the dog one day and I had to run home and write it down. I know it sounds odd but I just find that when it happens, I'm driven! </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Q4: How does my writing process work?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">You can probably tell from the last question that I don't really have a process. Despite having studied yoga and worked as a teacher, I am very undisciplined. I have a busy and challenging family life which I have to work round too. Having said that, when I have a project underway everything else gets swept to one side and you'll find me in archives and libraries researching and then just writing until it's done. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Q5: What's new from you? </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had a new children's book<a href="http://www.curlytalebooks.co.uk/" target="_blank">, <b>Big Bill's Beltie Bairns</b></a>, published in May and with my publishing hat on, we have a new book due out this autumn called <b>The Galloway Chilli by Shalla Gray</b>. I was also appointed <a href="http://wigtownbookfestival.com/year-round/literature-animateurs" target="_blank">literary animateur</a> for Wigtownshire in July, supporting the region's literary development officer, Carolyn Yates. With the Curly Tales and my Mary Timney book, I have a busy schedule of readings and talks over the next few months. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,'lucida grande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif; line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm now handing the baton to author<a href="http://www.patriciacomb.com/" target="_blank"> Patricia Comb</a>. Over to you Patricia. </span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-49382288949306963812014-06-14T10:44:00.002-07:002014-06-14T10:44:45.665-07:00Plays and Prose<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night I travelled through to Dumfries to see the screening of footage taken of a play originally produced by the town's Guild of Players 25 years ago. A series of coincidences and conversations had led to the discovery of the video made of The Execution of Mary Timney by photographer Brian Sherman when the play was put on at the small Brigend Theatre in Dumfries. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The play had been commissioned from poet and playwright Tom Pow by Radio Scotland and was first aired on that station. The Guild of Players took the radio play and produced it as a stage production, creating a powerful piece of work which had extra resonance because it was about a tragic episode in the history of this town in south west Scotland. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The play highlights the case of 27 year old Mary Reid or Timney who was found guilty of the brutal murder of her neighbour and publicly hanged before a crowd of three thousand in 1862. The case inspired such horror amongst the public that it was a catalyst for a change in the law in six years later and so Mary became the last woman to die this terrible public death in Scotland. Sadly, Dumfries was also the place where the last man was executed in public, shortly before the new law was brought in. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tom Pow has written about both cases after seeing the death mask of Robert Smith and the broadsheet depicting Mary Timney's execution in Dumfries museum. He wrote a poem about Robert Smith and intended doing the same about Mary Timney but instead found himself being commissioned to write a radio play. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I began researching the story of Mary Timney for my book, published last year, Tom very kindly shared not only some of his sources but also his feelings about the case. He hadn't seen the Guild of Players production as he had been abroad at the time and at that stage he didn't know about the footage. By coincidence Tom later met and married the actress who produced, directed and took the role of Mary Timney in the production of his play. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Being able to see this play thanks to the digital conversion of the video tape, was an extraordinary experience. As Tom said in his introduction, his play would now be described as verbatim play as he lifted many of the lines and statements direct from the original court records and newspaper articles. Of course I had also used these sources, along with others, and many of the words also appear in my book. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hearing these words being said by the actors, who all gave such outstanding performances that it was difficult to remember that this was and remains an amateur theatre company, was deeply moving and more than once I felt the hairs lifting on the back of my neck. Julie Smith's central performance as Mary Timney was heart rending, capturing the person that had emerged, for me, from the dusty lines of Victorian newsprint or the scrolled handwritten legal documents from the trail and precognition process. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The play powerfully conveys the difficult life of this young woman struggling to raise her four children in poverty with her neighbour quibbling over details like who owned the wood that had been washed down the river and left in the meadow opposite their cottages in the remote glen in north Kirkcudbrighshire. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The film is now available on DVD from Brian Sherman in Dumfries and I hope many schools use it as a resource as part of modules examining the issues of capital punishment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.shermanphotography.co.uk/" target="_blank">Brian Sherman</a></span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-41060432061995604442014-05-14T09:58:00.001-07:002014-05-14T09:58:06.701-07:00Plugging My New Book ....er....that's it<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apologies but I'm just going to mention my new book - Big Bill's Beltie Bairns illustrated by the extraordinary Shalla Gray. She's extraordinary because not only does she run a busy post office and village shop, organise four children (the youngest is just eight) and write and illustrate books BUT today she told me that 'in her spare time' (that is during the periods she's waiting for me to make decisions on pictures and stuff) she's created another book of her own. And not just a kind of rough sketch on some jotter paper, she's done the story and created the most amazing illustrations for it! But more of that in about four months time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, enough about Shalla (the wonder woman) and back to me (the wondering woman). So, Big Bill's Beltie Bairns was inspired by my first children's book, The Belties of Curleywee Farm which was illustrated by the multi talented Pauline James (God aren't these woman annoying, I mean inspirational) who went on to launch her own independent publishing company (Second Sands Publications). Since then I've been working with Shalla so it made sense to link my new book to her very successful title '<a href="http://www.facebook.com/curlytalebooks" target="_blank">Big Bill the Beltie Bull</a>.' Hence, Big Bill's Beltie Bairns. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We're launching on Sunday at the Whisky, Words and Wisdom Spring Festival in Wigtown, Scotland's National Booktown, <a href="http://www.wigtown-booktown.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.wigtown-booktown.co.uk</a> with a fun event filled with readings and activities (all available for other festivals too at a very reasonable rate). The book is in an A5 format (ideal for little hands) and is a bargain at just £5. Ask your local independent bookshop to order it or you can go direct to our website <a href="http://www.curlytalebooks.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.curlytalebooks.co.uk</a> or use the usual online book retailers. </span><br />
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<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-49831229539614577702014-05-05T10:04:00.000-07:002014-05-05T10:04:01.246-07:00Writer or Performing Monkey! <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few years ago I was reviewing events at the Wigtown Book Festival for the local newspaper and I wrote one article commenting on how much of a writer's life was now taken up with performing at festivals. This was before I wrote my first book and at that point I had no notion I would end up in this position myself. It was painfully obvious that many writers were wonderful at their craft but hated being dragged into the spotlight. They spoke too quietly, were awkward or trembling wrecks or just delivered lecture, their heads buried in a pile of papers, and who could blame them? They had chosen to be writers not performers and just wanted to be left alone to get on with it. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The ability to present your work, to talk about it, and if you're a children's writer then keep a crowd of youngsters happy for an hour, is increasingly part of an author's life. I'm involved in the children's committee for a festival and the decree from the director is that anyone selected for an invitation to appear should be able to present an 'experience' not just a reading of their work. This is a tall order and pretty unreasonable. By this criteria many excellent writers would be left on the shelf. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I wrote my first children's book I was invited to appear at a book festival. My event attracted a large audience and luckily the illustrator agreed to appear with me. We had never done an event before, let alone before a large crowd of young children, but I thought we did pretty well. We both talked to the kids, I read the story and Pauline explained how she'd done the illustrations. We then played a game and we had some colouring sheets to do. Everyone seemed happy apart from the publisher who claimed we'd lost sales as some children had drifted away. (Friends who were at the event later told me that one child had been taken to the toilet but that was it).</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have since become more experienced at public speaking to adults and reading stories to wee ones and looking back I know that our first event was pretty good for a pair of novices. I've seen some real stinkers from authors who just want to read the book and go home. I don't blame them but there is the expectation now that children should be entertained. One popular author performs a series of spectacular magic tricks at his events (and leaves quite a mess!), another runs around so much he must lose a stone! </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At a recent workshop about becoming a children's writer, Debbie Williams, course leader at the University of Central Lancashire, said that you are far more likely to be taken on by a publisher if you've been a teacher or can show that you know children, and can engage with them. In fact you have to be able to engage with people. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I left the building after the talk I passed an author (the event was for writers) who had been at the same (small) event, and I smiled warmly. He looked through me as if he'd never seen me before in his puff! That's not the way to do it, I thought. </span><br />
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-90183771800603032802014-04-09T06:15:00.002-07:002014-04-09T06:17:15.178-07:00A Wooden Beetle or Mallet, Tattie Basher or Murder Weapon? <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In early April 1862 Mary Reid or Timney faced trial for murder at Dumfries in South West Scotland. The weapon alleged to have been used in the attack on her neighbour, 40 year old Ann Hannah, was crucial to the case. It was a wooden mallet or beetle commonly used in Victorian kitchens, or in Mary's case her one room cottage, for washing clothes and also bashing neeps and tatties. The mallet produced in evidence was said to belonged to the 27 year old mother of four who was known to have a fiery temperament and an equally volatile relationship with the older woman who was her nearest neighbour - her family owned the farm and the cottage north of St John's Town of Dalry in the Glenkens where the Timneys lived. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Following Ann's death on the evening of the attack, the local police officer, John Robson from New Galloway, searched the Timney's cottage before arresting Mary for the murder. He discovered the mallet behind a meal barrel but replaced it not realising that it would be vital to the case. There was no reason for him to realise the importance of the mallet as two weapons had been discovered next to the dying woman, a butcher's knife and a poker. They were both covered in blood and had clearly been involved in the incident. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was only when the post mortem revealed that neither of these items could have caused the serious head injuries suffered by the poor woman, that the officer remembered the mallet. When the cottage was searched again in daylight by John Johnstone, the Chief Constable for the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright and two further officers drafted in from Dalbeattie and Carsphairn, they discovered the beetle again and, casting further suspicion on Mary, there had clearly been an attempt to hide it as it was discovered underneath a dresser. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mary strenuously denied that the implement was hers, and in a statement her husband Frank also claimed that the item shown to him did not belong to the family. Frank was not called to give evidence during the trial and his statement was not produced either. After being found guilty, as Mary was awaiting her execution, which was to be the last public hanging in Scotland, she confessed that she had been the cause of her neighbour's death but as the result of a fight between the two women. She continued to insist that the beetle belonged to Ann Hannah and the woman had first attacked her with before dropping it on the floor. Mary claimed she had then picked it up and in a blind fury carried out a series of blows that would lead to the woman's death. Mary's eldest children, two little girls who were compelled to give evidence during the trial despite being aged only nine and seven, had, however, stated that they believed it belonged to their mother. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The judge, Lord Deas, was clear in his mind that the weapon belonged to Mary and that she had carried it with her on that January morning, meaning that she had gone with intent to kill. Although there was controversy about this and Dumfries MP William Ewart, a trained barrister himself, would later argue that Lord Deas had misled the jury as there was no evidence that Mary had taken the mallet with intent to murder, an appeal to the Queen failed. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my book, Mary Timney, The Road to the Gallows, I deliberately chose not to include a picture of a wooden beetle or mallet. Although the implement was produced in court it has since gone missing and as it was such a common item no one thought to give a detailed description of it during the precognition process or even in the newspaper reports. Such washing or bashing tools varied a great deal in size and shape and I didn't want to mislead the reader by showing an example that may be nothing like the one used in the crime. The only clue as to its size and shape came from the statements of Susan and Maggie, they said that they had used the beetle as a doll. It is horrific to think that this mallet, used as a simple toy by these young children who were living in poverty, should be the cause of a brutal and bloody death to the woman who lived fifty yards along the road. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This photograph shows a wooden beetle or mallet belonging to a friend, it's been in her family for generations and it is easy to imagine how two little girls in 1862 could have used something similar as a doll. </span><br />
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</span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-67547089519119340392014-03-31T04:06:00.003-07:002014-03-31T04:06:56.152-07:00A Cocktail of Clutter<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When the sun shines, which it doesn't seem to have done for a very long time, I notice the dust, and the dirty windows and the clutter. I am something of a hoarder, though nothing like as bad as the people you see now featured in television programmes. I can actually move around my house. I hate the clutter but have to own up that I am largely responsible for it. My parents grew up during the 1930s ( I was a late baby I'd like to point out) and times were hard. This was followed by war time rationing and austerity and I think they never really got over that. That waste not want not attitude was drummed into me. My mum and dad never had a lot, they were very frugal. The problem is that I'm a bit of a bargain hunter combined with having a bit more to spend than they did so mix in the idea that everything should be made useful, nothing should be thrown away and add to that my own green beliefs. It has led to a terrible cocktail of clutter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I cannot just throw stuff away, I have to try and recycle it which means piles of things waiting to go somewhere or have something done to them or be transformed in some way into something else that is useful. Now I have returned to my career (combined with still teaching a yoga class or two) means that I have less time to perform these sewing, knitting, rag rugging upcycling tricks so instead we're just left with piles of stuff sitting like disgruntled pensioners in a surgery. They sit alongside bags of things waiting to go to charity shops, to friends, to the dump. It would help if I was a decisive person, but I'm always trying to do what's best for others, and that includes the whole planet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What would be best for me would be to place a skip in the garden and put most of the house in it, or buy a new house and leave everything in the old one. All of this clutter gets in the way of my writing. Instead of writing up all these short story ideas, or preparing my first book for a new edition or getting on with a new project, I dither over whether or not I'll every wear this skirt again, or perhaps I could find someone to fix this lamp that hasn't worked for years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Getting rid of the rubbish would help me get on with my writing. I could do with that woman who used to do a tv programme where she put the contents of people's houses on their front lawn and made them deal with it. My friend's house is wonderfully clutter free, but that's because her marriage ended and she decided to leave not just the husband but everything, and start again. Bit drastic really, I think I'll just make a trip to the charity shop instead. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-62487147708061313332014-03-19T08:03:00.005-07:002014-03-19T08:03:59.353-07:00Gender Studies <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, here's the thing that I have been pondering, in terms of equality, are things any better for our daughters than they were for us?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lilly Allen evidently said recently something on the lines of we don't need feminism any more because we're all equal. Clearly, to start with, this was a very Western view of what's going on in society, things are far from equal in the vast majority of the world. But let's stick to the UK and my own experience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was at university I was in several 'women's' groups, some aligned to the Left, some just about gender politics. There was a feeling then (in the early Eighties) that equality meant being like a man, there was a rejection of all things that up until then had been regarded as women's work. I remember one woman talking warmly about having inherited a sewing machine from her grandmother only for her to be rounded on by several group members who urged her to smash it up. I was a keen knitter and loved alternative fashion so I kept my mouth shut. Thankfully things have moved on and we have realised that by rejecting these skills we were denigrating our own mothers and grandmothers and falling into the trap of believing that the things that women had traditionally done were of no worth. We thought that to be equal with men we had to embrace the Protestant work ethic, wear suits, be authoritative and heartless - look at how successful Margaret Thatcher was. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope we have reached a period of time where our daughters do have greater choices and greater opportunities. I hope we don't put them under pressure to get married and produce children. That certainly was a constant pressure even for my generation and it's important to resist that voice from the past that whilst praising a woman's career still sadly adds, but she still isn't married, as if this means she is still failing somehow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And whilst I am delighted we have all now rediscovered some of the amazing skills that our mothers may have had, sewing, cooking, recycling and being generally creative, I do despair that we still haven't shrugged off our gender stereotypes. I was prompted to write this blog because I bought a little sewing kit for my god daughter for her birthday (I normally buy books but saw this and liked it) but was appalled this morning when I saw it bore a little hint saying 'make this with mum'. So we've still got some way to go, even in the UK, until we reach a point when we either have no such message on things or a message that says 'make with this your parent.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-87643270698823789782014-03-12T07:51:00.001-07:002014-03-12T07:51:37.950-07:00What Your Books Say About You<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">An article in last Saturday's Telegraph reported that property guru Sarah Beeny has issued a warning about bookshelves. It's not that they should be securely attached to the wall to prevent unsuspecting house viewers from being crushed to death under your Readers Digest collection. Instead, it seems that prospective buyers take a peek at your books and make sweeping judgements about you based on your stored reading material. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Evidently you should consider packing away the majority until the house is sold, not because they're regarded as clutter, but because some titles might put your maybe purchaser off. Self help titles, books on taxidermy and, of course, a large erotica section are the ones to put away it seems. Instead she suggests leaving out the classics like Dickens and Jane Austen or a selection of cookery or gardening books might do the trick. I would imagine it would be advisable to lock away the DIY manuals too. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course I went to look at my bookshelves to see what they said about my family. I'm sorry to say my main conclusion was that they provide strong evidence towards how disorganised we are and how little I like housework. I discovered several light bulbs sitting on the edges of shelves (no idea if they work or not) and more than one abandoned duster! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In terms of books, there is a entire bookcase given over to my husbands wildlife, trees, birds and all forms of flora and fauna, collection, another filled with the RAF and aviation books I inherited from my father (alongside books from my own research into early aviation for West Over the Waves), one filled with (my) fiction favourites and books I read to the children that I'm saving for future generations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my bedroom is another bookcase full of yoga titles from my training as a yoga teacher 12 years ago and by my bed there is a teetering pile of books currently waiting to be read (far too many). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What's on your bookshelves? Do they accurately reflect your interests or like me, do you need to give them a good sort through?</span> <br />
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-84840546974489874062014-02-24T09:55:00.000-08:002014-02-24T09:55:05.135-08:00Self Publish and be Damned<h3 style="height: 0px;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was a statement made at a meeting I was at recently, well perhaps not the exact words, it may have been 'because they can't get a contract with' or something like that. I'm afraid I understood the gist of what this person was saying and began to throw a hissy fit along with several other people at the table. To be honest I thought that kind of dismissive attitude was now in the past given the extraordinary changes that have happened in the publishing industry with the rise of ebooks and small independent publishers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided to self publish my second non fiction book because I had not enjoyed the experience of 'being published' with my first, and felt I could do just as good a job on my own. I have to admit that the publisher was a small independent and I cannot comment on the service given by more mainstream houses. I also have yet to get to grips with the structure of the industry, the levels of distribution etc but for someone like me who just wants to get their story out there self publishing is ideal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also chose to start my own small business, Curly Tale Books, with my friend writer and illustrator Shalla Gray because we have no ambition to be famous, again we simply want to make our work available locally. Having said that, one of the first orders we received for our latest book Big Bill the Beltie Bull, came from Australia due to the magic of Ebay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this remark about self publishing being second choice for mainstream rejects just doesn't stand up when you look at the evidence. The website <a href="http://authorearnings.com/">authorearnings.com</a> is full of fascinating charts showing that in terms of daily unit sales the self published account for 39 per cent, more than the big five houses put together. According to Amazon's figures 25 per cent of their top 100 list is made up of self published authors. Many people now choose to self publish as their first option, not because it's their only option. </span></div>
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-76576173945127718622014-02-11T05:30:00.000-08:002014-02-11T05:30:45.508-08:00To sign, not to sign, or what to sign<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I was a child I went to brownies and every year the local church, to which our pack was affiliated, held a Gang Show. This was an entertainment filled with songs and sketches and all the brownies, guides, cubs and scouts took part. I remember being slathered in garish make up and having a lot of fun. I was once a 'diddy man' when someone sang a Ken Dodd song and another time I had to dress as a, what we now call, Native American, but I've no idea why. After one Gang Show I remember my Uncle Bill asking me for my autograph. I had no idea what that was and said so, I was only about eight. He asked me to write my name on the programme and said I should practise signing things for when I was famous in the future. I know he was joking but it made me feel very special (for half an hour) and this was great as I was the youngest of four children so didn't often feel special. (I'm not looking for sympathy, put the violins away.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> My business partner, Shalla Gray has a great signature. Being the daughter of a famous comic book writer, Alan Grant, she'd also been advised, as a child, to create a great signature. As an artist as well as a children's writer, Shalla's signature is a lovely thing, neat, attractive and well designed. Mine is still a sprawl. I never really expected to need to produce an autograph or signature so I didn't prepare one. I was taken aback when I was asked to sign my first book, "what? You want me to scribble my name over this lovely book?" Despite having now signed a number of books, I don't find it any easier. My signature looks pretty awful and I'm always incredibly unimaginative with the dedication. I usually just put 'best wishes' or if it's a children's book, 'happy reading.' I'm not the only one to find this difficult. American novelist and humourist Laurie Notaro had the same dilemma when her books were first published. In her hilarious book 'We thought you would be prettier' she writes about the suggestions she received from her family. When she was criticised for simply signing her name Laurie suggested "Well, I guess I could add 'Stay Sweet' or '2 Good " Be 4 Got 10' or 'Have a bitchin' summer dude,'" Her Dad thought she should sign it 'Thank your for being a fan.' </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a particular difficulty with my new book. It's impossible to write, or even say, 'I hope you enjoy this book' given that it's subject matter is the execution of a young mother of four, the last woman to be publicly hanged in Scotland. Of course I want people to feel it was well researched and compellingly written, but 'enjoy' what is such a gruesome subject? One reader told me that although she'd been reading Road to the Gallows in the evening, when she reached the description of the execution she had to wait and read it in daylight. It was just too harrowing for bed time reading. So I'm back to just signing this book, best wishes. Not very imaginative I'm afraid, but it will have to do. I'm open to suggestions, but not 'Thank you for being a fan.' </span><br />
<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-66426363365846675922014-01-29T03:51:00.003-08:002014-01-29T03:51:48.240-08:00What's in a Name?<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you sit down to write full of inspiration and eager to get your thoughts on the page you can often be pulled up short by names. And then, just to get the words down before you forget that great phrase or plot twist you thought of while walking the dog, you pluck a name out of the air. Which is fine, as long as when you've got that brilliant bit written down, you think carefully about the names you've chosen. Many writers don't. Or if they do, they're just using names that are handy, usually names in the family or in a desperate attempt not to use names in the family, a random name. But in my brief experience as a writer (and reader) choosing names for characters is as vital as understanding their motivations, backstories etc. Too often I read stories that are ruined simply because the writer has chosen names that conjure up the wrong image in my head every time I read it. Or it creates a character in my imagination that turns out to be completely wrong when another bit of information is dropped into the narrative later on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was involved in shortlisting a short story competition last summer and one of my fellow judges could be pretty ruthless. We did have almost 150 entries to sift through so you can imagine that each of us soon had our own strict criteria for making decisions. The names used in the stories became one criteria common to all three of us after my fellow judge said that she wasn't prepared to read past the first few paragraphs of one entry because the name they'd used hadn't been applied to anyone for sixty years and this story was about a young woman now. She was right. Some names very distinctly tie a person to a period whilst others seem to continue through the ages. There's been a revival in 'old fashioned' names in recent years, Ruby, Elsie, Maisie, but others like Gladys remain linked to someone who would now be very elderly. If you introduce a character called Gladys, Irene or Eileen you're immediately suggesting to the reader that they are at least seventy. I read a book of short stories recently and the names chosen by the writer ruined my enjoyment of several. It's almost impossible to suspend your disbelief long enough to think that a young pregnant woman in a contemporary setting could be called Edith. In one story I read the lead character had a name that made you think this person was really past retirement, which was fine until two thirds of the way through you discover something that means she's actually in her mid forties. It then means, if you have the patience, that you have to reassess the whole story bringing in this new information. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, it works the other way too. Attempts to bring a real up to date feel by calling someone by a current name can back fire too. Just as with the older names, the fashions in names change so quickly that what seemed contemporary will just appear crass in ten years time when a collection may still be around - if you're lucky. Kylie was very popular at one point, and would still be fine if the character was born in the Eighties, but isn't in their eighties. You can't cater for everyone's imaginations, that would be impossible. A name is always going to have associations in people's minds, the obvious one is Adolf! For me, Olivia was a name I had difficulty with for many years because it conjured up a really mean girl for junior school. It's a beautiful name but for a long time it was associated in my head with someone who was a bully. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I recently had to take my husband for an hospital appointment and I kept my notebook handy. Sitting in the waiting room listening to the people being called for their appointments was a great opportunity to note down some names, observing their owners and their approximate ages. Observations like these can help our stories be real with names that can give the reader a short cut to what we're trying to say, not send them down the wrong road. </span><br />
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-3365550608666183202013-12-31T07:25:00.003-08:002013-12-31T07:25:53.649-08:00Trumpet Blowing<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Although Hogmanay is an artificial construct, who decided when one time period should end and another begin? Other cultures, religions have different ones to this. Teaching yoga for more than ten years has taught me that we have the endless capacity to make changes to ourselves, our lives. We can choose to remain or elect to move forward. I have changed hugely in the last eighteen months, I have regained some of the confidence of my youth and some of the playfulness of being young too. I swear a lot more, not necessarily a good thing but this is a result of throwing off the hang ups instilled in me by family mores that were ruled by the fear of what other people would think. I don't care what other people think any more (unless they're reviewing one of my books, then, I care deeply). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Having said all this, taking a moment to review one's life, to look back and peer forward is a good thing for everyone, as long as you don't get bogged down regretting things from the past and worrying about what may lie ahead. My husband has a long term degenerative disorder that will inevitably make our lives very difficult but I refuse to think about it. This isn't because I am burying my head in the sand, it's because I can only live in the now, only deal with what is happening in this moment in time. I'm not going to allow fears about the future to ruin the present. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And the present is great. I'm fitter and healthier at 52 than I was at 25 and I'm looking forward to the 5/2 diet taking me back to a pre children weight. I feel confident now to call myself a writer as well as a journalist. My latest book is selling well and has received some astonishingly kind reviews. I am the director of a children's book publishing company, Curly Tale Books and our second book, Big Bill the Beltie Bull was released at the beginning of December. I've just written a new Belties of CurleyWee Farm story which we hope to publish in May, a long awaited follow up to the book I did with Pauline James. Pauline and I will be working together in 2014, creating a coffee table style book about the lighthouses of the Solway Coast. I've just been asked to host a writers' retreat, I oh... that's enough blowing of my own trumpet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But really looking forward to the challenges and joys of 2014. Wishing everyone a very happy new year. </span><br />
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-85283645908374347772013-11-28T06:24:00.005-08:002013-11-28T06:24:51.002-08:00Short Story inspired by the research for The Road to the Gallows<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While I was researching my new (non fiction) book, I was inspired to write this short story. I submitted it to the creative writing magazine Southlight and I'm delighted to say it was selected and is in the current issue. As the magazine is somewhat tricky to get hold of I thought I would feature the story in my blog. Let me know what you think. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><b>The
Juror</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">I
have heard her cries many nights in my sleep, causing me to startle
awake, sweating, cold. My wife tells me that at times I have been
shrieking as I wake, causing her to believe I am feverish. I am quite
well, but at night I sometimes fear the woman's tortured spirit is in
the room with me. Once I came across one of my fellow jurors at a
sale in Castle Douglas but I feared he would think me simple if I
spoke to him of my nightly terrors. We talked about the price of
cattle, the poor harvest, anything but the trial we had both sat
through those many months before. I longed to ask if he too dreamt of
the young woman, heard her plaintive sobs, her begging for mercy. I
tried to look into his eyes, to see if they betrayed anything that
his lips did not. He was an older man than me, a kirk elder, and in
those terrible few minutes it had taken to find her guilty he had
been robust in his opinion, no doubt in his mind he had said. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
had doubt, not about her guilt, the evidence as the judge had said,
was clear, but I believe we should have taken more time, tried to
look at her life as fifteen good Christian men. Many of my fellow
jurors were older than me and tired after ten hours of evidence,
witness after witness in the stand giving detail after detail of
damnation. The judge's summing up had taken so long it was difficult
to retain the few arguments put forward by the prisoner's advocate. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
had felt such pride when I opened the letter summoning me to serve on
the jury. My dear wife had been in such a hurry to tell the ladies on
her charitable committee that she had bustled out of the house not
long after breakfast. It was a statement of my value in the
community, she had said, my status as a man of standing. In reality
it was simply because I had inherited my father's farm, a landowner
in a rural area populated largely by peasantry and tenants. My wife
told me it was wonderful, such a responsibility and I was an example
not just to our children but to our workers and fellow members of the
congregation. She was right and by the time I arrived at the
court-house in Dumfries in the clothes I normally kept for the
Sabbath, I was quite puffed up my own importance. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
had been alarmed by the crowds blocking Buccleuch Street, hundreds
hoping to get a glimpse of the accused as she was taken from the
prison opposite. I had quite forgotten that there was a very great
chance I would be sitting in the jury for the most sensational case
in the district for many years. It was with some difficulty that I
made my way to the court house and it was only with the help of the
militia, who had accompanied the judge to the building, that I gained
access to the correct entrance. The court itself was smaller than I
had expected, somewhat cramped really as if we were all in jeopardy
of toppling one on top of the other. I saw later that several
newspapers described the prisoner as cool, preserving a stolid
indifference to the proceedings. She did not appear so to me. I felt
that she had the appearance of someone who had little real
understanding of the situation she was in, overwhelmed by the
ceremony, the bewigged and black gowned, as to some extent was I. A
woman who had nothing but who wished to retain some dignity as the
gawking masses who crowded into the public gallery whispered and
pointed at her. The prisoner had looked such a slight and sorry
individual, the cheap bonnet with the shabby gum flowers too tatty
even to be used on one of our tattiebogles, but it was probably the
best she owned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
We heard, in the evidence, of how she had tried to borrow money or a
little tea, how she and the neighbour she had bludgeoned to death had
argued over wood that had come down the river in a flood. Such
desperate poverty was hard to imagine though my wife told me many
stories of wayward women helped by The Society for Returning Young
Women to Their Friends in the Country, of which she is a member. The
young woman before us had clearly found no friends in the country
despite living there all her life. Neighbours, the local
constabulary, her stepfather and sister and then her own children had
all appeared before us in the witness stand. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> The
sight of her young daughter moved the court greatly but the poor
child was clearly terrified and torn between her duty to justice and
her duty to her mother. I watched the woman's face as her child was
coaxed and cajoled into condemning her by the Advocate Depute and the
judge. Tears silently ran down her pale cheeks, her chest rising and
falling as if she was barely holding in the emotional tumult she must
have felt. Her own child. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> It
was for her children that she cried out when that stern judge, who I
later heard called Judge Death by people in the street, donned the
black cap and sentenced her to hang. Her pathetic pleading, her only
thought for 'her weans.' I shudder now remembering those screams,
suddenly alive to what had happened that day, perhaps only suddenly
alive to what had happened three months before on that winter morning
when she had gone to her neighbour's kitchen and struck the woman
repeatedly with a beetle and poker. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> After
she was taken from the court and we fifteen good men had shuffled,
cold and stiff from the hard benches and long hours, only then, I
think, did it begin to occur to us what had happened, what we had
done. I cannot recall who was the first to speak in the jury room as
we began to struggle into our coats, to find our hats, but he was a
braver man than me. First one, then another expressed our collective
shock that the judge had sentenced her to be publicly hanged. Some of
the older members of the jury could just recall the last execution in
the town forty years before, a young man guilty of highway robbery.
Although we believed her to be guilty of killing her neighbour, had
any of us really considered that she could be sentenced to death,
though obviously it is still the punishment in law for the crime of
murder? </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> At
night now when I hear her cries again, her pleading, her begging to
be spared for the sake of her children, I ask myself if I should have
done more to raise questions about the evidence. Despite my wife's
objections I had attended one of the public meetings called to
campaign for a reprieve to her sentence. So much information came out
following the trial of the terrible childhood the woman had suffered,
how she had no moral guidance from her mother, how she had endured
terrible poverty but had always done her best for her four children.
I heard of her husband, a man twenty years her senior. Each tale
tortured me for I, in my haste, had hurried her along the road to
death. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
read all the reports of the desperate efforts to get a reprieve, of
her confession to the crime and I believed her claim that she had not
intended to kill the woman. How could a woman, a mother of four young
children, truly have meant to cause such injury I asked myself. I
have increasingly come to the conclusion that it was not a diabolical
deed as so many newspapers said repeatedly during the weeks before
the trial, but an act of desperation, almost of defence for the lives
of her starving children but it is too late. I did not attend the
execution nor read the newspaper reports. I endeavoured to avoid any
discussion by my church fellows. The labourers on my farm knew I
would tolerate no word on the subject and I often heard their voices
quieten as I approached. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> I
cannot silence her cries though, in my head I hear her desperate
voice pleading for mercy, for a life in prison. “Let the Lord come
for me,” she had screamed. I hear it yet. I have since written in
support of our local member of parliament who is campaigning for a
change in the law, an end to capital punishment. Surely he is right
in this age of such progress and enlightenment, it is shameful that
we still punish people in public with death. I have also given a
charitable donation to the fund started by the minister for the Kells
to provide an education for her children. I hope that my efforts will
somehow placate the spirit that haunts my dreams but I am living in
dread of the 29</span><sup><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">
of April, the first anniversary of her public execution. Pray God I
will find some peace. </span>
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-23578350514003689572013-11-19T09:25:00.001-08:002013-11-19T09:25:27.177-08:00The Balancing Act Between in Your Face or NowhereChatting with fellow writers this week we agreed that the whole promotion, publicity thing is a nightmare. One friend, who has several strings to her bow and has already built quite a following, was saying that she was going to offer her new book to a mainstream children's publisher. She felt with her contacts and the blogs, pages and websites she has created, she should be able to interest one of the big companies in her next book. She said she wanted someone else to do all or some of the promotional side for a change. But will they? Most have seen their publicity budgets and departments slashed and from what I can gather most authors are still having to spend a considerable amount of time pushing their work. Another friend who was in the same conversation said that she hadn't even attempted to place her work with one of the 'gate keepers.' An industry professional had told her that a big publisher or agent would want her to remove all the local references from her work, the very things she feels are helping the book to sell now that she's produced it herself. She feels that not only has she kept control of her product but she's also reaping the benefits financially. None of us, well few of us, amongst my group of author friends want to become the next J K Rowling. We're quite happy to see our work in print and to sell the copies we have printed, and a second print run would be fantastic. Many of my friends use Feed-a-Read or other organisations that allow them to print a few copies at a time whilst also making it available through the usual on line book retailers.<br />
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The big problem that arises for everyone is the difficulty of letting people know that your work is out there to be purchased. As a journalist I'm happy to write press releases for friends, in fact I'm happiest doing this for someone else. The difficulty most of us have is the issue of learning to blow our own trumpets, how long and how hard to blow them too. There's a balance between becoming a bore like some authors on Twitter who just tweet about their e books all the time and actually failing to mention your book at all. With both of my non fiction books I really want people to know the story of the women who are featured because no one has tried to tell their stories before so I think about any promotion in those terms rather than it being about me, me, me and my great book. But it remains a tricky path to tread. I recently sent a short article to a newsletter distributed in the area where my new book is part of the local history. As I was writing articles for several newspapers and magazines it felt only fair that I sent something to this community paper. But I had a series of emails which ended in my becoming exasperated and somewhat offended when I was accused of writing something that was advertorial (what an ugly word) and could I pay £80 for it to be used. The publication of my book is newsworthy in itself as it is the first to be written about a case of national importance (Mary Timney was the last woman to be hanged in public in Scotland). I can't help but wonder if my book had been published by a mainstream company whether they would have been accused of writing something advertorial or whether the editor would have been delighted to have been able to feature a new book on a piece of local history in their pages.Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-89903419522838161542013-10-28T05:22:00.000-07:002013-10-28T05:22:24.822-07:00Found and Lost<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a moment last week when, instead of working, I spent a minute searching the internet, as writer's often do. It's that or having a look at twitter or facebook maybe. Easily distracted, writers. I put in the first of two or three names, people I look for every now and then. People who were important to me once but who I've lost touch with. One is now a doctor in British Columbia, I search to see if there are any pictures of him rather than just the 'rate your doctor' listings. I then happened upon a photograph of my niece at a fancy party in London, and then her website. Finally, aware that I was wasting time, I put the final name in, the name of a friend who unfortunately shared the same name as a relatively well-known actor, comedian, director so that whenever I'd searched before there were just too many pages to plough through. If I had thought, and remembered that my friend had been in an indie band in the mid eighties that did pretty well, John Peel was a fan, I might have found him earlier, but instead I found him too late. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">The search engine found him for the first time in ten years of looking. It was an obituary. An obituary written for The Guardian less than a month ago. I held my breath as I clicked on the link hoping that it was someone else with the same name but I knew it wasn't, I'd seen the reference to the band he'd been in. I lost touch with him a long time ago, almost thirty years, but I'd always expected to catch up with him sometime. I'd found other people, lots of them unexpectedly through social networking sites. In the last couple of years I've renewed contact with lots of old friends and I just thought that one day soon he'd pop up. Now I'm too late, and just too late which makes it more difficult somehow, though I have learnt from the writer of the tribute that he died unexpectedly, telling few people of his diagnosis. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">My head these last few days has been full of memories, of bands we were in together, saw together, listened to on my sister's old record player. He'd asked me, out of the blue, to front a band he was putting together. We were both 17 and went to different schools but a friend of mine who went to his school suggested me. God knows why, I had no confidence, I'd only ever sung in the church choir and I seemed to be incapable of remembering the words to any song. In the few gigs that we did I had to have the lyrics written in a jotter sitting on a music stand by the microphone. This was the punk/new wave era so this rig up looked like an arty affectation rather than a necessity. The other three band members were excellent musicians so I suppose I was able to get away with it, warbling incoherently at the front was the style of the time after all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I'm still coming to terms with the fact that I will not get a chance to laugh over these early gigs with my friend, to find out how life has treated him because instead death has caught up with him first. I just have this overwhelming need to write about it, to somehow make up for this loss by conjuring him up again with words. </span><br />
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Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-33401950049565421122013-10-21T11:50:00.000-07:002013-10-21T11:50:13.435-07:00Next book? Fiction is Easy!<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was recently asked to write a guest post on Louise Gibney's blog <a href="http://www.misswrite.co.uk/" target="_blank">misswrite</a>. It was all a bit last minute, but as a journalist I work best when facing a deadline. I decided to write about a question I'd been asked at a reading event the previous week. I'd read from my new book, which at that point hadn't been published, but during the interval one interested reader asked what my next book would be? It seems churlish to find this a tad annnoying, after all the questioner clearly liked my work and was keen to read more, but when you're only just coming up for air from the months of writing and researching, it did mean taking a deep breath before answering. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been asked the same question several times now in the last three weeks since my book was launched, and I remember having the same conversation with people after my first book four years ago. BUT I have to say that the conversation I had yesterday really took the biscuit. In a lull in the conversation one of my in laws asked how my new book was selling but this was closely followed by the 'and what's your next book going to be question'. (Screaming inside but trying to smile) I replied that I have to make sure this one sells first. Whilst still trying to stop the smile from turning into a snarl, it was then suggested to me that I just write a fictional book, after all, that didn't take much work as it all comes out of your head. I could rattle off one of those novels in no time couldn't I? I believe I deserve a medal for the patience I showed as I, not too calmly I confess, explained the difficulties of writing books, fiction and non fiction. It was all I could do not to start ranting. </span><br />
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<a name='more'></a>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-51065698203071641962013-10-09T05:31:00.003-07:002013-10-09T05:31:57.278-07:00A Small Part of Something Big <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Things are happening in Dumfries and Galloway and it's great to be a part of is, even in a small way. When I moved here twenty one years ago, first to Dumfries and then to Wigtownshire, it felt as if I was moving to the wild west. I'd always lived in small towns near cities, Leeds and Bradford, Hull, Nottingham and Edinburgh among them, so moving to a very small village more than two hours (by car or ferry) from the nearest city came as something of a culture shock. Perhaps just a shock, never mind culture. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But being part of a small community has given me space and opportunities that I probably would never have had in an urban environment. I'm delighted to be a member of a writing group that has become a real force in Wigtownshire. In the last three years Book Town Writers has established itself as a group providing support for anyone wishing to put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) for the first time whilst also arranging workshops with leading authors and creating a respected short story competition. I joined the group with little confidence about my writing despite being the author of a non fiction book. I have recently published a new non fiction title whilst also developing my creative writing with work published in Southlight magazine, The Fankle, Running Out of Ink and guest slots in other blogs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Wagtongues, a new initiative founded by a writers' collective in the east of the region, was launched with a pop up bookshop at Wigtown Book Festival last weekend. The group plan to provide further pop up shops in order to support and celebrate the growing number of excellent writers living in Dumfries and Galloway. With the imminent launch of a new monthly writers' salon at Reading Lasses cafe bookshop, creative types will be able to meet up over a lovely meal and chat, network and bond. It's all good and it's great to be a small part. </span><br />
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<a href="http://thefankle.net/">http://thefankle.net/</a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.reading-lasses.com/">http://www.reading-lasses.com/</a><br />
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/<a href="http://www.booktownwriters.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.booktownwriters.co.uk </a>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-24877915565460440312013-09-26T12:36:00.001-07:002013-09-26T12:36:14.496-07:00Ok let's go...<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So on Monday I get an email from our local printing company who have been producing my new book and the message is that the book's ready. It's fantastic after months of research, writing and putting the whole thing together to actually hold the book in my hands. And here's the front cover featuring a fantastic pen and ink drawing by illustrator Shalla Gray. It would be good now just to sit back and look at this finished product but this is not possible. Several writer friends felt that I should have offered the book to agents and major publishers but I decided to publish the book under my friend Julia MacDonald's imprint, Clayhole Publishing as it was Julia who first told me about Mary Timney. Julia believes she may be descended from one of Mary's four daughters. It seemed right, somehow, that this book, which aims to present a fairer picture of The Glenkens or Carsphad Murder, should be published by Julia. All I have to do now is sell it. Want to buy one, only £7.95 a copy? </span><br />
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<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-75064136432776122362013-09-05T04:05:00.000-07:002013-09-05T04:05:07.348-07:00Coming Up for Air<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last night I sent through the final instructions for my new book. Of course that sentence does not convey the frenzy and stress of the past few weeks. All self imposed. I set my own deadline, but then I had to. If I hadn't I would have tinkered with the book, changing a word here, a phrase there, forever. It will never be perfect and I'm sure when I hold the book in my hand I'll find something I'm not happy with within seconds. And as all writers know, some smart Alec will spot the mistake immediately, ignoring the months or years of research and the hours of sweating over words that has gone into creating a book. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Although my new book is being officially published under my friend's publishing company, Clayhole Publishing, in reality the book has been entirely under my control. This is something I chose to do. Writer friends urged me to get an agent and/or send it to some of the big publishing houses but I'm afraid I was reluctant to give it to someone else. My first book was published by a local publisher and although they did a good job with it, all of the promotional work was done by me. I was paid very little and when the company decided to not to do a fourth reprint I was asked to pay a substantial amount to buy my book back.This time I asked myself what I would achieve with with another company that I couldn't do. I don't need the status, that doesn't interest me, I'm already a member of the Society of Authors. Getting the story to a readership is my prime purpose so inspired by the rise in self publishing I decided to follow my friend's example and take the risk myself. I'm flying by the seat of my pants but it's exciting. So, I'm hoping to present Mary Timney, The Road to the Gallows within the next few weeks. Watch this space. </span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-10828034206982120762013-02-07T08:07:00.003-08:002013-02-07T08:09:36.415-08:00Two Approaches to a Murder: A Chat with Tom PowOn April 29th just over 150 years ago, a young mother of four was taken, screaming, to the gallows in Dumfries. She had lived a poor, quiet, life in a hill community in Kirkcudbrightshire, struggling each day to keep body and soul together. Her trial and death brought her a fleeting, unwanted fame and a mention in the history books as the last woman to be publicly hanged in Scotland. <br />
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I am currently researching a book about Mary Timney but her case was the subject of a play written by Dumfries poet and playwright Tom Pow for Radio Scotland back in the late 1980s. Tom met with me recently to discuss the case. We quickly discovered that our research differed because of the way we each approached the story. As a journalist I'm looking for facts, but Tom was looking for information that would tell the story. I'm getting ahead of myself, firstly, I wanted to know how Tom had come across the tale of Mary Timney. <br />
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Tom explained that he had been living opposite to the Dumfries Museum and often visited.<em> 'I was initially interested by the death mask of Robert Smith, the last man to be publicly hanged in Scotland. I wrote a sequence of poems about that case. On display behind the mask, was a broad sheet about the last woman to be hanged in Scotland and at first I thought I would write another pair of poems. The more I read about the case, the more I thought that it would make a play, Mary tried to blame her own mother for the murder and her young daughter testified against her.'</em><br />
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The Archivist at Dumfries tipped Tom off about the existence of trial papers which he found in Edinburgh. <br />
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<em>'The excitement... this guy in white gloves brings you this box and I got the feeling that the contents had not been opened since they were placed in there. Everything was tied with ribbon and folded so that you had to hold the documents open or they would snap back into place. Everything was covered in dust. This was the evidence.'</em><br />
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Tom decided to use Scots for Mary and her neighbours but faced the difficulty of making the story clear to those who may not understand the language. His answer came in the form of the local minister who written down the testimonies of the witnesses in the initial police enquiry. Tom decided he would not have spoken Scots so at various points in the play the minister translates the words back to the witnesses. <br />
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From these papers Tom was able to flesh out the characters of the play and, at times, the evidence statements form the basis for the dialogue. But this is where Tom and I part company in our approaches to the subject. Tom, coming to the story as a creative writer is able to portray his characters as he decides, interpreting the information but using his imagination and creativity. Coming from a background as a journalist I need to present Mary and her story based solely on the facts and information that I find. Tom was able to write a wonderful and powerful play based on his research but I need to make sure I have exhausted every avenue and followed up every lead before I start putting the book together. Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-36494307473760952782013-01-30T08:53:00.003-08:002013-01-30T08:53:40.970-08:00Writing (and Reading) as Therapy <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For as long as I can remember writing,and reading have been a vital part of my life. One of my earliest memories is of my Dad reading my favourite book to me, sadly I can't remember the name of it but it was about a small cottage that slowly becomes surrounded by skyscrapers. (As the youngest of four much older siblings the symbolism is something for the psychiatrist's chair). I'm sure it had a happy ending but cannot think what it might have been; presumably it was somehow lifted by a crane and transported back to the countryside. This book was repeatedly borrowed from the library, I was later told, the family finances presumably didn't run to my being bought the book. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I started writing myself, poems reflecting my inner thoughts, stories about my ambitions to be an international showjumper and then later a diary. Recently the author Matt Haig has written about how writing helped to save his life ( http://www.booktrust.org.uk/writing/online-writer-in-residence/blog/509 ). For me, writing was certainly a conduit for stress, a confidante and company for a lonely child, and a means of understanding the world. Reading was at first an escape, I was a huge fan of Tolkien and Hardy, and then a way of exploring beyond the small Yorkshire town that I lived in and beyond a family life dominated by Christian ideology and the Daily Express. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Working as a journalist I dropped any thought of writing creative fiction (despite the popular view of reporters) and then, as an at home mum, I lost confidence in my ability to write anything. This loss of self belief wasn't helped by a spell in intensive care when I tried to combine working as a deputy editor and bring up two children, one with disabilities. My need and wish to write was handicapped by a fear of what other people would think of it, concern that I would be criticised, the stifling legacy of being told not to get beyond yourself, the fear of failure. But I continued to keep a diary and this allowed me some form of expression although I only realise now that it was a lifeline, a link to words, a creative space and a key to sanity. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I began my journey out of the doldrums of self doubt when I studied yoga and became a teacher. You couldn't be self conscious standing in front of a class demonstrating yoga postures, breathing techniques and meditation. Four years ago I came across the untold story of early aviator Elsie Mackay which led to my first book, at first self published but people liked it. For the first time in more than 20 years I allowed myself to think that maybe I could do this writing thing after all. But it wasn't until last year that I decided to focus completely on my writing again. I joined a writers' group, BookTown Writers, which has been hugely supportive and I'm taking my first steps into fiction, with some success. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I now have the confidence to call myself a writer and I'm working on a non-fiction book, some children's stories and supporting other writers. I feel more comfortable in my skin than I have at any previous point in my life, the writing hat sits well and suits me. I understand that writing is for me, if other people like it that's a bonus and if they don't well, never mind. I blog, I tweet, I research and write</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and, of course, I still keep a diary. </span><br />
<br />Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-41135091030399273972013-01-01T03:59:00.000-08:002013-01-01T03:59:12.328-08:00<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whispers of Auld Lang Synes long since sung echoed through our home last night as we added another round, surrounded by ghosts from past Hogmanays. Our home was once a hall that held dances during the war and meetings for local groups like The British Legion, the Plymouth Brethren and the Band of Hope. How many lost voices joined our rendition of Burns' immortal words? Would some of those po faced Presbyterians have cast aside their disapproval for a moment at our whisky fuelled revelry, seeing my children and my husband cast aside their disabilities and debilitating health issues to link arms and jump as they sang. I remember my father, in his mid eighties and diagnosed with inoperable cancer, fighting back the tears as he sang with us several years ago, all too aware that this was probably his last new year. He relished every word and savoured every moment and the memory of it remains. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The New Year may be an artificial construct but it is good to pause, to capture a moment in time for future memories, to shed old demons and welcome change. With the help of a counsellor from CRUSE I have shed a skin and left it in 2012. The new shiny me finally feels ready, after fifty years of faffing about, to face the future. Bring it on.</span> Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-10891570723764675112012-12-03T04:14:00.001-08:002012-12-03T04:14:07.205-08:00A Sense of Place <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I decided to watch the new television series 'Last Tango in Halifax' and was treated, in the first episode, to some interesting drama set against the backdrop of Skipton. I had a number of mixed feelings watching it. Until last December I saw Skipton, a busy Yorkshire market town in the North Riding, on a regular basis. Most often, to be honest, I travelled by it. It was like a hub or a large planet, the orbit of which I was drawn into but then spun off again either towards Ilkley, Keighley or Gargrave. It's a lovely place and looked even lovelier through the magic of television. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last time I saw Skipton was almost a year ago. It didn't look lovely then. It was between Christmas and New Year, a time to be jolly, to celebrate but I had travelled the four hour drive with my family for my mother's funeral. The weather was atrocious, icy rain turning to hail and the ground sodden. I was there to see my mother's coffin lowered into a grave at a green burial site just north of the town. The views on a good day are, I'm sure, magnificent but it was impossible to see much beyond the mud and the gaping hole. The hail rattled off the top of the coffin as the minister almost shouted the last words into the wind that blew umbrellas inside out, hats from heads. I was rattled, my heart wrenched inside out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I haven't been back. For the first time in my half century of life I haven't stepped in Yorkshire for almost twelve months. It's an odd feeling. For the first twenty one years I lived in the county, first in the west and then in the east. It was home. I had a very strong sense of being a Yorkshire woman in that very innate pompous way that seems to run through people from the county like words through Scarborough rock. I still have deep affection for it but have lost my roots. My accent is scrambled from living almost half my life in Scotland. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I first met my husband I was fascinated by the fact that if asked where he was from, he would answer where he was living then. As we met in Nottingham and he answered in a strong Scots accent that he was from Peterborough this came as a surprise. My answer to the same question would always be the town I grew up in, not where I was then living. I felt my husband's answer was misleading to people but he had lived in so many places during his childhood that he felt no affinity to any. Having moved several times to follow his work, I now do the same, answering that I am from Galloway, though I still have strong Yorkshire vowel sounds in my voice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A sense of place is obviously something we can lose, discard or change throughout our lives. I always thought I would think of Yorkshire as 'home' but that's gone. Do we lose our sense of place, of home when we lose our parents? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a friend who grew up north of London and only moved to Galloway in his fifties yet he has never been back, has no wish to return and feels no connection now to the place that he lived in for most of his life. His greatest connection is to this small Galloway village. My daughter, who has lived in this village for most of her life, feels no connection at all and regularly tells people she's from Harrogate in Yorkshire. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not have any answers and would be interested to hear from anyone who has a strong sense of place or affinity to somewhere. Or any advice on how to get mine back!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-16536428319792505582012-10-17T06:08:00.000-07:002012-10-17T06:08:04.307-07:00Hemiplegia Awareness Week <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a few days before Christmas, our first Christmas as parents as our son had been born in the spring of that year. But instead of shopping for presents for our baby, we were sitting in the waiting room of the Sick Kids in Edinburgh. It was busy and noisy, everyone hot and bothered in winter coats, babies bundled up in those all in one suits and prams causing chaos. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It had been a difficult year. Just after I'd discovered I was pregnant my husband's job had been moved from Peterborough up to Edinburgh. We were delighted about this but the timing was terrible. I'd been left to sell the house and sort things out whilst still working full time, and odd hours, as a reporter with the Eastern Daily Press. I finally moved up to join my husband in the lower villa we'd bought just two weeks before our son was born. Apart from the stress of work, selling and buying houses and moving, I'd done everything I could to prepare for a healthy baby. I'd cut out alcohol, kept fit, eaten well, read everything I could find about pregnancy and babies. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our son was born naturally at the Simpson Royal Memorial Pavillion in Edinburgh in late May 1990. Everything seemed to go well, he was a week late but was a good weight. It wasn't easy being a new parent in a place where I'd just moved to and knew virtually no one. Neither of our families were nearby - the nearest were north of Glasgow and my parents were in Yorkshire. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our son was about three months old when I realised he wasn't using one hand as well as the other. The one person who I knew in the area was on old school friend who had studied medicine at Edinburgh and had stayed on in the city. She was also a relatively new parent and so was able to comment that at that age babies normally use both hands equally. The next time I saw the health visitor at the clinic I mentioned the difference I'd noticed, but it wasn't the usual one that I'd got to know and she obviously thought I was just an over anxious new mum. But the difference between his hands continued and the next time I saw my regular health visitor I mentioned it again. I was whisked in to see the GP. She said she would refer him for tests. I was thinking it was something like a trapped nerve but she vaguely indicated that it could be something else. We had know idea what she could mean and we remained naively hopeful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So when we were finally called in to see the specialist at the Sick Kids we had no idea we were about to be hit with a boulder of news from a great height. What the specialist had to say remains a blur. I went into the room believing a simple operation could solve this problem and came out with a disabled child. We had been given the news as if he was confirming something we already knew, starkly, without warning, your son has cerebral palsy; next patient please. We found ourselves back in the corridor with our lives turned upside down. Thankfully a physiotherapist made arrangements to see us a couple of days later and she then answered all our questions. But it was a long two days. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a journalist I had covered countless numbers of stories about disabled children, people campaigning, fundraising and, of course, these had been some of the most serious cases. I had no idea there was a spectrum, no idea what to expect at all. As we'd left the hospital to return home I found I couldn't look at my baby, as if the saying of those words .cerebral palsy. had cursed him, somehow transforming my son from the bright, healthy adorable eight month old baby I'd taken in to what? I had no idea. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In June this year we attended my son's graduation. He gained an honours degree in history and politics and is now studying for a masters. He is involved in several societies at the university and also fences and is preparing to take his black belt in karate. We are immeasurably proud of him. </span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7415978804353903364.post-40973597150871680072012-10-11T06:59:00.001-07:002012-10-11T06:59:13.312-07:00Blethering at Wigtown Book Festival <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have to confess that I enjoyed the Wigtown Book Festival more this year than ever before, even more than last year when my book 'The Belties of Curleywee Farm' was being launched at the children's festival. I was pretty stressed by the whole thing then. It was an odd situation for me too. I was working at the children's marquee selling the books for the official bookseller G C Books - far too many books in this sentence - and then I had to suddenly appear as an author. Illustrator Pauline James and I had never done an event before and we attracted one of the biggest audiences of the children's festival. Despite being somewhat chaotically organised (can you be chaotically organised?) we had a fun time and the kids seemed to as well. I chatted about black and white animals, read the book and Pauline talked about the process of creating the pictures or 'colouring in' as she put it. This process included cycling round the Machars, the area of South West Scotland we live in, and sneaking up on Belted Galloways to try and draw them. As Pauline only wears evening dresses (I'm not making this up) this would have been a bizarre sight for any passer by. I think one of the 'Belties of Curleywee Farm' series should be about an eccentric woman in evening gowns trying to draw them from strange hiding places. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, last year's festival had it's pressures and that doesn't include the running around, juggling things at home and worrying about my elderly mother who was unwell. This year was great, there was a fantastic selection of authors and illustrators in the children's marquee including Jonathan Meres, Debi Gliori, Cathy Cassidy, Tony de Saulles, Stuart Reid and Damian Dibben and they were all really friendly. Not a single snooty 'I'm an AUTHOR' amongst them. We even had a six foot hairy haggis appear in the tent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were relatively few author issues this year. It's sometimes difficult dealing with authors, seeing the side of them when they switch off from performance mode. One chap grumbled about having to finish even though he'd been allowed to overrun by more than ten minutes and another author obviously has an internal stopwatch as she allowed people a limited amount of time while book signing and then switched off, the shutters came down, times up, that's your lot. And from what I've heard there was only one person obviously drunk this year, which is pretty good going. I know it cannot be easy doing the rounds especially for writers who live for the majority of the year in a garret creating their books, waiting for the silence so that they can hear their imaginations as Louisa Young so eloquently put it. Louisa Young was one of my favourites this year along with Tahir Shah. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wigtown, I understand, is now the second largest literary festival in Scotland. For buzz and friendly welcoming atmosphere it must easily be best. I wandered in to the Edinburgh Book Festival during the summer and quickly wandered out again. I know it's a different beast but it came across as a series of rooms closed off to the casual visitor. Apart from the book shop and a bar there wasn't much you could happen across whereas Wigtown is full of things that you can get involved in even if you haven't got a ticket for an event. Artist in Residence Joanne B Kaar could be found at the top of the building (and loose about the town at times) weaving with the Wigtown Waggers. On the way to her studio you passed through The Gallery, an exhibition space that was constantly changing with views across Wigtown Bay nature reserve as well. Photographer Kim Ayres took pictures of people dressed up as fictional characters and tucked in a little studio on Harbour Road there was a display of the 'Gifted' sculptures, little works of art made of books that have been anonymously donated to different bodies in Edinburgh. And, of course, as Wigtown is Scotland's National Book Town, you could spend all your time just browsing in the fabulous second had bookshops, or if you're Tahir Shah, running your hands along the leather spines. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Jaynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17343902850302602578noreply@blogger.com0