Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts

Sunday 26 July 2020

Lockdown: a blessing and a curse

It's been a while since I whipped up a generic, writing-related blog post. And what better time to do the honours than at 2am when, as usual, I'm painfully awake with thoughts ricocheting around my head like someone tipped a shitload of bouncy balls in there?

I have had mixed emotions lately. I've been shielding with my immunocompromised wife since the beginning of the UK lockdown, and I'm not going to lie, I miss hugs... yep, even awkward ones. I miss dragging my wife around bookshops. I miss geeking out at writing-related events. I was so looking forward to losing my Harrogate festival virginity. And there's a gaping hole in my big gay heart for Pride celebrations. But I've realised I do have a lot to be thankful for. 

I've got to know my neighbours a bit better. And more importantly, experienced their kindness when we needed them. I've learned to appreciate my home and my garden and understood how lucky I am to have them. I've started paying attention to wildlife that I didn't even know visited my garden. I probably phone my friends and family more often than I ever saw them in pre-Covid life.

Were it not for everything going digital, I wouldn't have stumbled upon awesome online events such as Virtual Noir at the Bar. Not only for doing my own reading, but sitting back each Wednesday and watching some truly fantastic authors doing their thing (and I live for the afterparty banter).

I've relied heavily on Twitter for a large chunk of my social life, and as sad as that sounds, it's been a bit of a lifeline. And, as a socially awkward person through and through, I don't miss the pressure of social events. You know, the 'I-should-really-show-my-face-but-quite-frankly-I-would-rather-be-in-my-PJs' kind of events. You know the ones.

I've had the opportunity to read several of my friends' novels, all of which were so great in their own special ways, I felt honoured to be given them to read and critique. I had a few 'pinch-me' moments, firstly when I was shortlisted for Penguin WriteNow, and then again when I was signed by David Higham Associates. I have read SO. MANY. BOOKS from my TBR pile. I finished the first draft of my second book.

I don't know what's yet to come; no one does. But I desperately hope the good stuff born out of the shitstorm that is Covid-19 doesn't eventually fizzle away into nothing, leaving me bereft of the things I'm loving right now.

But for now, if someone could just bottle that book-shop scent and drench me in it, I'd be a very happy woman. 

Roxie 

@RoxieAdelleKey

Friday 11 October 2019

Finding your people

Writing. It’s a pretty isolating thing to do, isn’t it? You hole yourself up and block out the world, and then emerge days later, blinking in the sunlight and wondering what the hell happened while you were out cold. Unless you’re very lucky indeed, you probably don’t naturally have an abundance of writers in your life… unless you seek them out. And my god, its fantastic when you do. Not that my brilliant friends and family aren’t enthusiastic about my writing, but I feel guilty if I harp on about it too much. I worry about boring them to tears. When you have writer friends, you will talk about little else for hours on end and it’s fine. It’s great, in fact. They get it.

But how do you meet them? I met my first group of writing friends through workshops. In my little corner of the world, there is a beautiful historical house and gardens called Delapré Abbey (they also have a second hand book shop with an honesty box!). They often hold events, and one particular week last spring, they organised a festival of writing. A festival of writing, right near my home! I attended two sessions with successful authors Menna Van Praag and Sue Bentley. Not only did I get to soak up the wisdom of these wonderful ladies, but I met some brilliant writers, who I have remained friends with. Occasionally we meet for lunch or a coffee, and talk about our writing. We email, and share our writing amongst ourselves. We encourage each other to keep writing. It’s just lovely to know they are there, and they understand.

As you may have read from my most recent blog post, I recently attended my first writing festival. A crime writing festival, to be more specific. I was blown away by the amount of fantastic people I met and plan to stay in touch with. If a writing festival is within your reach, I would encourage you to reach out and grab it with both hands. Introverted like me? Just make one extroverted friend and they will bring the interesting people to you. Or, you know, pretend to be an extrovert (like I need to learn how to do). My summary of the event: Beneath all the panels, book signings and alcohol, there was an underlying sense of togetherness, of excitement and of anticipation. I met so many people, ranging from unpublished authors to international best sellers and I can't say I've ever been in a situation where strangers are so damn nice to each other (although the appropriate amount of piss-taking was duly given and received).

Where else? My latest discovery is Twitter. I have used it sporadically for years, mainly to complain to companies about bad service and to enter competitions, with little success (I won a small tent once). But my view of Twitter changed dramatically when I discovered the #WritingCommunity (or #WritersCommunity). Thousands of other writers, all procrastinating together, is a beautiful thing indeed. Never have I ever seen such a solid community full of encouragement, support, advice and kind words (and funny gifs).  

So I conclude that writers are a pretty awesome breed of human, and you should incorporate as many of them into your life as possible.

Friday 13 September 2019

I’m coming out… as a writer

I’m just going to put it out there... I’m writing a book. There, I said it. Why does it feel like an embarrassing secret? When I was ten, and writing books about my cats as superheroes (contact me for copies), I wasn’t embarrassed, although I perhaps should have been. I loved my stories. When I was in my early teens, a fantastic English teacher of mine told me I should be a writer. Although I glowed inside, externally I scoffed. A writer? That’s not a career. That’s a hobby.

After university, I put down my metaphorical pen and didn’t write a word for a good five years, resolutely committing myself to A Normal Job. Sure, I started a novel every now and then, only for it to fizzle out circa seven thousand words, and buried inside the depths of a folder called “Archive”. I didn’t tell a soul each time I started a new story; that way I didn’t have to admit when I had inevitably given up. Of course, if someone asked me what my hopes and ambitions were, I would say with a dreamy look on my face how I longed to be a published author. But was I working towards my goal? The simple answer is no. There was too much to do… I had a full time job, a house to keep clean, friends and family to see. When could I possibly find the time?

Fast forward to my 30th year on this fine (ish) planet. I had spent the previous two years planning the wedding of all weddings for me and my fiancée Laura. Of course I had no time to write, thank you very much. Do you know how much time it takes to plan a wedding? But when we got back from our honeymoon, I suddenly had all this time on my hands. No confetti punching, no sign painting… just one severe case of post-wedding blues. I spotted my opportunity, and I picked up that laptop once more… and I just started. I hired a cleaner. I stopped seeing my friends. I was a pretty terrible wife for a while. I shouted from the rooftops of Facebook that I was writing a novel. I joined the #WritingCommunity on Twitter. I told anyone who would listen about my book. And do you know what? People are genuinely interested. They actually want to read my book. This astounded me. So I kept going. I shared chapters with anyone who was vaguely interested along the way. And I finished the damn thing.

So it turns out, telling other people that I was writing a book was the best thing I could have done. I stopped hiding it like a dirty little secret. I set finally my characters free, I revealed my ideas and I put it out into the world.

If you’re writing, don’t hide it. I’d put money on the fact that there are tonnes of people out there who want to read your words.