a river of stones Jan ’12

A small stone
is a very short piece of writing that precisely captures a fully-engaged moment.

I’m still trying to figure out if my interpretation is right. I don’t think of stones when I write these. I just think of the moment. I’ll list them all in one post. Which will grow longer, in a river kind of way.

Jan 01, 2012. New Year’s day, early morning
Wild horses up and down the stairs. The cat is in a good mood.

Jan 02, 2012. She’s no cushion
I put my ear on the furball, ribcage height. The vibration inside beats the drum in my ear. The cat escapes my grip, still purring.

Jan 03, 2012. Two trampolines
Two giant trampolines fill up the front garden. One has feet on the ground, the other feet up. The house at the back no longer has a trampoline. It’s still windy.

Jan 04, 2012. Silence

Jan 05, 2012. Autumn in winter
I drive home. Leaves on the road dance ahead of me in the sunshine.

Jan 06, 2012. A bundle of tears
You show that you know. What’s inside it. I loosen my grip. They roll down my face.

Jan 07, 2012. Too tired

Jan 08, 2012. White rose on a grave
The wind has made a bed of leaves for you. You’ve started to melt into it.

Jan 09, 2012. Spaced out
My consciousness velcroed to bars. So it doesn’t kick anyone?

Jan 10, 2012. At the end of the day
My legs are sore from too much thinking.

Jan 11, 2012. Smiling quietly

Jan 12, 2012. Not in stone-throwing mood!

Jan 13, 2012. Foreign toes
Several degrees below my body temperature, these toes are not mine. Just wish the cat would sit on them.

Jan 14, 2012. It’s winter
When you start writing before 4 p.m. in the daylight and finish shortly after 4 p.m. in the dark.

Jan 15, 2012. Earth belly
I lean on the fence watching a bold patch of earth, dug up by pigs. It’s almost back to level now, soft, with a few shades of grass. There’s a strong kind of winter sun on it. I breathe slowly. No. It’s not my breath. The patch of earth rises and sinks back, breathing slowly, only just noticeable.

Jan 16, 2012. Pond
Sparkly, frozen. No ducks.

Jan 17, 2012. Silence

Jan 18, 2012. Instant fingerprint amendment
A shiny stripe on my thumb – the memory of a hot oven. About as wide as the iPhone’s deep. Slots in perfectly.

Jan 19, 2012. Procrastination
The task. Trying to reach it from all sides. Getting lost in its surroundings.

Jan 20, 2012. Old puppy
I leave him to wait for me outside the post office. He doesn’t even sit down. He looks so small.

Jan 21, 2012. Ripples on a pond
The water is alive, vibrating. I try to film it but the wind stops. Should have just watched.

Jan 22, 2012. These aren’t stones
I just chip away in a hurry.

Jan 22, 2012. Silence

Jan 26, 2012. Who’s idea was this?

Jan 27, 2012. Silence

Jan 28, 2012. The root of all madness
Ground madness added to a smoothie.

Jan 29, 2012. Stupid girl
Spending all night Saturday working on your website defeats the definition of clever girl.

Jan 30, 2012. Too
Too awake to sleep, too tired to do anything. I’m too useless for my skirt. So useless it hurts. Need sleep.

Jan 31, 2012. The End
Phew.

It smells like winter.

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JD Worner Interview: A Bed of Thorns

Welcome to my blog, JD.

You have just published your novel A Bed of Thorns. What is it about?

Well, A Bed of Thorns is about a man on the run from both the police and a very dangerous other man who is out for his blood. He finds shelter and sanctuary with two reclusive sisters on the Yorkshire Moors but gets involved in a deadly triangle of love and power.
 
 
Sounds intriguing. And who is JD Worner?

JD Worner is the name I have chosen to write under – a pen-name. To be frank, JD Worner, stands for Julie Dorothy Worner, and is my birth name. However, nowadays, most people know me as Claire Ferdinando.
 
 
What inspired A Bed of Thorns?

What a tough question. Um, there wasn’t any real inspiration, not on a conscious level anyway. I first wrote the story under the title The Third Room in the early 90’s because I ran a theatre company and we had just finished a run of another play I had written. I needed another play. The previous play was a comedy, and although it did quite well, it didn’t really feel my cup of tea, so I needed another play but wanted to try something a little different. I had no idea what I would write but I had an image of two women in front of a fire in rocking chairs. I sat down and began writing and it sort of unfolded in front of me. So I guess it was pretty much a surprise to me what I ended up with.
 
 
How did you find writing your first novel? What hurdles did you have to overcome? What helped?

As I said, the story has been with me for years. After the stage play, I wrote a film version (currently under development) but I had always felt that I wanted to write it as a novel. Over the years I must have started about a couple of dozen times, but I always faltered. Plays and scripts were fine, but somehow I lacked the experience or confidence or something and it just never quite worked. It always ended up far too short. Like a film script. In many ways it is still short, despite being quite complex. Anyway, I finally took a Diploma in Creative Writing with the Open University where I learned not only the skills to write prose, but also the confidence to believe in my writing. I knew this was what I wanted to do now, so here I am.
 
 
Why did you choose self-publish?

I had sent the manuscript to an agent a while back, and although they were encouraging, it was declined. I did originally have plans to continue to send it out, knowing of the many stories about authors not necessarily getting lucky on their first shot. But I began to think about self-publishing as I researched other authors like Matthew Reilly, and the explosion of Kindle authors. Then a friend of mine self-published his book and I thought I’d just take the bull by the horns and just get on with it.
 
 
How did you find self-publishing? Would you recommend it to others?

Well, it was quite scary when I was thinking about it, but when I actually got around to doing it, I found it much easier than I thought, well, at least the publishing side of it was.  Basically, I had to reformat the manuscript according to the Kindle specifications, find artwork for the cover (which my daughter Emma Baugh painted for me) then follow their instructions. The paperback was a little more tricky but not really difficult either. Publishing an eBook on Kindle is easy and for the paperback I simply went with a Print-On-Demand service so it require not real outlay, so the process is easy and I’d recommend it as a fairly simple process. The problem, I think, is learning how to publicise the book and get it ‘out there’, now that takes a bit more effort and is a learning curve for me.
 
 
What should we expect to see by JD Worner next?

Well, I am already planning another novel, however, there are another couple of projects that I might publish in the meantime. The first is a book of short stories to help raise funds for the Stroke Art Café, Stoke-On-Trent, a local stroke charity that my daughter helps out with. I myself suffered a stroke in 1999, so it’s something that I identify with. The stroke victims use art as a method of rehabilitation and therapy, so I thought I would use their artwork as illustrations and to write, probably getting other writers to contribute, stories that fit the illustrations. All the proceeds would go to the charity. Another project is a children’s book that I wrote many years ago when my children were young and they loved it. It’s called Spigman’s Adventure and I’m considering publishing that too. Hopefully, by that time, I’ll have another novel ready. I suspect it may be another crime story but may be set in an historical setting.

Thank you, JD.

 

A Bed of Thorns is available from Amazon Kindle and in print version from Lulu.

JD Worner was raised in Scotland and now lives in the West Midlands, England. A Bed of Thorns is her first novel, although she has written for stage and screen. She spent twenty years in the entertainment industry as actor, writer, director, casting director and acting tutor. She has four children, all grown and flown, and now lives alone with a dog and a cat – which suits her perfectly. 

JD Worner’s fan page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/JDWorner

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A private Christmas

How I got out of the habit of posting here! Distracted by other work. Nursing other creativity. Not that I’ve stopped thinking about writing. But thinking about writing does not equal writing. It may or may not become writing one day. Who knows.

Look forward to the next few days and year-end, and to some reading. I hope to finally ‘attack’ some of the books I’ve also been… thinking about. It will be a quiet Christmas. I hope. Because I’ve had enough of the overfilled supermarket car parks and aisles, and the Christmas music starting early December – why did they have to spoil it for me? I get saturated when there’s too much of it. Still not used to it being so out there, since my own experience as a child was that of a very private Christmas each family had in their own home. Last night I found myself wishing I was in a country where they don’t celebrate Christmas. Maybe I’m bitter because childhood and Father Christmas times are so far in the past?

We’d all gather in my grandmother’s part of the house, just to hear the doorbell and to miss Father Christmas’ arrival on our own side of the house. Separate entrance doors, you see. Father Christmas would drop off the tree and the presents and be gone by the time we got there. I don’t remember wanting to meet him. The presents were far more exciting. I ripped the packaging to shreds when I got the ice skates; couldn’t wait.

Audiobooks are still on the agenda. The other day, I started listening to Der Mann schläft, by Sibylle Berg. It was strange. The story depressed me: about a woman, slightly over the edge of age… I didn’t need to be transported into that state of mind. But the language, the imagery, the similes, they were all so neat. Beautiful. I couldn’t stop listening. Finally, my car solved the dilemma, and while I turned the wheel, I accidentally re-set the track on the iPod and lost the thread in the audiobook. So I decided to re-home my listening to Franka Potente’s short story collection Zehn, which, although not necessarily Hollywood-style rosy, is quite uplifting. I like open endings. And stories that make me laugh a bit. One night, when for once I couldn’t fall asleep, ideas for such stories started pouring into my mind. I made notes.

Let’s see where things go from here.

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Some animals

By the morning, the burning sensation had gone, but the two red streaks were still broad and bright.

The night before, as I’d arrived home from work, two tail-wagging black Labradors circled around me. I sat on the floor with them, grabbed them by their thick coats. As usual, they wanted to push each other out of the way. One oft them did that typical dog gesture, the ‘applied paw’, the ‘give me attention’. Only this time the paw didn’t gently rest on my arm. Somehow, my face got in the way.

The mirror showed two lines of deep red war paint on my right cheek. I thought about how they‘d stare, what they‘d think, and hoped that the redness would calm down over night. It didn’t.

I decided to wear my red turtleneck top to work. When it’s so ‘in your face’ (in my face, in this case) you might as well make the best out of it. They’ll stare anyway. When I arrived at the office, I decided to stare at them in turn. The observer became the observed. I grouped them in three categories:

  • The politicians – those who pretended there was nothing out of the ordinary,
  • The diplomats – those who waited at least 20 minutes before they asked a careful question, and
  • The upfront – those who shouted, ‘What’s that on your face?’ as soon as they saw me.

I was too busy with my observations to worry about what they thought. Yes, I was a little different. But how different were they? Some animals are more different than others.

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Miss Sunshine

I’ve been too busy to write here. Too busy to write anywhere. I think it’s a summer thing. Last summer I took a break too. Literally abandoned my story In Time till autumn. It did the story good that I took plenty of distance from it. Don’t laugh! I know it sounds dramatic. But when I came back to it I could easily spot which subtle changes to make. And it was liked.

Busy is a boring explanation. And since it also happened last year, I tried to find a correlation between lack of writing mood and summer. It’ll be a little far-fetched, because it’s not been sunny all along. But today it’s sunny. And I don’t feel like writing. Too happy to write. Yes, I wonder if I have to be restless, grumpy or angry in order to beat my stories into the keyboard. Is my mood too good in summer? Well, today I could even say that my brain’s been wilted black by the heat, just like those avocados I left on the windowsill.

I think summer manifests in my reading too. Well, in my audiobook listening. No complicated stuff, please. Not now. I just finished listening to Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. It’s a different, refreshing perspective, that of an autistic boy. It’s a book you connect with and a character you understand and identify with. No, not only me. I’ve heard others say that too. Autism aside, it reminded me of a very sad story I used to watch as a slide show when I was a child. I used to love that one, and watch it over and over again, but it was very sad. Little boy travelling from Italy to Argentina to find his mother. Was it called Cuore? It was the kind of sad and dramatic stuff I’d write in winter. Mark Haddon’s book kept me quite optimistic all along. Ok, the end felt a bit like let’s make it all good so we’re not scared to turn the lights off, but it worked for me.

Right now I’m enjoying Kerstin Gier’s Die Mütter-Mafia. I have no idea what genre it is, and I don’t care (here’s my old hang-up with genre). I can’t even remember how I decided to download this one, or where I came across it. Was it a wildcard from some Audible.de browsing? Wow, did I take a risk for once? If I did, good. It’s rolling forward and I’m having fun. German humour. Or just life humour. Separating mother of two and their adventures, through light-tinted glasses. I’ve not been using my German much lately, apart from long emails to a schoolfriend (nothing’s changed there either), so it feels good to hear more of it.

Newslflash. My A363 course result came out yesterday. A classical example of the power of social media: I found out from somebody’s Facebook update who’d seen it on Twitter – aren’t we progressive? Well, and it looks like another Distinction, and a nice Diploma in Literature and Creative Writing – for my two-year investment. Fair deal.

But paper is not everything. I’m sure there’ll be writers who ‘scored’ much less and will be more famous than me. I didn’t actually care about my results when I first started studying creative writing. I just wanted to learn something, and be encouraged to write. But when my first assignment score came out last year (98%) I turned greedy. As you do. Well, it coincided with a couple of people saying, ‘This is surely very difficult for you to do, with English not being your first language.’ It hadn’t occurred to me before, and I wasn’t finding it difficult. But hearing that shook my fragile confidence (I never said I was beyond human!). I felt I had something to prove.

At some point, I will think about what I learned and what I lost along the way, while studying Creative Writing. At some point, soon, I will write again. Not for an assignment, but because I want to. Because I have something to say. And, irrespective of whether or not it’s my first language, I will find a way to say it.

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