Bit more on Stephen Benatar and second chances

I'm going to read his book, "Wish Her Safe at Home" love the title.
"It is a gripping and haunting story about a middle-aged, genteel woman called Rachel Waring who inherits a Georgian house in Bristol and slowly goes mad."
It's being republished by the New York Review of Books in its Modern Classics series. A British edition is being published.
First published in 1982 by Bodley Head. Wonderful reviews, prizes, poor sales.
He got the New York Review of Books' managing editor, Edwin Franks to read it by bumping into him with a wine trolley at his self-organised and self-published relaunch of "Wish Her Safe at Home."

And the heroine of the book, Rachel Waring says at one point in the novel

"Wouldn't it be fine if we all had second chances?"

Second Chances

This seems to be cropping up all the time at the moment. I'm writing about the possibility of second chances in Leaving Coty, watched a film, The Lake House, on television last night which is about the second chance of capturing a love. And an article in the Sunday Times magazine from a few weeks ago about an author, Stephen Benatar, who by rights, due to the review of his books (some published by a company he had to set up himself to do so) is, after decades of rejections taken up by a big American publisher. Mr. Benatar is English. He sells his books himself. His books haven't sold in vast numbers because he hasn't had a power house publisher behind him and he isn't well known like Jordan or, Dan Brown or JK Rowling, though his books are extremely well written and touch the reader emotionally. Now, he is getting a second chance of his books being widely read, and that is what he says he wants. He doesn't want his books forgotten, unread. It's what most authors want, I'd say.

And the second chance thing cropped up somewhere else too. Then there's Gordon Brown...and the spanish bullfighter, Jose Thomas who retired from bullfighting, found life wasn't worth living without it, so came back to fight a bull in Mexico and his leg was gored. A second chance. For the bull? He, Jose Thomas, has survived, but I suppose, when we think about it factually, apart from being painless, don't we all want to die doing the thing we love? Bullfighting painless? Mmm...
So, am I going to pop it in my chair, fingers frozen to the keys? Think I'd prefer a pen in my hand. Could drop when I'm dancing.
Where has this come from after second chances? I'm drifing. Seems to be one of those days. Dull and grey outside. Going to edit. Mustn't let LC be dull and grey.

Cordoba Spain

I miss Cordoba. X

Heard on Radio 4 this morning that a female journalist was giving up her column in the Daily Mail because she is suffering from depression. She says that this modern illness is because women want it all, but the strain is too much. I'm paraphrasing.

Leaving Coty asks the question "Can we have it all?" I always thought it was about choice, juggling, deciding what is most important. I was talking to someone last night at the Writers' group and they said that once you can guess the author's viewpoint then you can guess which way the story is going to pan out. And that's not a good thing. I use different characters to represent different elements of the debate about having it all so I hope the reader doesn't guess which way Tessa goes.

I think having children is the factor that tips the balance. We had children and we wanted one of us to be there all the time they were growing up. For all but a couple of months here and there, we have managed it. And although we've not been able to have exotic holidays, flash cars, do up the house as we'd like, we don't regret our choice.

And that is it. Choice. If we feel we have no choice then I think that's where the trouble sets in. And once depression sets in, it's not something you just snap out of, it can take you down.

Expectation. Is that a problem about life today? Do we expect too much? What is enough to expect? Realistic? Sometimes it seems as though, if we got back to the basics, enjoying food, sleep, fresh air, touch, loving, then that would be enough. Not looking outward for approval but finding it in the close unit around us, in us. Getting a bit preachy here. Going to go. Such a big debate.

On another note, I have two bits I need to expand in LC, then back to the beginning for the edit. The end is in sight. I can't believe it. It is suddenly approaching. Exciting stuff. Must keep a tight rein on this. And not be lazy. If change is necessary, must make those changes.

Alan Sillitoe to Stan Barstow

Alan Sillitoe died at the weekend. He wrote Saturday Night, Sunday Morning amongst others. Last of the Kitchen sink authors? I heard the news on the radio this morning. A short piece on Radio Four. I didn't realise the french loved his work long before he was recognised here. They loved him for his writing, not the subject matter. He was seen from a young age as highly literary. And he left school at fourteen. That suggests that all is not lost if youngsters leave school early. But then they need some drive to see them through.

Big debate there.

As I said earlier, my final study for my degree, the english, not the drama part, was on Stan Barstow. Another Kitchen Sink writer. It's the passion that drew me. Feeling out of place with all those around you. Striving for something and succeeding in finding it or not. Frustration coming out as anger.

Definitely worth a read. Or would I prefer to read another of those novels on shopping? Can I debate that when I haven't read any? I think A Kind of Loving is pulling me that way.

Afterwards

It is hard to concentrate. I'm trying really hard, well, I'm trying to crack on with Leaving Coty. The end of the first draft is tangible. I can see it finished. And that will be such a good position to reach. I've had the revolationary moment for Coty. Tessa hasn't quite reached her one. Do I know what it is? I think so. It's like that word on the tip of your tongue. I'm not getting frustrated because I know it will come. Like the discovery in The Monster Belt of what happened to Jonty. That moment. Tessa's moment will be small. She is back in the vicinity of where it will happen, I just know it won't be in the obvious place. It won't be in Harrods' perfume hall, or at home or by her father's grave. It'll come from a stranger. Isn't this great? This is like when moments come to me in the bath. It's taking shape as I'm writing this. A stranger. And they are the one that sees in her what she hasn't seen but is what is the crux to her dilemma. Yipee. Now I won't be distracted by thoughts of Juba's show last week and the coming Samba Encontro in Cardiff, weekend after next, well, that is still buzzing in my body, but now I know where I'm heading. Coty is on track and well, that is one thing solved...now where does it happen?

Writing again.

I've been working on Leaving Coty again today after nearly three weeks of sewing costumes, rehearsing, Easter holiday visits, family stuff and sewing costumes for last Thursday's show at the RNCM.
Monday. Don't know how I feel. Restless. The writing has gone amazingly well considering the break. I started with typing up some changes, printing up what I had so I could read without a mess of crossings out and little stars and inserts etc. And I'm further on with the book than I thought. Hooray! Tomorrow I will be less distracted, less likely to check facebook and flickr and Youtube for photos and comments on the gig. Less likely to sit dreaming. Less likely to think if I have my life in order. I know I haven't.
But I do know I have to finish Leaving Coty soon. Very soon. I hope I've got the passion in there whilst reining it back, I hope I've said all I want to say. I hope. In fact, forget that. I'm not hoping, I'm working on it. Tessa is so far from getting things right. She's trying hard, wading in the mud, only realising near the end of the book that we think the world is full of what we want when in fact, it isn't full at all, it's only full if we say 'yes' to opportunities. If we let them go, the world is empty, but if we do take them, then yes, then it is full. Does that make sense? Or too cryptic?
It's simple in some ways for her. She is catholic, she follows certain rules and she believes in second chances. Not everyone does though. I'm trying to be honest in what happens. I like her very much. I feel for all of the characters. Environment can screw us all up and for that we can only look on at what people do.
I loved dancing last Thursday. I love dancing. But I'm so glad to have my writing.
Must find some pictures to show you...

Juba Do Leao and Christian Aid - RNCM

The main emotion, amongst many others, is thank you. Thank you to Christian Aid for all the work they do around the world to help people and for asking Juba do Leao to be the main focus of their fundraising event at the Royal Northern College of Music last night and to the fantastic RNCM staff who quietly looked after us so well. Thank you to the audience who, full of enthusiasm and tapping feet, danced and cheered and stood up and looked happy and gave us more energy that we could bounce back, to the gifted musicians, The Eblana String Trio who played so beautifully, for being part of a community like Juba do Leao, full of talent and kindness and flair and joy and exhuberance.... and for life for its unexpected opportunities and change and chances of happiness.
Last night's show was a blast of fast costume changes, beautiful solos, wild dancing, such happiness, heart searing singing and instrument playing and loud, amazing rhythms and finally, drum lifting...and Holly Prest for having this vision and drive and all looking so good.

I'm sure I've missed out loads, but I wanted to get down some words about last night. Full, full of emotion and pleasure.

Joy. Sparkling, bubbling joy.

Hasta luego, Espana

Sunday 14th of February. Seems so long ago to be writing about it now. Wet and turning light. Cold. Up at 5.30 am. Exciting. Dark. Showered and hair wash. Dress, finish packing. Large freshly squeezed orange and a weak cup of tea. Will be good to drink strong Yorkshire tea again. Left the flat at 6.30. Birds singing. Figures wandering home in fancy dress - revellers from the Cadiz festival.
Now here's something to be aware of: My ticket said the train left at 7.13 am (love how precise these times are) It was actually ready to pull away at 7.08. Moral: always be early.

I was in carriage 3, seat 3C. Massive seats, the biggest I've ever been in. Like mini-sofas. The only other people in the carriage were a father and daughter. He was spanish, worked as a pyschologist in Durham, his daughter (english mother) lives in Canterbury. Sarah was fifteen and had been staying with spanish relatives and attending the english school in Cordoba. He had been in England since he was twenty-nine years old. She hadn't been to Durham. What's the point? He loved Durham. We chatted the whole way, asking what I needed to know about Andalusians for my book, about the area.
We arrived in Malaga at 8.30am. Had a coffee at the bar in the shopping centre as I had when I arrived.
Has the trip been worthwhile? Yes. I've learnt so much. About Spain, the spanish, the Estevez family, about sherry, about Cordoba and Jerez. I like the people and the place very much indeed. I want to come back. I want to learn spanish, travel more. Travel is so breathtakingly good. I feel taller, more in me, more questions to ask, more experiences to embrace. The mind and spirit have grown a little bit more. X