The Secrets of Blood and Bone - the paperback!

The Secrets of Blood and Bone comes out in paperback today! Apart from being in the final stages of polishing book 3, The Secrets of Time and Fate for its release next year (can't wait, it's my favourite!) the book coming out in paperback is a treat. Hardbacks are lovely things but most readers want a paperback. I've been lucky to get some lovely reviews in America after the launch there, and hope we'll see a bit of feedback over here too!

Meanwhile, I've been engaging with bloggers and internet publishing sites in the US, answering questions and writing articles:

http://www.sffworld.com/2015/09/rebecca-alexander-interview/
http://whatever.scalzi.com/2015/09/03/the-big-idea-rebecca-armstrong/ (never mind the name!)
http://www.sfsignal.com/archives/2015/09/guest-post-rebecca-alexander-author-secrets-blood-bone-role-science-fantasy-writing/

It's been a long time coming, I'm thrilled to see it out and hopefully book 3 won't be too far behind. It was great fun to take the characters further, to resolve the whole story arc. Book 3 involves Kelley at sea in the pirate ridden, storm driven Mediterranean, Felix trying to uncover the science behind borrowed time with an unlikely ally from the Bathory legacy, and the key to longevity coded into obscure poems by Eliza Weston - Kelley's daughter -  as she struggles to outsmart Elizabeth Bathory.  And, of course, resolves what happened to Jack, last seen dropping off a bridge into the river... As other writers will tell you, trilogies are hard - where do you draw the line between writing a standalone book and keeping a longer story running through. I hope the whole series will be resolved at the end of book 3 although I have already started writing, for my own pleasure, book 4. The characters live in my head now, they are part of the family!

Meanwhile, I've been collaborating with a lot of local writers on an anthology of short fictions, poems and memoir, which also comes out today. More about that later!

Meanwhile I have to find mental space to get back to work on the Twins book, the second draft is pulling together really well, ready to go off to my agent. Although writing has seemed like crawling through treacle, this year I have written pretty well two whole books and planned a third. It's giving me lots of editing to do up to Christmas.

Once upon a time...

...I dreamed of a cottage by the sea. The sea feeds my imagination like nothing else, it fills me with energy, I even sleep better when I've been out on the beach. But our new house is tucked away by a big river, a few miles inland. Then I inherited some money, and if my son and I put our little funds together we could - almost - afford the shabbiest, tiniest, most story-book wreck of a cottage. It's pretty run down - my son is unimpressed by the rather basic kitchen and plumbing arrangements - but I love it. I love it so much a book is writing itself out of the house, even before we get the keys. Now we're balancing paperwork from the bank, the solicitors, the mortgage (we didn't quite have enough) all to buy a two-up, two-down writing retreat a few yards from the quayside at Appledore. You can hear the sea through the cracked single glazed windows. Sea breezes rocket down the open chimneys and fill the air with soot. The only toilet is outside in the yard. I love it.

It's been a strange two years. My first book was published in the same week my husband got the news that he had a virulent cancer and it had already started to spread. His reaction was that he wanted to move from my lovely house to this new town, which has been a sensible and grown up thing to do. But my imagination, somehow, didn't get packed. Writing books I started in 'the big house' was fine, but I was starting to worry that new ideas were just not coming. Well, that's all changed. Not only do I have my creative non-fiction project to work on, I am starting a new Sci-Fi book and writing this 'house' book. I'm looking forward to working on it in the house.

The place is very small, and completely cluttered, and we're all excited about ripping out carpets, rubbing down window frames and rewiring so it can at least be warm. Warm and dry. And sparsely furnished with the pieces that didn't fit in the new house that I miss. The aim is to create a writing retreat to give me somewhere to de-stress, and perhaps let it out to fellow creatives in time. the whole loft is a big studio space, lit by two roof windows, one facing south and one north, looking over the roofs to the estuary beyond. Lovely. It's a bit of a shame you can only get there climbing up a ladder like a bookcase. Maybe we'll have enough money after the rewire for some proper stairs.

Book 2 has come out in the states, and I'm thrilled about it. It even looks gorgeous, I love the cover.

In creative chaos

I'm up to my neck in creative projects at the moment which is - mostly - Yay! but slightly ARGHHH as well. I sit down to work and a dozen projects claim my attention. Grant applications, job applications, marking, teaching workshops, two books almost finished, promotion, a legacy to organise from my mother-in-law's death, an investment property to (maybe) buy... the list goes on (and on). The problem is the sheer number of choices to be made. Not to mention all the kids' stuff and normal family stuff. I'm looking forward to October when it all calms down, books will be out, paperwork will be done, decisions made, kids back at college/university. 

We wanted to make a sensible investment by buying a nice little house around the corner. Since then, information has come to light that the shop next door is going to become three flats - all of whom are going to want to share the property's parking space - which comes with the property but I don't want to spend the rest of my life asking people to move their cars for the benefit of our tenant. Anyway, it seemed like a very safe option, and part of me wants something a bit more exciting. I have just spent half an hour speculating on buying  railway carriage by the sea...

The Lorina Bulwer project is marching on whatever else I think about, the words just fall onto the page in capitals, partly influenced by August, when my daughter died after her final illness. I'm just so glad she died at home, but the horrible rawness of that time stays with me, mostly because I can't think about it too much except each August when it demands to be seen, and experienced and grieved. Now the words just come gently, and pierce the printed cotton strips and say their own thing. I'm amazed at the power of the very personal words and the way they feel sort of finished once they are stitched. Very therapeutic, maybe stitching helped Lorina deal with her feelings. 

Other themes wander in, the wonderful Bellacouche studio in Moretonhampstead makes woollen shrouds, and in Yuli Somme's church studio she has felt shoes on each stair which brought so many ideas into my head, now getting space on the fabric. 

SHOES LIKE PIXIE SHOES CHILDRENS SHOES UP TO BED INTO A WORLD OF FAIRIES AND WITCHES AND SPELLS GOOD CHILDREN BAD CHILDREN DARK STAIRS TELLING STORIES IN OAKEN CHAPTERS

And so on. Who knows where it will go or how it will edit itself? It doesn't have to be poetry, the lack of punctuation plays games with the meaning as it goes anyway. It's also absolutely addictive to do. Lorina appliquéd figures and then ranted over the top, I'm going to have a play with that next on a separate piece. 

Meanwhile the Twins book is powering on, I'm presently standing with my back to a locked door while two nutty characters play out their end game. It's all just adding to the decision making stress. Will they get out of this alive, and if so, which one? I look forward to finding out. Perhaps I ought to stitch the scene onto fabric...

 

Finding a new voice

Every instinct is saying 'write a fictional character' but all that comes is my own story. Lorina's words trigger my own memories, both sympathetic and antithetic. I wrote a few notes about her learning the piano, and my own childhood experiences of pianos came to mind. She wrote about her anger about being unable to complain, I found myself choked up on her behalf as well as my own. I still find it difficult to stand up to doctors. But her childless state, her living at home with her mother (for fifty-five years) suggests a domestic dullness that I have never suffered from! I even found a detail of her will.

I was surprised to find she had so much money on her death, effectively almost three hundred and sixty pounds. Which I suppose explains the various threads and fabrics she had in order to produce her rants! I'm playing around with both an autobiographical voice (I'm reading everything Julia Blackburn has done at the moment - amazing writer!) and my fictional character as well. Part of me knows no-one wants to read about me, but it's a way to compare Lorina's life to a modern voice. Which a fictional character could do. I'm not sure, more head scratching to do.

The story has drawn me in, so much that I find myself writing snippets in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. I wish I could sleep, insomnia is getting a bit tedious. When I was younger I would just come downstairs and work for a few hours, but I'm too tired to concentrate.

The Secrets of Blood and Bone comes out in the US on September 1st and I am writing bits and pieces of publicity enquiries as they come in. It's lovely to get back to book 2 and I find I'm getting more excited about it. It comes out in paperback in the UK on October 8th. Then book 3 will have its turn, and the trilogy will be done, which nicely rounds the series off. Except for me, I'm already drafting out book 4 (just for fun, but it's a bit compulsive).

Meanwhile, it's hard to concentrate on the Twins book, which I hope to get back to shortly, because we have builders coming to take off all the asbestos on the roof and hopefully put nice, reclaimed slates back on. Of course, high winds and torrential rain are forecast...

Evolving projects

It's a strange thing how one idea can lead to another and another... like stepping stones across a changing landscape. I'm enjoying 'finishing' the Twins Book, although finishing is putting a rather glossier gleam on it than what it really is - completing the first draft. There are people who write perfect first drafts, I don't, I'm over it. The book already has the seeds of exciting new directions in it, like forking over the compost heap and finding a peach stone growing. Or an avocado, which would be unusual since I don't like avocados and never throw stones away. But, anyway, new ideas spring up, especially about The Project, which is gathering pace.

The writing is slowly evolving, from what I thought could be a novel about a therapist exploring the rants of an angry, possibly mentally ill woman, to considering autobiography/biography. I realised my fictional character was grieving for a significant loss trying to make sense of her own feelings and those of her loved one. She was even the same age as me when my sister died, for goodness sake, and the character name was one letter away from Sarah. I accept that I am as bonkers as Lorina and rapidly unravelling as I stitch but there's something very therapeutic in that. Of course, the big debate is whether a reader might find a fictional character more interesting (and more believable) that a real life, even told in fragments. Not to mention most people find it hard to weigh and edit writing about themselves in the same way they sort out fiction. Anyway, the stitching is a bit addictive so I'll see where it leads me.

The bird decided to join us, I don't know why, the original figures were appliquéd, and a fox is going to join it soon. It's a bit disturbing when a project takes over but that's what books do, too. It's all go here, one daughter has moved into her first house, another has got into college - all in the same few weeks. I'm looking forward to seeing my brother and his wife next weekend, and I'm teaching character, which is disturbing in itself. 

'Let's make up some people who can do crazy things in our heads...' 

The Project

Despite the rest of my world still needing attention, I've managed to make a start on The Project. This is me attempting to write a novel about a not-famous person but a fascinating record of her inner thoughts, stitched into an amazing rant from the injustice (as she saw it) of being dumped in a workhouse as a lunatic.

I've started by sewing together some strips of cloth and having a go at embroidering words on them. One thing has become obvious - it's hard to hold focus on a rant when you're going at one letter every two minutes. I'm already choosing words with less of those pesky curves in (O takes seven stitches) and more angular words with A and W. She wrote entirely in capitals which is interesting too, it feels like she's shouting it, screaming it even. I find myself getting wound up inside pretty quickly, just because the letters are so big and - shouty. 

This is a bit of the big piece. 

She didn't punctuate at all. This makes it really hard to read but when you sew, it creates lots of short phrases, odd combinations that you don't expect, as you stitch it very s l o w l y. 

So I'm writing very slowly, without many little words like 'and' and 'the' so it's already open to interpretation, and finding odd connections. I find myself using a lot of verbs. Yesterday I wrote (in slow motion) WATER SKI ON ROUGH SEAS SHOCK ICE SALT IN MY FACE DOWN MY THROAT BURNING CHOKING. It's a fascinating project, and as I sit over my stitching I find myself brooding and wondering how to get ideas down in as few words as possible. REB CROSS GET CHOCOLATE seems to be the end point.  

Lorina Bulwer found a lot of rhymes too, they're a bit addictive, along with words that morph into new words. STITCHING BITCHING IN THREAD NEEDLE SLIPS SILK CUTS COLOURS BLEED WITCHING STITCHING INTO CLOTH WINDING IN WORDS WORMS WORLDS (my words not hers). 

This was my first sampler.

I'm starting to feel the need for illustrations too, just like she did, although I haven't managed to work out what her pictures were for. I wonder where it's all going, but it does seem to be going somewhere. I feel like the needle thing is so moreish it pulls me into the fabric. Maybe I'll be found dessicated, neatly stitched into a quilt. 

Head buzzing with ideas

I don't sleep amazingly well, and I don't seem to need that much anyway. But recently I've been up, tired and grumpy but wide awake at 5.30. Since I can't get to sleep before 12.30 at the earliest, sleep is in short supply. The reason is two-fold. I've been given a baby dose of thyroxine to counter a slight shortfall, and like all hormones, it has a strong effect. At least I'm not feeling cold all the time. But the main reason is that my brain is buzzing with ideas.

As a writer who is a bit compulsive about writing (yes, I'm back writing everyday like a word junkie) I want to write the twins book. I'm working on a local writers' anthology, which is coming on well but I always forget just how much work these are. And I'm contemplating The Project, complete with possibilities of PhD etc. I don't know what I should do, but my time seems split between different projects and all I want to do is write.

I've been reading books on 'hermaphrodites' and intersex (or disorders of sex development) through the ages. While the historical picture is predictably blunt and shaped by patriarchal societal norms (some boys with very small penises were 'adjusted' to look more like girls), terrifyingly, the picture in the 1980s and 1990s wasn't much better. Babies with 'ambiguous' genitalia and/or chromosomes were operated on so they would look normal at school. I'm glad to say my genitals were not, at any time at school, shared with the class. And if they were, if a wide range of 'normal' genitals were accepted and the person's own feelings on their gender (or not) were considered, how many children would have avoided being mutilated? The picture has improved: as long as a baby can pee and poo, time is now allowed to explore physical development, the hormonal picture and how the child self-identifies. Fascinating stuff but more work needs to be done to allow people who do not choose a polarised view of their gender, whether intersex or not, to be themselves. All grist to writer's mill, though.

Otherwise, we're worried sick about an older relative. It cuts at our family, even our sixteen year old (who has just got into college without a GCSE to her name, go Rosie) and is probably one reason I wake at 5.30 and lie awake thinking about being old. “Old age ain't no place for sissies.” ― Bette Davis