How to be a writer – a homage to Meg Rosoff

I’m a big fan of Meg Rosoff.  Her latest book, There is No Dog, is a quirky and irreverent look at our potential deity – though you may end up despairing of him, it all makes quite a lot of sense. And the wonderful  How I Live Now is, as I type, being made into a film.  She’s a damned fine writer, Meg Rosoff,  so when I read her latest blog: Everything You Need To Know To Be A Writer I was laughing with joy.

I’ve always thought of myself as the woman who was so nearly good at so many things and now, instead of feeling like a failure, I can smile and say, oh yes, in that goes to the experience bank – it’s research don’t you know.  So here, after a special request by the lovely and talented Karen Ball is my list of:

Things I’ve Done That Will Help Me Be a Better Writer.

I belly dance. I fence.  I can make a poor fourth hand at bridge.

Doing acting....

I know what it’s like to work on a film, in the theatre and on a farm.

I’ve worked on the deck of the Mary Rose and I’ve worked in  The Gambia. I’ve sucked green oranges with a group of village women in Njawara and got sick drinking tap water in Banjul.

I’ve had an African  prince to tea.

I’ve been on an anti fox hunting rally.  I’ve lobbied my MP and had a warning from a policeman for demonstrating outside the Houses of Parliament.  I’ve been a guest at the House of Lords.

At 17 my heart was broken. My first love left me for a beautiful boy called Mark, one of my best friends. I behaved quite badly after that until, at 19, I fell in love again and stayed that way.

I’ve had two stalkers, one more scary than the other.

I am sometimes too nice for my own good.

I spent a decade living in a caravan. I have been cold and hungry. I know what it’s like to risk losing everything you own to make a better life.

I’ve built a business. I’ve built a house. I’ve held down three jobs at once, one of which involved dressing up as an octopus.

I’ve dropped pizza in the lap of a man in white trousers.

I lost my mother in  Singapore and my camera by a hot spring in Borneo.  I got another mother and, less painfully, another camera.

I had one childbirth that, 50 years ago,  would have killed me and my daughter. When it was over, I had a bitch of a midwife who was cruel and  stupid. I had extensive repair surgery. The surgeon had hepatitis C.  I  had another child by c-section thus curing my terror of the whole process – then I had a haemorrhage in the school playground because I thought I was invincible when, in fact, I was an idiot.

I’ve paddled beside a manatee in Mexico;  ridden a horse in Cuba;  found a stash of petrol bombs in my flat in North Wales;  belly danced at one of The Earl of March’s infamous parties and toured a play to the south of France.

I’ve let down a friend who never forgave me.

I’ve been to a muddy Glastonbury Festival, a sunny Glastonbury Festival and I’ve seen Leonard Cohen through a haze of dope smoke. I’ve had an argument with a woman snorting cocaine over her child’s pram.

I  had a bare knuckle fight with the bane of my life at St. Luke’s Comprehensive School. I was molested on my paper round and never told a soul.

I’ve been in two tornadoes in the South of England and a violent storm in Sarawak.  I’ve rescued my daughter’s bag from a warthog and my son’s fingers from a monitor lizard.

I’ve nursed a sick hamster back to life, had my fingers sucked by a calf and said goodbye to countless beloved pets. I’ve twice removed a wild owl from my sitting room.

I’ve written a lot of words and I’m writing some more but these one’s are by kind permission of                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Meg :

All my life I despaired at being a jack of all trades and master of none, but it all proved fantastically useful when I started writing.

This is by way of saying that when I suggest people not be in a hurry to write a book, I mean it. Because the more you live, the more you’ll know — in your head and in your heart. And the more you know, the more your book will come from a deep place of real resonance — in other words, not wikipedia.

Reading Meg’s blog made me realise everything we do in life is important. It all adds up to who we are.

It all goes in to the stories we tell.  Even the stuff we failed at. Especially the stuff we failed at.

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Why I hate the wind.

Chalk Lane, 3rd Jan 2012

Wind is the weather that frightens me most. I have cowered in a caravan while wind has rocked it like a demented mother.  I have stood paralysed while a tornado blackened the sky and ripped its dark path though one greenhouse after another. I have held my breath in the after calm,  shocked by the devastation, fearful of its return and grateful that things were not much, much worse.

Yesterday the sky blackened once more.

Beloved  knew it was coming. Winds had been forecast , and they were already high, but he’d also had a phone call from Father-in-Law, who lives a couple of hours away, warning us a line squall had passed over his place and was heading our way.

I was working on the end of year report when it hit. My computer switched off. The power was out. In a heartbeat the gusting wind outside changed to a tearing, rain lashed storm force 10. Fence panels and gas canisters blew past my office window. My first thought was for the children.

Safe at school. Solid, brick built, sturdy school.

But  where was Beloved? I threw my coat on and battled outside. The rain was tidal, lashing in horizontal waves, the wind threatened to tip me over. I struggled to keep hold of the farm office door but he was there, and safe.

Narrow escape for the greenhouse

‘I’m scared.’ I said.

‘I know.’ He said.

We clambered through the fallen trees that blocked the track and pushed through the rain to check  the greenhouse. Some of the guttering had been torn free but it hadn’t smashed into the glass.  I ran on, turned the corner expecting to see upturned caravans, the farm camp looked intact. All seemed Ok until we saw the tunnels on Horse Field. Plastic flapped like the wing of some huge, distressed bird. Metal was buckled and flattened. The wind billowed under remaining covers, sheering  rope and threatening more damage. Beloved ran to the rope store. As rain washed  our faces and wind tugged tearing rope burns into our hands,  we lashed down the plastic and saved at least some of the metal work.

Crushed metalwork

Blown out glass

The wind eased, the sky cleared.

We headed out to the road. Trees blocked it in both directions. So much devastation in just 30 seconds.

‘I’ll get the chainsaw.’ Said Beloved.

That's my man.

Power or no power, homework can always be done.

But you might have to share your desk space.

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Is Fresh Food too Cheap?

My heart sank when the government announced a  surprise drop in inflation recently – while the rest of the country rubbed its hands together, all I could see was this depressing figure;

The cost of fruit has dropped by 4.7%

I can’t help thinking,  fresh food is too cheap. Consider this:

In Tesco today a single Mars Bar  costs 49p  while a crisp  Braeburn Apple costs 22p.

Though both taste delicious, one gives you nothing but a sugar hit, a guilt complex  and a big bum, the other is packed with essential vitamins, fibre and anti-oxidants.

I don’t know what the margin is on a Mars Bar but I’m willing to bet it outstrips the profit on an apple.

In October, the minimum wage will go up again,  to £6.08 per hour. In the last 10 years casual picking rates, when you include the changes to holiday pay and employers National Insurance, have risen by  roughly 80%.  I could hardly believe it when I looked at the figures but it’s true, in 2001 we were paying £4.10 an hour and by October that will have risen to around £7.38 – wages have almost doubled.

You could argue that they needed to rise but you wouldn’t be arguing with me. I agree, we should be paying a fair days pay for a fair days work . The day is coming, however, when I say,

What with?

In the last 10 years,  we have seen a steady decrease in the price of raspberries , and a flat line in the price  for strawberries.

Fuel has gone up, packaging has gone up, wages have gone up, everything has gone up, except our returns. What can we do? We can’t stock pile fruit until we get a better price, soft fruit is ready when soft fruit is ready – from field to supermarket in less than 24 hours.

I bet the cost of a Mars Bar didn’t drop by 4.7%.  I wonder if they’ve thought of a Stras Bar…or a Ras Bar…hmmm……

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