End of Year Report 2014
It’s been a year of huge contrasts, has 2014. As I come to the last few days of it, I look back and think, actually, a good year overall. I’ll have a brief run through the various high and low lights of it, but if you’ve been following this blog, I’d like to say simply a big thank you: for all the support, comments, shares and generally for being there.
Health: I began the year with hyperparathyroidism, which was rapidly worsening. Caused by a tumour that had turned one of my four parathyroid glands into a monster I called Dexter, the illness affected every aspect of my health from mental health to virtually every area of physical health. Over-active kidneys meant frequent(sometimes half hourly) loo trips were needed and I was constantly thirsty; the danger of kidney stones loomed as a constant. Brain fog, memory blocks and a general malaise meant I could often start a sentence but sometimes (often) got to the end without remembering what I was saying. For a writer this is unbelievably upsetting; to write anything was exhausting in the extreme. I had pain in my bones (caused in theory by tiny bleeds in the bone as calcium leached out; I was lucky to have very dense bones as the damage was minimal when I had a bone scan) that was like the pain you get when you whack your elbow. By February I was using slow release patches of opiates just to get by, knowing that the operation was scheduled for April. The operation was brought forward to the 29th of March, and I asked for photos so I could look at my enemy afterwards. Dexter turned out to be around the size of an olive, a huge change in size as a parathyroid is normally around the size of a grain of rice. Recovery after the operation was slower than I liked as I got a kidney infection. My scar still hurts, but it does look impressive, around three or four inches.
Nine months after the operation, I am forced to accept that my Joint Hypermobility Syndrome is going to be very hard to live with. Dexter had also caused muscle loss, and that has had consequences for my JHS. I’ve had a year of physio and of OT, which have both helped, and I use a local gym to try and build muscle and fitness, but the muscle pain, fatigue and general weakness are debilitating and demoralising. There has been some spinal damage from the JHS, nothing serious as such, but two areas I need to be careful about protecting. So, despite not enjoying gym work, I go regularly to make sure my core muscles are worked on. I have around 20 minutes of exercises from the physio to do daily as a base-line workout.
That said, I’ve had a year of relatively good mood. Dexter did cause depression, and after he was excised, I think mood generally improved. I’ve had sufficient crises though during the year to know that an illness persists, despite my best efforts, and that I will need to do more work (probably forever). On the advice of my lovely physiotherapist Helena, I contacted the local Well-being services but have been very dismayed by their lack of professionalism, compassion and common sense. I’d been led to believe that it might have been possible to access some level of support via either phone or email, but the process proved to be beyond complex and obfuscated and in the end, downright impossible. I bought myself a book on CBT and having read it (snarling slightly all the way) have concluded that the essence of the thought behind it is anathema to me. Long story, which I may elaborate on some time. There may be techniques that could be of use, but the overall theory is something I cannot accept.
Travel: thankfully, quite little this year. I did a two day Paris trip in March, about a fortnight before my operation. It was utterly gruelling, but due to the opiate patches, a lovely group and the fact that Paris that weekend had worse pollution that Beijing, I coped as no-one was rushing anywhere and frequent rest stops were needed for all of us. I spent much of the following week recovering. I had a trip to Bologne in June, which went very well, and it revealed the extent to which Dexter had wrecked my command of language. My French had been terribly halting for some years, and until I’d got the diagnosis I’d put this down to stress etc. That trip was fabulous because my French came flooding back and so too did my confidence; I felt so much more able to talk. Next year I have a number of trips already booked in, including Austria in February; I’m working to get my German a bit better before then.
Writing and Publishing: This year I managed to get some of my projects underway. I got The Bet out in paperback, published in both paperback and Kindle a little collection of poems called Accidental Emeralds. Emeralds made it to the number one spot in women’s poetry, something that amused me massively. My old friend the Mad Priest keeps telling me to give up the day job (novels) and concentrate on the poetry, but alas, poetry does not sell and nice as it was to get to number one, it didn’t take many sales to get there! In May I published Square Peg, in Kindle only so far. I have done a paperback but it’s not on sale yet as it needs some adjusting. It’s done quite well, has garnered 8 reviews (would love more) and I am making some notes for a possible further book focused on the main character Chloe. Away With The Fairies made it to number one in two categories this year: metaphysical literary fiction and metaphysical and visionary fiction. This was much more of a feat and I was very proud about this. Overall, sales have slumped dramatically, not just for me but for many authors and unlike others who are seeing this as a sign of the apocalypse, I think it’s simply the effect of a saturation of the market and a corresponding dip in individual market share. The sheer number of books out there makes it harder to find any level of visibility. It does depress me, though, so every time a new review pops up for any book, it gives me a lift as it means someone I don’t know found my books and liked them. I have been low enough to consider packing it in, pulling all my books and walking away. There are a few things that stop me: the fact that I do have loyal readers is a big one, but also, what else would I, could I do?
I also published The Hedgeway, a short novella, which was published for Hallowe’en, and which did nicely. Other books sell in fits and starts. My first novel to be published, Strangers and Pilgrims, still sells, but in lower numbers than before. I’d love to see the number of reviews increase; it’s stalled at 35, nearly all of them five or four star. I am making notes and writing scenes for a possible sequel for that too.
The Bet gathered some astounding reviews this year, something else that has given me a reason to carry on; to see that people got the book to the extent they did gave me hope. The only negative review it has so far gathered is actually quite funny. I have two sequels already written, the first needing a good cover and a polish, the second needing to have some level of communication with someone who knows a thing or two about how UK court cases are run (if you are such a person or know one, please get in touch).
In terms of new writing, obviously it’s been limited because of my illness. Dexter meant I was really struggling because my brain no longer had the facilities needed to write longer fiction. The Hedgeway was only 17k words long, and that was a struggle. My mind is clearing still, and I have been plugging away at a novel I began almost two years ago. It’s at around 50k words and I did hope to finish it this year but I’ve not managed that. I’m having to let myself work at whatever pace I can. The long term project begun as Lost, a serial, goes on when the right mood arrives, and is around 30k words long. Another stalled project is on my hard drive, from a good few years ago, before Dexter got his claws into me. As I said earlier, I have begun writing bits and pieces for the sequel to Strangers and Pilgrims, but that could be a while as I am finding it a slow process to let my writing return. There’s some ideas and notes for another book featuring Chloe and Isobel, but nothing more than rough writing in my free-writing notebooks.
I began doing some free-writing in September, the idea being to take any sense of pressure off myself. I can write whatever comes, whether scenes from stories yet to unfold, poetry, ranting, just ideas or phrases. It’s a good way to get a few things down to play with. I’ve always had this underlying belief that once I begin something “properly” it’s hard to change it, often impossible, so this makes any new project much harder because of the pressure to get it perfect first time. A free-writing draft notebook is proving very useful in letting ideas out without them getting set in stone. I’ve got a lot of Moleskine notebooks in readiness for this becoming more a part of my daily life.
Next year: well, I don’t like making resolutions. Book-wise, I have a second and longer collection of poetry being readied. A Box of Darkness will have 66 poems in. I’m still trying to find an easy way to construct an interactive table of contents for Kindle, which is slowing a lot down. I have also a collection of modern fables for grown-ups, provisionally entitled Méchant Loup ~ fables for grown-ups, that needs a cover and a polish. I’ve also put together a collection of essays from this blog, on depression, which needs a title (I have been playing with a few) and a cover. I intend to use some version of the picture I’ve been using here as a banner, and for this book to be part of a series of books of essays from this blog. There’s too many essays here to make a single book, and it’s got so large that any reader won’t easily find what they might need. So the first of the collections will be coming out as soon as I can manage it. Novel-wise, I want to release the first of the sequels to The Bet as plenty of people have been asking for it. I also want to finish the novel I began two years ago; I’ve got tired of it, really, because it’s been there unfinished too long and in some ways I began it for all the wrong reasons. I want to get myself to a point where I can say, there, it’s done.
Commercial success as a writer seems less and less feasible right now. There are undoubtedly things I could do to improve the odds, but most of them are either against my ethics or unaffordable, and one of the things I have learned this year is that I owe it to myself to be able to keep an easy conscience. There are a good number of authors out there who will use anyone and anything to claw their way to the top. I got blocked by one such on Facebook after I’d remonstrated about being added to groups without my permission; instead of apologising, she first insisted she’d done nothing untoward, and when I argued, I found myself blocked. Several years ago, the same author had used a private conversation between us as a basis for a blog post, so none of this surprised me. Some people have no sense of decency. So in regards to promoting my own writing, there are things I just won’t do. If that means my books languish in the doldrums, then so be it. There are far more important things in life than selling books and having a clear conscience is one of them.
Thanks: to all my readers, for everything from reading and commenting on this blog, buying and reviewing my books, sharing on FB and Twitter, and for being there. At times when I write here, or in my books, I feel very alone, as if I am hurling words into a void, but sometimes a voice comes back and then I know I am on the right path. Bless you all and may 2015 be wonderful for you all.