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June 2004
Well, it's the middle of June, the first
day of Wimbledon and I'm sitting at my computer shivering and contemplating
putting on the central heating. Good old British summer. It doesn't help
that this time yesterday I was roasting by the pool in Ibiza with half
a bottle of rosé sluicing around inside me. On the bright side,
I finally finished my book the week before we went away and I've just
heard back from agent and editor, both of whom loved it. Those of you
who've read my previous diary entries will know how freaked out I get
about this stage of the process. When you're writing a book you're totally
alone. You've got no-one to give you any feedback and you've got no idea
whether what you're writing is any good. And then, after eighteen months,
you press print on your computer and watch this huge thing being printed
off page by page, minute by minute, knowing it's too late to do anything
about it. And then you take a deep breath, hand it over
and wait.
Hideous! It doesn't get any easier with time either. So I am hugely, wonderfully
relieved and very, very happy.
As ever I gave the
book a working title, in the full knowledge (as I've mentioned elsewhere)
that it will never get used. None of my working titles ever are. So this
time I sent it off with another title completely, just to see what happened.
And guess what - my editor came up with the title I'd been using all along!
I'm not going to share it with you in case it jinks it, but fingers crossed
that it will stick and I'll finally have a title that I chose myself.
Penguin are planning to publish in February
or March of next year. In the mean time, I'm not going to give myself
my usual three month break - I can't afford to now I've got a baby - and
will start cracking on with book number six the minute book number five
is done and dusted. I already know what it's going to be about and am
hatching characters in my head as I write. This is one of the best bits
about writing - when you're mentally shaping your ideas for a new book,
when you haven't written anything yet, when it's all perfect and unsullied
by your own technical limitations. The other best bits about writing,
in case you're interested are:
- Finishing. It's euphoric, like giving
birth. It makes me go a bit mad, in a good way.
- Working in the garden when it's warm,
when you know that millions of people are locked in offices.
- Proofs arriving. They come in a big jiffy
bag. That's when you really know that against all the odds, you've written
another book.
- When you meet new people and they say,
what do you do? And you say 'I'm a writer' and know that there's not
one person in the world who won't find that at least a tiny bit interesting.
- Being at home all day with my beautiful
baby at the same time as earning a handsome living.
- Editing. If you're in the mood for it,
there's nothing better than getting out a red biro and slicing hundreds
of words out of your work. It's like clearing out your fridge. Very
satisfying.
The worst bits, while we're at it are:
- Starting. Like being dumped in the middle
of the desert with a compass and a packet of polos. Very scary and vaguely
disappointing.
- The Middle Bit. Every writer recognises
the tedium that is the Middle Bit. You've set it all up, you've got
to know your characters and you know where you want to end up and now
you've got a hundred boring pages to write before you can get there.
It's a real slog.
- Waiting for feedback. See above.
- Horrible reviews. Especially the ones
on Amazon.
- Wasted days. You've written a hundred
words all day and they're not even very good. You go to bed wondering
why you exist.
- Backache and fat arse. Both side effects
of sitting at a desk all day.
Well, that's about it for now. Thanks again
to everyone for your comments in my continually amazing
guestbook. My friends occasionally have a look at it when they've got
nothing better to do and are overawed by the warmth, sincerity and enthusiasm
in there. I think they suddenly realise that I'm a writer! Every time
I open it up I'm half-expecting there to be some nasty or abusive little
missive left there, but every time I open it up it's full of positivity
from all over the world. It makes me believe in the goodness of mankind.
Seriously.
Oh, and before I go - here's a weird coincidence.
Tony Parson's new novel, out this week:
a) is called the Family
Way
b) is about three sisters who live
in North London
c) the three sisters are called Jewell
This is a coincidence because:
a) my last novel was called a Friend
of the Family
b) it was about three brothers who live in South London
c) I am one of three sisters called Jewell
Spooky
or is it?
Love to all of you and I'll be back soon,
I promise.
Lisa xxx
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Amelie
and I having dinner in Ibiza Town. Like both her parents,
Amelie is a shocking pig. She is obsessed with food and
eats anything and everything. If she sees other people
eating, when she doesn't have any food herself, she cries.
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Amelie
looking unnecessarily cute.
I could post a hundred pictures of Amelie looking unnecessarily
cute,
because she is. She is big and fat and her hair sticks
up at weird angles.
She likes to sit and be brought things, like a small,
fat queen.
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Jash
and Amelie looking mean and moody by the Med.
This was Amelie's first trip abroad and her first viewing
of the ocean. I
think she found it a bit overawing. She preferred the kiddie
pool in the
resort which was two foot high.
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Amelie
on her way to Ibiza.
Last time she went on a plane she screamed so loud that
the people at the
back of the plane said, 'oh, so it was you making all that
noise' as they
got off at the front. This time, thank God, she loved it.
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