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Diary



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:

  1. Finishing. It's euphoric, like giving birth. It makes me go a bit mad, in a good way.
  2. Working in the garden when it's warm, when you know that millions of people are locked in offices.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. Being at home all day with my beautiful baby at the same time as earning a handsome living.
  6. 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:

  1. Starting. Like being dumped in the middle of the desert with a compass and a packet of polos. Very scary and vaguely disappointing.
  2. 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.
  3. Waiting for feedback. See above.
  4. Horrible reviews. Especially the ones on Amazon.
  5. 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.
  6. 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

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.

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.

 

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.

 

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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©2003 Lisa Jewell.