2012 - An Unimaginable Year

So 2012 started, and that was something I hadn't imagined would happen. Not for me anyway. Being diagnosed with late stage cancer in September 2011 made 2012 seem like an impossibility, yet here I am at the end of it. This is my year.

January: My hair has started to grow back. Just a bit, not enough to ditch the scarves, but it's a start. My wonderful, beautiful daughter turns 16. We go to the cinema to see Sherlock Holmes 2 - my first public outing since my diagnosis. A week later I'm in St Thomas's for my operation. All goes well, although the moment when we discovered that the anaesthetic coverage is patch is a bad one! Still it means I have the hand held morphine thing which is marvellous! During all this daughter visits and applies for sixth form schools. She wants to go to the BRIT School so very badly. It means an audition and an interview and a lot of written stuff.

February: Lovely Agent doesn't like final draft of the 17th century story I'd been writing for years so it's ditched. But I start writing a new 17th century story! Hospital consultant is pleased with my progress. I have my last two sessions of chemo. My hair falls out again.

March: CT scan is, after some deliberation, deemed clear. I join the Royal Festival Hall and start to socialise! I even see a play at the Young Vic - Bingo with Patrick Stuart. I go to an exhibition - Getty Images 'Marilyn'.

April: I visit family in Wales. First time I've seen my mother since August 2011. She cries. I think the trip is hard for everyone apart from me. I'm fine. I feel fine. Everyone else worries that I'll do too much too soon and get ill again. I go to the theatre again - in London. The Ladykillers. I take back my part-time jobs that the very lovely people kept open for me. It's rather good. I have Something To Do. I'm still writing. Lots. I'm not sure it's any good though.

May: I go to the theatre. Really making up for lost time here. Misterman at the National which is absolutely stunning! I see Hay Fever too, which is great fun. Daughter starts her GCSEs. I ditch my head scarves. My first writerly outing without the scarves is to Miriam Halahmy's birthday brunch. I feel vulnerable and scared but everyone is very nice.

June: Hospital check up is fine. Next one in three months. Daughter finishes her GCSEs. They've gone well. See the preview of Spiderman at the O2 with daughter. Fantastic. I go back to Wales. No one cries. They're used to me now. Daughter leaves school. I finish the new novel. Well, the first draft.

July: We visit the BRIT school. Daughter has a confirmed place on the Theatre course. Thank you thank you thank you! We go to Norfolk. I feel like a normal person. Looking at photos now my hair is SO short but it felt luxurious at the time! I go to the theatre! Midsummer Night's Dream at the Open Air Theatre and it doesn't rain! I go to Wales. I watch TV a lot. It's the Olympics! I get obsessed with Oscar Pistorius.

August: Daughter and I have an excellent day at London Zoo where I gaze adoringly at the Okapis. Should it have an 's'? GCSE results day. She passes them all! Then she goes to Reading Festival for the day but phones at midnight to say she's staying there overnight. Nice. You can imagine how pleased! I go to Colin Mulhern's event at Foyles for his new book, Arabesque. Haven't seen him for six years! And see the lovely NoN from Catnip too.

September: Send new novel to Lovely Agent. Still not sure about it. See Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime at a cinema with NT live. Amazing! Go to Paralympics and see OSCAR! Go to the SCBWI Sara Grant revision masterclass. And see Timon of Athens at the National. Go to Wales. Come back. Have blood test. See consultant. Marker is rising but still in normal range.

October: See Damned by Despair at the National. Only person in the world who likes it. Go for a tour of Wilton's Music Hall. Wonderful place. SCBWI Miriam Halahmy stuck in the middle masterclass. Visit a Victorian mortuary during the London Open House weekend. A story spark is lit. Visit Rotherhithe, Wapping, and the Crossness Pumping Station. The spark grows. Talk to Lovely Agent about 17th century story. She's not sure either. I suggest we ditch it because the Victorian idea is So Much Better. I go to Bob the cat's book signing. Love him! See the Judas Kiss at Richmond Theatre. Good grief! Have blood test. Marker is now above normal range. I have a scan. I panic.

November: The scan is clear. The marker is still too high, but the scan is clear. I start writing the Victorian novel. I see 55 Days at the Hampstead Theatre. Douglas Henshall and Mark Gatiss. Perfect. My mother falls and breaks her knee. Is effectively bed bound. Not so perfect. Especially for my sister. SCBWI conference. Brilliant, inspiring, fun.

December: Daughter and I have a day out - shopping, lunch, and The Magistrate at the National - great fun and the best curtain call ever. Jo Franklin gets tickets to see Benedict Cumberbatch (and some others) recording Radio 4's Cabin Pressure and she takes me! Daughter is furious. I am thrilled. Take Cat #1 to the v.e.t. His ear is cancerous and will have to be removed. So will a couple of teeth. Operation booked for January 3rd. Mother's knee is mended. I have blood test and see woman-who-is-not-my-consultant. Marker is still going up. She is pessimistic. I don't like her. But, for now, all is OK as the scan was clear. I see the Hobbit and love it. So much!

So that's it. Tomorrow I'm off to Wales for Christmas. I'm back on the green tea. I feel fine. I'm optimistic. The Victorian novel is going extremely well. 2012 has been a mixed year but overall an excellent one. I'm still here and plan to be so for a very long time. This year has shown me how lovely people are. I'm so very grateful for the support I've had from friends, family, SCBWIers, and Facebookers. I've been carried along on a tide of good wishes. So thank you. 

I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Time Is On My Side

Time. Funny old thing. It seems to expand and contract depending on how busy, how motivated, how bored one is. Time has been a big thing for me these past six months. How long do I have left to live? How long until the treatment starts? How long until the next appointment/blood test/round of chemo? How long until they sign me off? So although I wasn't working and wasn't writing all that much either, my time was filled, the clock was ticking. I've turned the clock off now. No more chemotherapy. Blood tests are only every three months. I'm still alive and plan to stay that way for a very long time.

 By the way, that's Father Time, not Death!

So with all that time, I should be doing so much, right? The words should be pouring out. I'm back at work now, part time, so that fills some of my week. But there is still plenty of time for words. Oh, I've written some, OK quite a lot recently, but they've stopped. Gone right off. I need to get back into some sort of routine now, find a work/life/writing balance.

The biggest thing about time, for me anyway, is how I focus on it. I've never been one to dwell on the past; what's done is done, but, for obvious reasons, I've been too scared to focus on the future. I've gone from appointment to appointment, doing what I was told, while never looking past the next day. So my writing had a different purpose. I finished my novel just so I could say I'd done it. I needed to know that all that could be done on it was done. But I didn't work to a deadline, didn't think about publication because, at that time, I was facing the great unknown. Now my treatment is finished, I feel I can look to the future again; sadly not with that novel. Oh, my future is still uncertain, but whose isn’t? And time, as they say, is on my side. But it feels odd. It's like stepping into the great unknown. I can allow myself to think about writing a publishable novel; one that might see the light of day next year or the year after. I'm happy about that. The only problem is, of course, that I need to stop thinking about it and get on with writing it! So if you see me loitering on Facebook, tell me to get off. Tell me to stop wasting time!

Crisis of Confidence or Getting Ready for the Real World Again

I'm beginning to think that perhaps it is OK to look forwards again, that perhaps I can allow myself the luxury of planning for the future. I still have a way to go - one more round of chemotherapy, another few weeks of feeling really sick and drained, another ride on the CT scanner - but then it's over. No more treatment. No more hospital appointments. No more drugs. The end of so much, but the start of so much more.

I am one of the 20%. It's sickening to think that 80% of women with ovarian cancer don't make it. But I have. And I will. And I am so very, very lucky. I feel that I need to do something worthwhile. I don't want to waste the opportunity I've been given. I want to do everything I can to stay healthy, to remain a 20 percenter (yes, I made that word up but it does the job). I want to grab every bull I come across by the horns (not literally). But it is so very scary. I haven't even been out in public since September. Well, I've been to Hopscotch (my local café) but that's different. The biggest crowd I've been in has been the Oncology waiting room at Guy's Hospital. Can I even have a conversation that doesn't involve cancer symptoms? What will I say? What will I wear? Will my hair ever be long enough for me to stop looking like a convict? I feel rather scared.

But my biggest crisis of confidence is my new story. I've researched it. I've downloaded the trial version of Scrivener (not yet convinced but willing). I've cut out pictures. I've made notes. Have I started writing it? No, of course not. The characters aren't yet real, but they're forming. The place is almost there. Actually, it really is there; it's based on Wakehurst Place. The plot line is coming together. I even have something of a sub-plot. I think I've rinsed away the dregs of my last novel from my mind, leaving a sparkly, shiny space for the new one. Yet I faff, and I sigh, and I dream, and I plan. When will I make the leap from my head to the page? Do I wait for the characters to speak to me? I don't think I should. I think it's only by nudging them onto the page, reluctant and shy, that they really will take shape. Where I need to step gingerly into my new world, I think they need to do the same. My characters and me, we're not so different. We need to be brave, we need to be confident, but, above all, we just need to make a start. 

New Beginnings and Letting Go

It seems that 2012 is the year of new things and letting go of old things. I'll let go of the chemotherapy and say hello to new hair. My lovely daughter will leave her lovely school and set off for sixth form. And I will be letting go of the novel I've been working on for years, to start work on something completely new.

Although it seems a daft thing to say, losing the novel seems the hardest. I've worked on it for so long. I know it so well. The characters are real; to me at least. The setting is so vivid. I've invested so much of me in that story. It's been a huge part of my life. How can I just ditch it, leaving my characters destitute and directionless? Because it just wasn't working. I thought it was, really I did, but it never quite came alive on the page. I feel I should bury it in the garden, give it a little ceremony, a gravestone perhaps. Only the cats would dig it up, and, anyway, it would be silly. But I loved it!

So what next? Can I ever write anything else again? Can I find a new story, new places, new characters? Will I love them as much? Will they even speak to me? I think so. Who knows? But I'm going to give it a damned good try. And I've already updated my pinboard with new pictures, so that's a start!

Ten Things I Have Learned About Writing and Life (and why I still need a hairdryer even though I have no hair)

In September 2011, I was diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer. It was something of a life changer and, boy, has my life changed. These are some of the things I have learned.

1. The internet is both brilliant and useless for research. From a writer's point of view, it's brilliant. I can visit people and places from anywhere and any time; I can discover new things, get information on old things; I can find inspiration and motivation. From a health point of view, it's appalling. Think scaremongering, misinformation, and conflicting advice. If I believed everything I read, I would in fact be dead now, or at the very least On The Way Out. (But I am neither - hurrah!)

2.  Being a Lady of Leisure (hereinafter referred to as a LoL), should mean that I am writing reams and reams of perfect prose. So I thought. Ah, well. When I was diagnosed, I thought I'd give up writing altogether. After all, what was the point. I might die? I quickly got over that but there were still no words. I wanted to write, really I did, I just couldn't seem to get to it. So I read. I read fiction - oh some lovely books - and I read books about writing. It was only when I re-read Stephen King's 'On Writing' that I felt the flicker of an urge to write something myself. So I did. I started with a couple of hundred words. It felt like a massive achievement. Then I re-wrote The Novel. And now? Now I'm back to faffing. I'm scribbling ideas for new projects but, if I'm honest, being a LoL is not what I thought it would be!

3. There are some fantastic books out there that so deserve publication. And there are some that really don't. In my reading frenzy I have been filled with both admiration and horror at the beauty/awkwardness of the writing. Rarely have I been so swept away by a story that I didn't notice the writing style. But it's happened on occasion (Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor, Dark Parties by Sara Grant). There is no such thing as a perfect novel. There are right time, right place, compelling novels. Novels where plot is key. Novels where character is key. This pleases me.

4. I love my Kindle. I had a sneaking desire for one but somehow I felt like a bit of a traitor. Shun proper books? Could I? Should I? Then I got a Kindle for Christmas. And I really love it. But, I have found some great  authors I may not have come across. And I read real books too.

5. Once you start to write, you just can't stop. Yes, I know this kind of negates point 2, but bear with me. Even when I'm not sitting at a desk - and it's really sore when I do at the moment - I'm still filled with words. Ideas come from everything around you, everyday experiences, people you meet - and I met some corkers in hospital - so even if the page itself isn't filling up, my mind is. That new novel will pop out any minute now.

6. My, how you find out who your friends are when you're ill! And I am lucky enough to have so many. Thank you! Joining the SCBWI was one of the best things I ever did. If you write for children, join it! Here! The people are wonderful and will support you not just with your writing, but with your whole life too.

7. Facebook, Google+, and Twitter are not writing. Fancy that. I mean, it's words, yes, but it's not a novel is it? Unless you're Melvin Burgess. As a LoL, I've managed to embrace all three with open arms. But words on a social networking site are no substitute for words in a story. So turn it off. Actually, that's a lesson I'm yet to learn.

8. The brain is a marvellous thing. You can achieve so much if you just put your mind to it. Four months since my diagnosis, there is now not a cancer cell in my body. Chemotherapy and a wonderful surgeon are largely responsible for this (thank you, thank you Guy's and St Thomas'), but I honestly think my sheer bloody-mindedness and forced positivity helped. If only I could put that much willpower towards my writing. Perhaps I will.

9. You can't force it. I absolutely do not believe in waiting for "the muse". If you're going to write, then do it. If you waited for inspiration, you'd never write a word. But you can't make it happen either. Oh, anyone can write anything, and if you write for long enough you might find some good words. But I have learned that sitting down and trying to force words out does me no favours. Stress is so last year! Perhaps this is more the case when starting new projects, and perhaps it is a form of procrastination, but I know when I'm ready to write. I think.

10. The hairdryer. Bizarrely, I have to dry my wound (soon to be a scar) with the hairdryer after I take a shower. Who needs hair?