Cinnomen McGuigan
I am very pleased to introduce July's showcased writer, Cinnomen McGuigan. I met her, online, when I joined the OU Write Club; she was one of the people running it, and she did a fabulous job. She has become an important person in the OU student community, as the following list of jobs/positions she's undertaken in recent years suggests:
OUSA Student Representative: Qualifications and Assessments Committee (2023-2025)
OUSA Student Representative: Student Member of the Senate (2024-2025)
Student Officer for Researching, Advancing and Inspiring Student Engagement (RAISE) 2022-25
Biography
Cin McGuigan was born in Manchester, moved to Ireland to follow a delicious Irish accent that she later married, and recently moved to Kent to be closer to family.
She has been writing since she was small and realised that books can end differently to how they did on the page. Fan fiction was her first foray into fiction writing, followed by the usual, terrible angsty teenaged poetry - the less said about that the better. She is a perpetual student, currently on her fourth degree with the Open University, who uses collecting qualifications as a distraction from actually finishing any of the four novels she is currently supposed to be working on.
However, she has signed up to a novel-writing course this year to kick her back into gear, and the latest novel is getting some flesh on its bones as an outcome. She prefers experimental, near-future and contemporary fiction styles to engage with, and has been adding in-person writing workshops to her repertoire recently, which has been going well.
Writing has led her to chair the OU Creative Writing society Write Club and to be membership secretary for Women Aloud NI, a creative collective covering women from across Northern Ireland. Our anthology North Star won the Carousel Aware Prize for Independent Authors (CAP) award for anthologies in November. And she has been a judge for the Open Student Union writing competitions for the last eight years which is something she enjoys immensely.
Links:
Books in which Cin's work appears:
Write Club Collections:
Footprints and Echoes - which was about grief
Where’s the Manual? And other struggles on
parenthood.
The Gift –
to celebrate 50 years of the Open University
Generations –
Social changes across the age gaps.
The Other Side of the Fence – when Grenfell Tower happened, this
focused on the discrimination faced by social housing tenants.
Non-Write Club publications:
Underdog – Green Moon Anthologies – ‘Night Terrors’ was included here.
North Star – Women Aloud NI – ‘Do They Ever Really Change?’ was included here.
You can find out more about Castle Priory Press at:
https://www.castlepriorypress.com/
" 'Wife Interrupted' was a piece of epistolary writing that came out of a beta read of another student's work. I just resonated with a side character, and asked permission to take her on a little journey with me and she happily let me, and gave feedback as needed to make her my own." - Cin
Wife Interrupted
I pick up the cheap exercise book and scrawl “Jane’s Diary” on the
cover. The community
Day 1:
He is
dead. Danny, my beautiful brown eyed boy. Gone. I can’t believe it. How the hell
Day 2:
I
didn’t even say goodbye.
Day 3:
Nope,
I didn’t dream it. It is still true. You’re dead. I need to sleep. Again.
Day 4:
Ok. I
can do this. Get up. Brush teeth. Easy. Nope. It is not easy. I knocked over
your
Day 5:
Why
does my skin hurt? Why don’t I have any tears left? Why are you gone? Why
Day 6:
So
many of these last few days are a blur. I don’t know what I am supposed to do
next.
I’m
going back to bed. I will wake up soon and you’ll be here, and we will laugh
and laugh. Help me, Danny. I can’t do this alone
Day 7:
It’s
been a week. A whole week without you sharing my life, my bed, my air. I need to
Day 8:
Today
was a good day. I went outside. I didn’t realise how much I missed being outside
I will get better at it.
Day 9:
Good
day, my arse. I can’t see me ever having any good days anymore. While it is true
I
Day 10:
I
actually feel better for getting that out; I need to remember that I can still
speak to you
Day
11:
I had
to meet the funeral director today. Good job we had a pre-need, (never thought I
Day
12:
I
hadn’t eaten. That was why my mind skipped off on one yesterday. It is
unbelievably
Day
13:
Yeah,
it’s a Friday. Should I be looking for black cats? Are they lucky or not? I
can’t
I
consider day one the worst, if I consider it at all. I can think about that day
in short bursts
Maybe. I hope I can.
Day
14:
I
can’t talk about it. I tried. Thomas popped over. The guy from up the road? You
know
Day
15:
I saw
the GP today. She came round. I couldn’t avoid it. Someone had phoned her to say
Day
16:
I
have always been decent at dealing with emotions and feelings and stuff. But
finding
Day
17:
Six
tablets into the box and I think I feel great. I can actually think about you
without
Day
18:
I
can’t smile. I can talk about you now without crying. But the smiles have gone.
The
Day
19:
The
pills are gone. I would rather cry than not feel anything. I need to be able to
mourn
Day
20:
The
police came. They told me what happened. It wasn’t anyone else. There was no
Day
21:
I am
avoiding the elephant in the room. Yes. Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t you under the
Day
21:
Why
didn’t you tell me you were unhappy? Were you? You must have been. I want to
Day
22:
Thomas
brought us a casserole. Sorry, brought me a casserole. I didn’t think people
Day
23:
How
do I even begin to approach it: “Tell me Danny, tell me why you did it?” Would
Day
24:
We
have a date for the funeral. Your funeral. I have five days to get ready. That
is not
Day
25:
Why
did you leave me? What did I do wrong? When did you decide to do this? How long
Day
26:
I
think I had a panic attack yesterday. The enormity of what you had done took
all of the
Day
27:
I’m
not asthmatic. That’s one good thing to come out of all this. Apparently, this
is what
That the blurred vision and dizziness that made me feel I was
going blind was really just a
symptom
of how out of control I was becoming. I need the blue fog back. I called the GP
and she arranged a repeat prescription. I can pick it up tomorrow when I drop
off your black suit.
Day
28:
I
never saw myself as the panic attack type. Not that there is one, but we both
know I
Day
29:
Your
funeral day has arrived. I am not ready. I will never be ready to say goodbye
to you.
Well. I like some of them. A few. Maybe.
Ok. I admit I also liked to keep things just between us. It doesn’t feel quite
so exclusive now though. It feels less than. Less than most people have. It
feels lonely. Without you I am alone in this world. I don’t know that I am
ready to face people quite as readily as I was. Not now I know that you weren’t
happy anymore. Were you ever happy? The doorbell's just gone. It’s time.
Day
30:
You
left a note. With Thomas of all people. Why the fuck couldn’t you have left it
here
I need to pack. I can’t stay here. You have even tainted this
place now. I thought I wanted to stay here to be close to you. But now I just
need to be as far away from here as possible.
Opportunity
of a Lifetime
I’ve loved watching the kids enjoy their first
off-planet adventure. We got a great package deal really cheap - well no one
really goes to Mars anymore. Very few have visited since Old Earth’s first
colony ships crash-landed there. People said it was jinxed, so the New Order
expects us to steer clear. Not us, though - for that price, I couldn’t have even
got the boys and me two nights at the local water park. Grandda always used to
say beggars can’t be choosers and a
cheap break is better than no holiday at all, right? So here we are, ten nights
all inclusive at Disneyland Mars. Seems like a godsend, and besides, we aren’t
a superstitious bunch.
The first few days were
amazing, but to be honest, by the end of the first week I was struggling to
find things to keep me occupied. Luckily, the hotel complex had a great theme
park, a huge outdoor pool and a kids club, Martian Mouseketeers, to occupy Luke
and Kyle, so I decided to install myself in the spa and let the kids
play with the other youngsters here at the resort.
Mud baths, massages,
seaweed wraps; everything to relax you was catered for. They had imported the
best therapy AIs and it felt lush to be pampered like that. I loved having
complete control over how intense the massage could get. Humans have a way of
pulling back and not going as hard or strong as I’d asked for. They don’t want
to hurt you, they say, but I think it is more likely that they don’t want you to
sue. Anyway, the intense deep tissue massage was the best I have ever had. I
gave the therapist a glowing review on offworldtourism.nearth. Well, they totally
deserved it. You can dial the pressure up or down to suit your needs. That’s
the first time I have ever seen that, and afterwards I felt like I had melted. Surely that’s a ten out of ten?
All this stress-free
enjoyment for me came because the kids were being looked after by the
Mouseketeers twelve hours a day. They only came back to eat and sleep. So my days
were my own. The boys were out of my hair and having a ball. Don’t think they
missed me for a second.
When Luke and Kyle got back from a day exploring the furthest reaches of the
complex, they were chattering about this amazing object they had found whilst
digging on a distant beach. They were convinced that the shiny thing they had
seen buried there was a real life old-timey robot.
For their trek, they had
taken their spades and cameras and brought back irrefutable proof of... a
thing. There was definitely something in the dunes. They didn’t know what, but
maybe it was a robot. From the pictures, it reminded us of something from the old
texts I had inherited when Grandda died. It looked silver, shiny and reflected
light from the camera flash so it definitely sounded like it was made of what
Grandda called metal. But the bit we could see on the screen didn’t look like a
human, which I am sure it needed to do if it was in fact to be a robot. I’d
seen pictures of Old Earth machinery. The great hulking lumps of this metal -
the cold grey shine of it. Nothing like the streamlined AI technology we live
with today. And they made noise as they whirred into life, Grandda’s notes
said. That was the most amazing bit. The bit that was lost to us forever since
the destruction of Earth II and the loss of the machinery that shipped humanity
out from Old Earth to start again. There was no way of us resurrecting any of
the Old Earth stuff; we took precious little of it with us to Nearth.
When the ancients left
Earth II, it was a major technology hub
manufacturing much improved materials way beyond anything available on Old
Earth; but what we did take with us was obsolete and
discarded the minute we could replace it with much better, more Nearth-appropriate materials. The old stuff soon tarnished and crumbled in our
atmosphere. There is very little left of the Old Earth technologies, just odd
bits and pieces that people like me inherited from long-dead relatives and
employers that we couldn’t bear to part with. But it was all underground, these
secret hoards of stuff. No one wanted to be seen to make a public effort to go
back to the old ways. It was probably punishable anyway in the New Order. But I
tried to keep the memories alive in my own house for Grandda’s sake, and then
when he died, in his memory.
Grandda was obsessed
with twentieth-century engineering, so he had - and I now have, I suppose - a random
collection kept safe from harm in what he called his cigar box. But from
checking the old texts, I realise it is actually called a humidor. It is a huge
wooden box with glass panels on the front and ancient script saying ‘Klarstein
El Presidente’ engraved on the side, and he kept it in the cellar next to the
racks of bottles that he said were his legacy. What it meant though, was that, if anyone was going to know metal when they see it, it was me. I was Grandda’s
best girl. That was why he came to me at the end. He taught me everything he
knew about Old Earth before he died. And in turn, I have tried to instill that
knowledge into the kids. My paired mate, Gerry, works for the New Order and so
isn’t allowed to be interested. And though he was somewhat weirded-out when I
first brought Grandda back to stay with us, he soon overcame the discomfort of
having a virtual stranger in our home and grew to love Grandda as much as I
did. Even now, he is happy for me to regale the kids with tales of the machinery
of old, so long as they are showing interest, which they do. The old stuff sits
so far away from the technology and intelligence of today that Gerry sees the
stories as no different to the fairy tales other families share.
This holiday is so much more exciting now that
the kids are convinced there is something out there, and having seen their
pictures, so am I. So, tomorrow, instead of going with the Mouseketeers, me and
the boys are going to march over to the beaches and have an adventure of our
own. We intend to dig up whatever is there and bring it home. The kids are
convinced it is a robot, and, though I don’t know for sure what it is, I am
excited to find out.
We leave really early before it gets light and
well before anyone else stirs. We are equipped: goggles, shovels, bags, and a
rope harness to drag back anything we find that is too big to fit in the bags.
Our travel pod is in the hotel storage area so we can always put what we find
there until we leave.
The distant beach looks
beautiful in the early, eerie glow. The
moons illuminate the dunes so perfectly that you
don’t really need a light source. And then it happens. I stop dead. I see it.
At the edge of my field of view, I see the glint of something that can only be
metal. No other material reflects like that. Nothing at all has existed like
this in generations. Grandda’s texts were great, but they were originally
created over five centuries ago, and the author had a much different view of
machines than we do. For him, they were commonplace; for us, this is history
that we are dealing with.
The morning starts to lighten up, but we are far
enough away from the complex that there is no need to rush. According to the
schedule, the Mouseketeers are busy with activities on-site today so we
won’t be disturbed. No one other than the kids ever leaves the complex.
After another long trek, we eventually reach the dune furthest away, the one with the massive gouge in
its side where the flash of something shiny and reflective is peeking through.
Seeing that glint of ‘metal’ through the sand
makes me want to run ahead and scout the site out. But I hang back, letting the
boys take the lead; this is their adventure after all. They found it; let them
show me what they see in their own time. I’m careful not to appear to be taking
charge. I know that would kill their curiosity and I don’t want that.
Luke pulls me closer to
the metal object and I can feel him trembling with excitement. I can see both
moons reflected in the exposed bit, it is that shiny.
It is hard to know how much of it is buried, but
as we shovel away the sand we can see that it is so much bigger than I thought.
I’m disappointed to realise that we are not going to be able to haul it back to
the complex after all. The visible bit is only a fraction of the whole, and
appears to be a bit like an arm. I can see why they think it is a robot; even I
have been almost convinced.
Kyle clambers up the
dune and I have to force myself not to pull him back. He’s five, just old
enough to go exploring with ten-year-old Luke but nowhere near big enough to
comprehend the dangers he faces. His brother does though.
‘Kyle! Get down.’ Luke
yells, prompting the younger boy to burst into loud angry sobs.
I try to console him
when a faint, tinny noise shushes us all. It’s an old rhyme I’ve heard before,
in the archives I think. That’s it. It’s Happy
Birthday. That’s what it was called. That’s what the beeps and buzzes were
sounding like, Happy Birthday. There
was a pattern to it, a rhythm; it was a song that Grandda used to sing
occasionally. The boys knew it because we used to celebrate like the ancients.
Since Grandda came to stay with us, we’ve been celebrating these things called
birthdays. We like to keep up with the idea, even though there is precious
little to celebrate these days.
The boys are laughing
and singing and dancing around when we notice that the thing, this machine, has
fallen silent. We stop dead as the ground beneath us starts to shift. We fall
backwards as the sand parts and a huge metallic monster rises from beneath us.
It’s massive, bigger even than we could have imagined.
But I’m sure I‘ve seen
this exact thing somewhere before. Think Debra, think. I know I have definitely
seen the pattern flashing in the series of lights across the front panel
before. Three long pulses, three short flashes and three long pulses. It is a sign.
A signal in the old language, Morse Code, the language of the ancients. That
particular pattern meant safety? Help? Something like that.
My brain has emptied of
useful knowledge, but I know if it is asking for help, we are not in danger.
I’m sure of that much. Then the singing starts again. This time the machine
sings with us. “Happy Birthday to Me” and I remember.
It’s him.
It’s Oppy.
The lunar rover
Opportunity. The lost Mars Rover from Grandda’s notebooks, and we’ve found him.
There was a massive
reward back in the day, though I doubt anyone outside of my team at 3G
Technology would care these days. And even those I’m not so sure about anymore.
This new Grandda is more closely linked to the regime of the New Order than any
of the previous ones. I am not
even sure how much longer I can continue to work under the New Vision
they want to implement. I loved my
Grandda but his thinking went obsolete long before he died.
But I don’t want to just
re-bury Oppy. Not now. Not while he is awake. I want to keep him.
I want to know more
about his time. Where he came from? What his purpose was? How he felt at being
left behind? Whether he wishes they’d kept searching for him?
And then I wonder what
Grandda would make of all this, and my heart hurts for the wonderful man who
never got to see this in his lifetime.
I wonder what triggered Oppy. What woke him up?
I look around to see what exactly we did to disturb him, and a quick glance at
Kyle’s pants tells me everything I need to know.
Was it the ammonia, or
just the liquid? I don’t know. But whatever it was hit Oppy at just the right
spot to kick-start the long dead battery.
I wonder what the
ancients would say if they knew that they just had to go around peeing on sand
dunes to find Oppy and wake him.
Do They Ever Really Change?
“Thanks for welcoming me to the group. I’m Niamh, 37, washed up, tired out, as you can see.” I swallow past a lump in my throat. “He came into my life just over three years ago.”
I’m met with a
chorus of “Welcome Niamh,” and looking out at all the smiling, exhausted faces,
I know I can tell my full truth here. These women look as if they’ve been
through the toxic-relationship mill too. I’ve searched hard to find a safe
place to vent my domestic frustrations, and I’m excited to think that the Minor
Hall at the Bawnacre Centre might just be it.
I take a deep
breath, a swig of cold tea, and begin my testimony.
“I know I don’t
need to say this, but I want to start by telling you all that I love him
without question. More than life, more than air; he just completes me. And he’s
so gorgeous. I mean stunningly beautiful: eyelashes to die for, so much so that
he turns heads everywhere we go. Everyone who meets him loves him. I might as
well be invisible when we’re together.” I see smiling faces around the room
encouraging me, and nods of agreement from those that know us.
“He can actually
be really sweet and loving, and at those times, he makes me feel like the best
person alive. I can spend hours just watching him. I stare at him as
he sleeps, and I’m still entranced. He captivates me. But there is a downside.”
The nods become
more emphatic, there’s the odd murmur of recognition, and I know that they get
it.
“He is literally
the laziest person I know. Everything at home is on me. I do all the cooking
and cleaning, whilst hanging on by the skin of my teeth to my day job – I’m
a writer, when I get a minute – while he does nothing but bring a
pile of mess and demands. He always wants something, and no matter how tired I
am, he just doesn’t seem to care. It’s all hands on deck if he needs a drink,
or food, or a bath, whereas I get nothing. What if I want
to eat? Well, I know where the kitchen is. I want a drink? Sure, isn’t the
fridge right there? A bath? Wow, that is the height of luxury that I just don’t
have time for anymore. Even a quick shower before bed is more than I can hope
for these days.”
I take another
deep breath as I scan the room.
“But he’s so
lovely and charming, and he has a smile that makes me melt. He invariably wakes
in a good mood and is still smiling at bedtime, when I’m a mad wreck. Sure,
when he gets upset, he can be a monster. I mean, he’s not violent or anything,
but his tone and volume is enough to make me shake. And he sometimes throws
things.”
I register the
shock on a few faces and dial it back a little.
“Nothing of
mine, thank God, only his own things – but it is still scary, when he
gets that wound up. There's just no talking to him when he’s in a rage. And
then, when he calms down, it’s like I dreamed it would be. I want to talk about
it, to make it right, but he just wants to kiss and cuddle as if it never
happened. Working out what’s going to tip him over the edge is a guessing game.
His communication skills are definitely lacking. I really wish he could tell me
exactly what is wrong, how I can fix it, or what can be done to make sure he
doesn’t get upset like that again. But he doesn’t; in fact I don’t think he
can. And so we both get more and more frustrated; him getting more crabby, and
me waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s a no-win situation.”
The nods show
the group is back on side, so I reach for a Rich Tea biscuit and carry on.
“But, for me,
the final straw, what’s making me crazy right now, is that he wants constant
attention and doesn’t appreciate anything that I do. It’s so bad that he will
drop food and not bother to pick it up, or even tell me it’s there, so I
inevitably find it by walking through something gross. Or, worse, I notice a
dead smell coming from under the sofa. And he always wants me to accommodate
his plans. I’m at his beck and call 24 hours a day. So, we invariably do what
he wants, when he wants it, regardless of what I had planned. If he wants to
eat, then its dinner time and everything gets put on hold till we eat. Yeah,
you heard me right, I said till we eat,
cos if he’s hungry, then I’m eating. He’ll even try to force food into my
mouth, so it’s just easier to share meals with him.”
The mumble of
agreement counters the odd eye-roll from the assembled women, but I’m relieved
I can finally say all this out loud.
“He wants to be
the centre of my world. He expects literally all of my attention. I have to be
laser-focussed on him at all times. Even when I’ve spent all day with him, he
wants more. I’m on call night and day to make him happy. There are times I
can’t wash, or cook, or sleep, because he needs me to be there for some
imaginary thing. That’s why I’m tired, well a bit that and a bit that I find
myself sneaking out of bed in the early hours to get on top of my normal
chores, like unloading the dishwasher and doing laundry. Heaven help me if I
want to get some work in – that is borderline impossible right now.
This month, he’s even muscled in on those few snatched moments I do manage,
by waking me in the middle of the night for something or other, with no regard
to how knackered I’ll be the next day. I love to hang out with him, and I know
he’s having sleep issues, but I need my sleep, too. I care about how this all
affects me and our relationship, whereas he doesn’t.”
I grimace as I
take one more swig of my cold tea.
“I’m starting to
wonder if the heart-melting smiles and the wonderful snuggles make up for all
the downsides. They used to, but now it is getting worse, and he’s getting more
demanding. I’m finding myself starting to reassess if it’s all worth it. Maybe it’s
time to get some help, and that’s why I’m here today. Like I said at the start,
I love him more than breathing. But some days, it just feels like it’s too
much. I’ve spoken to family and friends, and even my wife, but they just make
excuses for his behaviour. It’s all: ‘Niamh, he’s three. He’s just a toddler.
It’ll get easier’, but I don’t get it. He’s my first kid so I don’t really
know. Do they ever really change, or is he just toxic?”
Though the crowd
had bristled slightly at various moments as I recounted my story, the groans
and the chorus of “Toxic, definitely!” and “Kids, why do we have them?”,
followed by raucous laughter made me feel that I was right: the Irvinestown Bad
Mothers’ Baby Club was where I had found my tribe.
And finally we come to The Big
Interview, in which Cinnomen kindly
answers writing-related
questions and lets us into
some of her writing secrets...
1.
How old were you when you first knew you wanted to be a writer, and what set you
off down that journey?
When I was small, about 5 or so, I remember curling up in a corner wishing I had more Enchanted Wood/Magic Faraway Tree books to keep me occupied, so I wrote additional stories myself, initially writing additional material for the boarding school-type books, Malory Towers, St Clare's, and other reads too like The Hobbit, because they didn’t always go the way I wanted them to. And so, I found myself purposely hunting out stories that had girls dating boys or being 'saved' by them, when I wanted them to get a job instead and rewrote those endings. I seemed to have very feminist tendencies even then, but now we have writers like Gregory Maguire, with alternate viewpoints of familiar stories, which would have fitted me better as a kid. Seeing The Wizard of Oz through his eyes is something I wish I had the talent to write.
2. Tell us about the books and writers that have shaped your life and your writing Career.
Chuck Palahniuk is an absolute god in my eyes, the way that every single book of his follows different rules and styles and you never read the same book twice from him. Haruki Murakami, for the exact opposite reason, he repackages the same story concepts in every book but does it so well I still want to read his work, anticipating the bad sex, the ear, the jazz and some paranormal wisp of something is a joy. But two lifelong book friends have been Catch 22 by Joseph Heller and The Women’s Room by Marilyn French, both bring me comfort and familiarity as I re-read them every year.
3. Have your children, other family members, friends or teachers inspired any of your writing? In what way?
I see a lot of my kid’s traits in the odd character or two I have created, but nothing more than an occasional behavioural tic, but I have written a short book for my granddaughter about her and her world and illustrated it with photos of her. That was back when my drawing wasn’t that great. Since then I have made several colouring books for her, as we draw and colour together a lot. But I have killed off more than a few not-so-nice people in my stories, as it seems much easier to do them damage on the page rather than risking doing something you could live to regret.
Examples of Cin's colouring book pictures:
4.
Does the place you live have any impact on your writing?
I do write differently depending on where I am
located. I did most of my writing at airports and bus or train stations while I
travelled between Ireland and England every few weeks. But since I have settled
back in one spot, with no more travel needs, I have had to relearn how to write
at home. I miss travelling for that reason and look forward to the odd holiday
for inspiration now. I recently purchased a new desk, so I am hoping that it will help me stay on track.
Cin, with her daughter Nevada, at one of her many graduation ceremonies!
5.
How would you describe your own writing?
I write near-future fiction and quite contemporary
stuff, so my stuff is set either in the now or in the tomorrow. The trouble
with that, though, is that the future comes at you faster than you would like. I
started a novel as part of my master's in creative writing back in 2018, based
in the now-ish, about an elderly terminally ill gent downloading his personality
into a laptop to help comfort his wife when he was gone. Since then, and before
I finished it, ChatGPT launched in 2022, and what Derek slaved for months to
do, could now be done with a decent prompt and a weekend, which is massively
discouraging for any writer.
6.
Are there certain themes that draw you to them when you are writing?
Themes that resonate with me are the usual, I think: Why
do people do what they do? The human condition is what grabs every writer to an
extent; we want to explore and explain the reasoning. Why does humanity abandon
stuff in space? Why do people do bad things to others? Why did Marie from
school poison her family with mushrooms?
7.
Tell us about how you approach your writing. Are you a planner or a pantser?
Pantser all the way, I am working on planning with
this latest novel idea, guided by the course I am doing, and it is working to
an extent. But I also find myself spending so much time chasing down completely
unrelated ideas. My current degree in Forensic Psychology is also giving me a
bunch of ideas for motivation for my characters, which is why I started doing
it, so the education is paying off. I want to be a planner so badly, but I
think I will eventually go back to winging it.
8.
Do you have any advice for someone who might be thinking about starting to
write
creatively?
Do it. Any number of words you can get onto the page is
better than the zero words you will have if you don’t try. The more you write, even
rubbish stuff, the better it gets. I did a workshop yesterday for people of all
ages and backgrounds, and the common ground they found was that they all felt excited
to continue the activities when they got home, so that spark that comes just
needs nurturing by acting on it. Write stuff, any stuff. It gets easier and
better. Look for inspiration wherever you can, I mean, who can hear ‘I nearly
threw away my Mam?’ and not want to unravel that in story?
9.
Are you, or have you been in the past, a member of any writing groups, online
or face-to-face? Do you run any? What do you think is the value of such groups?
I chair Write Club, the OU society, and I was
actively involved in Women Aloud NI for the time I was in Ireland. I am
starting to host workshops both online and in-person, and I find them really
rewarding. I call myself a cheerleader for all the friends I have watched
become published and get their work out into the world. Having a shelf of books
at home that are written by people I know in person or via the internet makes
me feel inspired to one day get a longer piece of work of mine out there.
10.
Have you ever studied creative writing at university or any other courses? What
do you think you have learned from such courses?
I have done an undergrad in Creative Writing and
English Language and an MA in Creative Writing. I wish I had spent more time
actively engaging with the modules to be honest. But life had other ideas, and
instead I frequently go back to the course material for inspiration and
guidance. The best thing about them has been the people I have met. Surrounding
yourself with other creatives makes you feel more inspired. Cheering other’s
successes helps you fight harder for your own. I have started hosting my own
workshops, but not as frequently as I would like. I want to do more in-person
events for sure. They can be so much fun. I have done a bit of post-grad study
in online teaching, so am putting some of those skills to use in my online
workshops.
11.
What do you think about getting feedback on your work from other writers
and/or
non-writers?
You absolutely need input from others to improve. You
need to gain a decently thick skin to not take any of it personally though, as
what feels more personal than writing, right? Write Club started as a group of
students on the final year creative writing group wanting to continue the
supportive critique group that had formed amongst them. We need to have a group
willing to be honest with us, and we need to be willing to be honest back to
get the most out of the feedback relationship. I have changed the gender of a
character based on feedback, didn’t like it, but understood that it might cause
issues in the arena it was going to be shared, and didn't want to get any
negative feedback on the project unnecessarily. I think anyone who is willing
to give you some insight on your work, no matter what stage of their own
journey they are at, is an asset.
12.
If you have experience of self-publishing, what have been its challenges and
rewards?
Do you have any advice for anyone who is thinking of starting their own literary
journal, or self-publishing their own work?
I have not self-published anything alone but have
been semi-involved as Write Club sent their multiple anthologies out into the
universe. And I have also watched a number of friends do so. The way publishing
is at the minute, you have as much chance of success as an independent author
as with a bigger publishing house. I am watching some smaller presses come into
their own supporting new authors, and that is fab. Small businesses like Castle
Priory Press are doing great work and are who I would be looking to when I
finish this novel.
[You can find out more about Castle Priory Press at: https://www.castlepriorypress.com/]
13.
Where do you get your ideas from?
Other people. I have never gotten over the idea that
I could write a better ending or fix a damaged character. I find myself wanting
to write a callback to something I have read or heard. I read a story by one
person and wanted to expand a character and create a piece based on a small
section of their work, and that worked well. Kind of like a collaboration, but
an homage instead. I was lucky that the writer in question was intrigued rather than offended, and
she was my beta reader for that piece before I used it in an anthology. Another
story was inspired by a throwaway remark about Opportunity, the Mars rover, and
how it was ‘dying’ after 14 years, instead of its planned 90 days of activity. So,
ideas can come from everywhere.
14.
They say that successful writers need to be selfish. How far do you agree with this?
You absolutely need to be selfish to carve out time
to write. With this attempt at planning, I am seeing just how selfish I need to
be to safeguard that time for creativity. I write daily, morning pages, and
study when I can also fit that in. But I write mostly in the morning and read
at nights. My kids are grown, I use my afternoon and evening for family and
caring concerns and volunteering work, but the mornings are mine. I wouldn't
say I am disciplined, but I am trying to be. I have four novels waiting to
be finished, and I want to get them done and out of hiding.
15.
Beyond your family and your writing, what other things do you do? Do you have other
jobs? Do you have other hobbies or interests?
I volunteer in Higher Education, at my university as
an academic Representative, sitting on Qualifications and Assessments Committee
and the Senate, and at Researching, Advancing and Inspiring Student Engagement
(RAISE) as their student officer, and the
Quality Assurance Agency (QAA) as a member of the Student Strategic Advisory Committee, where I specialise in Academic
Integrity and the use of Gen AI in teaching and assessment.
Since becoming a Grandma I
have taught myself to draw so I can have more fun with the best seven-year-old I
know. And I am a community governor at a local school. I bake a mean
lemon-drizzle cake. I worked in Pharmacy for 20 tears before giving that up to
care for a loved one. Studying and writing are my escapes from carer burnout. I
also love a good drag show and find time to attend drag events when possible.
16.
Would you describe yourself as a ‘cultured’ person?
I am cultured to an extent, I am widely read, and
enjoy the theatre, but to mitigate that I love musicals with a passion. I spent
a lot of time as a parent dragging the kids around galleries and museums to
ensure they saw more of the world than Manchester alone offered. Art and
creating stuff are so key to who we are as a people. We need to keep the
creative stuff going, or all that is left is the boring capital we produce for
others. We need to be able to read, and create, and write, and sing, – even if
we do it badly – in order to truly live. The most literary thing I have written
is probably the work I produced as part of a cross-borders project back in
Ireland. It was a raw and painful piece about the ‘otherness’ you can feel when
you don't feel you belong, and as a ‘blow in’ to the country it was always
clear the minute I opened my mouth that I was not local.
17.
Are you interested in history and if so does it impact on your writing? What
sort of historical research have you done in connection with your writing?
I don’t write historical stuff, but my characters
have lived, and their past needs proper research to allow their full lived
experiences to inform their motivations. One of my characters came over on the
Windrush, so I needed to delve deeply into that time in the 50’s to get a
better picture of who she was and what she had lived through. Her experiences
of race and discrimination helped me build her into the resilient powerful
women she was in the story, giving her a softness that came from never wanting
others to experience what she had. You absolutely need knowledge of the areas you
are writing about, the concerns of the people and places you are including,
what technology might be available, the politics of the times, all of it makes
for stronger worldbuilding.
18.
How did the Covid pandemic affect you as a writer?
It helped my writers' collective pull together to
create an award-winning anthology. But I stopped writing there for a while,
since my best work was done away from home, at airports and stations. It was a
weird time, like everything was held in limbo until we caught back up. I think
it gave me focus once I found myself again after moving countries. I have a room
of one’s own now, so I have no excuse not to finish at least one of the books,
right?
19.
There is a lot of talk at the moment. in the publishing world and elsewhere,
about
political correctness, the Woke movement, cultural appropriation, ‘cancel
culture’,
‘trigger warnings’, sensitivity readers and the importance of diversity.
What
are your thoughts on this, with regard to writing?
I think we need to be careful not to tell other
people’s stories for them, but we definitely have the right to tell the stories
we feel need telling. We place ourselves in other people’s shoes to write, and
so long as we are not talking either for, or over, minoritised people, then I
feel bring it on. If I was writing about something that I had no lived experience
of, I would definitely speak to people from that community to get a better idea
of what nuance I might be missing as an outsider, but that is the case no
matter what the issue I want to write about that I have not experienced. It's
not just something I do when I want to write about a community that might face
more discrimination or bigotry than others, it is just a natural consideration
to any community I am not a part of.
I
don’t mind content warnings; you can always ignore them if they aren't for you.
But we write to entertain, not to traumatise, so I expect I would use a content
warning if I felt it was necessary.
20.
Where would you place your own writing, on a continuum with PURE FANTASY at one
end and COMPLETE REALISM at the other? What do you think about fantasy as a
genre?
My writing is quite based in realism, to be honest, with some
near-future dystopian ideals included sometimes. And then life comes and takes
over, doing what you imagine doing, but quicker and faster [ChatGPT, I am
looking at you!]. I love fantasy, but the time and energy that goes into creating
a whole new world puts me off writing anything too out there. Just using the
moon as a setting was hard enough for me.
21.
Do you have any particular health or other issue that affects your writing and
if so how have you overcome this?
As a neurodivergent woman, who found the mask increasingly
slipping as I reached menopause, I do wonder what I would have been like if I
had been diagnosed and treated when I was younger? As a family with plenty of neurodiverse
members, we tended only to get treatment if the weird brain chemistry affected
us negatively. Being weird and bookish was not seen as a bad thing at home and
school so I was left alone to get on with it.
******
Note from Louise: As a member of a family which has several neurodivergent members, possibly including myself, I just wanted to add here that it can take up to ten years for an adult to get a proper diagnosis of conditions such as ADHD, ADD and what used to be called Asperger's. If you want to find out more about ADHD, dyslexia and autism, try watching the recent BBC series Inside Our ADHD Minds, Inside Our Autistic Minds, Inside Our Duslexic Minds, presented by Chris Packham, available on iplayer:
https://www.open.ac.uk/blogs/news/around-ou/tv-radio/new-series-of-inside-our-minds-explores-adhd-and-dyslexia/#:~:text=A%20new%20series%20of%20the%20OU%20%2F%20BBC,14%20May%20on%20BBC%20Two%20Wales%20at%2021%3A00
******
******
Thank you very much, Cinnomen, for such an entertaining and fascinating showcase.
******
In July, I will be showcasing
another fabulous writer:
Mai Black
Not to be missed!
******
So far in this series, I’ve showcased the following writers:
Ruth Loten – March 2023
Jane Langan – March 2023
Beck Collett – April 2023
Ron Hardwick – June 2023
L.N.Hunter – July 2023
Katherine Blessan – August 2023
Jill Saudek – September 2023
Colin Johnson – October 2023
Sue Davnall – November 2023
Alain Li Wan Po – December 2023
Lily Lawson – January 2024
Philip Badger – February 2024
Glen Lee – March 2024
DHL Hewa - April 2024
Tonia Trainer - May 2024
Mike Poyzer – June 2024
Judith Worham - July 2024
Chrissie Poulter - August 2024
Adele Sullivan - September 2024
Lin De Laszlo - October 2024
Wendy Heydorn - November 2024
Elisabeth Basford - December 2024
Karen Honnor - January 2025
Sharon Henderson - February 2025
Gae Stenson - March 2026 [collaboration]
Dr Trefor Stockwell - March 2025 [collaboration]
Karen Downs-Barton
Pavitra Menon
Suzanne Burn
Cinnomen Matthews
[30 so far]
You can find all these showcases by scrolling back through the material on this blog.
Been on holiday and am just catching up on emails etc. I have to say, Louise, your paintings are excellent - I especially like 'the Fairy Tree.' You have also introduced us to another brainy and talented writer and poet who lives a full and accomplished life. I was intrigued by the epistolary narrative - I didn't think journal entries were epistolary - I thought 'epistolary' meant correspondence of various forms between two or more people.
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