​Fifty shades of green
 
This time of year is perfect for the writer wanting to flex their writerly muscles. Autumn, when the leaves are turning and falling there is so much to ignite the muse within.
 
We all know the benefits of going out and walking in nature; it’s an antidote to the winter blues. For me, though, a walk in the woods at this time of year gives me time to think, to clear my head, to devise poems and lessons and to give my eyes the chance to focus on something that is not a screen within a few inches of my nose.
 
These are the times when I like to play a game with my inner lexicographer. It goes like this…
 
As I wander, I take time to mindfully look, I mean really look, at everything I see. And after a second or two focusing on something I make myself come up with an unclichéd description of it. So, the bark of the silver birch could be like old white paint peeling off in sheets from a damp black wall. The spreading branches of the horse chestnut are not allowed to be like arms reaching to the sky because that’s a cliché, but they could be goddess Shiva’s arms or a hanukkah candelabra. The few dried and shrivelled leaves that cling to the ends of those same branches could be the scorched remains of love letters the tree can no longer bear to read but still clutches with the tips of his fingers.
 
The painter inside you can have a field day trying to find exactly the right colourmatch for each of those leaves. No, you can’t say the beech leaves are like shiny new pennies, that’s been said before. But they could be butterscotch, discs of honeycomb or a cheetah’s iris. In addition, just to make this even harder the word you choose must also convey the emotion you feel. Those autumn leaves are beautiful, right? So while many leaves may remind you exactly of the contents of a newborn’s nappy, you can’t say that. No, you need to choose a word that describes something you love, like brandy snap tuiles. 
 
On a walk in November I found leaves the colour of merlot and a whore’s fingernails. I saw lichen the colour of a 1960s bathroom suite and moss the same shade of green as mushy peas. You are not allowed to use sage, mint and basil to describe leaves because that would be too easy. They are plants too and have leaves of their own. Trying to come up with new words for green is the hardest part of this game.
 
William Wordsworth is known as the poet of nature and he delighted in personifying nature. He writes that leaves ‘kiss’ each other as they tumble to the forest floor and that his famous daffodils ‘dance’. As you walk among the trees and footpaths, notice how some tree roots might be the feet of marching elephants, others the slender feet and ankles of a pair of ballet dancers, high in en pointe. Might the deciduous yew be jealous of the jeweled colours of the beech beside it, for we all know that green is the colour of envy? Trust me, when you start to play this game you’ll soon find there are 50 new shades of green and that nature and your writing comes alive.

​Isn’t nice to hear about a success story about an expat writer who is making money from what she loves to do? 
 
Olga Mecking is a writer friend of mine, based in the Hague, who is creating a storm with her upcoming book with the working title, Niksen, the Dutch Art of Doing Nothing. Just five years ago, after some time spent blogging as European Mama, Olga, who is Polish by nationality, decided to move towards writing and selling articles, seeing success with Huffington Post,The BBC, The Guardian, Playboy and many more. But then, about a year ago, after finding an article in Dutch in a free magazine she picked up at her local organic shop, she learned about something called niksen. With mindfulness being on trend at the moment, together with hygge, tiger parenting and slow-pressed juices, the new writer realised that the Dutch belief in just doing nothing could be bang on trend. First she pitched and sold a ‘trend’ piece to Woolly magazine, being paid about $400 for this. By February she had pitched a ‘service’ piece on the same subject to The New York Times, this time earning $600. After an initial rejection and three rounds of revisions, the piece was published in May and received an incredible 150,000 shares. Olga, it seemed, had discovered the next big thing.
 
A couple of months later she’d been spotted. Both a Dutch publisher, Kosmos Uitgevers and a UK-based agent reached out, urging her to write a book for them. By September she’d made a choice and signed a contract and shortly after foreign rights had been sold to nine other publishers worldwide meaning that her book will be published in 11 languages.
 
“They got a first draft in six weeks,” she explains, “and want my final draft December 1st.” This is moving so quickly but when you write about a topic that is bang on trend you need to act fast. The 50,000 word book should be published in April, less than a year after that piece in the New York Times. 
 
When I asked Olga how this meteoric success made her feel, not to mention the size of an advance that most new authors can only dream of, she said one word, “Stressed.” She puts her incredible success not only to the fact that she hit on the right topic at the right time and received publication in a top notch publication, but that she had spent a few years establishing herself as a paid-for journalist first. “It was smart that I wrote for high-end publications,” she says. “More people were reading me. I got good bylines.” I think Olga is an example of someone who made their own luck.
 
You can read more about Olga and follow her journey at www.olgamecking.com and join her busy Facebook group, The Nikseneers. 

​I don’t know about you but I love a fast fix of inspiration now and again. This is why, for several years, ever since my friend Jacinta gave me my first, I’ve bought myself one of those stand up Page-a-Day calendars for Christmas. I always get the Zen Sayings one, which is a mix of haiku, koans, parables and sayings. A couple of days ago it read: “A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness,” which comes from Robert Frost, the nature loving poet best known for The Road Not Taken.
 
I read that extract the other day and it stayed with me as I considered its truth and the way, indeed, that so many poems begin with deep emotion, often sadness. In turn it inspired me to reflect on how art, such as poetry, can make something good out of a bad situation.
 
I’m off to buy myself my next Zen Calendar now because, thanks to Jacinta, it has now become an essential addition to my morning.

Watch out for the soft launch of The Life Story Jar programme – BUY ONE AND GIVE ONE TO A FRIEND
 
I admit that this isn’t ready as soon as I would have liked, but hey, I’m only human.

It’s almost time for my brand new 12-week e-course, The Life Story Jar, to go on sale. Now you can stop procrastinating and start writing your precious stories and preserving them for the future. the programme, divided into modules on themes such as Growing Up, My Travels, My Family and People in My Past will teach and inspire you to leave an important written legacy. 
 
Want to register your interest now to be sure you don’t miss out? Just drop me an email.​

WHEN: Tuesday 10th December and Tuesday 14th January, 09:30-15:30 
WHAT: Definite Articles – learn to write articles based on your overseas experience
WHERE: Jo’s house, Archipel, The Hague
COST: £175
ENQUIRE: Email Jo
 
WHEN: Friday 13th December, 10:00-14:00 
WHAT: Writers’ Circle with Christmas pot luck lunch and Secret Santa
WHERE: Jo’s house, Archipel, The Hague
COST: Free
ENQUIRE: Email Jo
​

​At the end of last month I had the pleasure of hosting new author, Mariam Ottimofiore, for her book tour of the Netherlands. Her book, This Messy Mobile Life, was published earlier this year and, after launches in Bangkok, Dubai and Accra, it was our turn. I invited her to speak at a pot luck lunch at my home directly after one of my free monthly Writers’ Circles. She agreed wholeheartedly and so, almost 20 people crammed into my sitting room to hear her talk about how to move from writer to blogger and why it should be something to think about.
 
“Who thinks they are a writer?” was her opening gambit.
 
About four raised their hands and one of them was me! What?I thought. Fifteen of them had just attended Writers’ Circle. Some of them have been coming along for more than ten years and they stilldon’t think they are a writer.
 
“Who invests in themselves as writers?” was her next question.
 
Three raised hands. Again one was mine.
 
So, they attend Writer’s Circle. They write and share at least two pieces of writing each time and yet they don’t believe they are investing in themselves as writers?  And yet believing you are a writer and investing in yourself as a writer are connected, surely? It stands to reason that if you write occasionally just for the fun of it then that must mean you are a little bit of a writer. A writer is someone who writes. Period. Who said that you need to be published in a newspaper, perhaps, or have a book deal with a publisher to be a real writer? I certainly didn’t. 
 
But then Mariam hit on the nub of the matter, going on to discuss Imposter Syndrome and how not really believing you are any good seems to go with the territory of being an artist –  painter, dancer, actor or writer. I believe that it is this inbuilt humility that makes you sharper. Makes you work harder and recognise that you are only ever really as good as your last piece of work. Mariam, who blogs very successfully at www.andthenwemovedto.com, believes that if we blog we should not judge our writing by the number of likes we get but by the number of shares and the comments we elicit. In other words it’s about the engagement we have with our readers.
 
A writer is someone is writes but they are never going to know if they are any good unless someone else reads it or listens to it and gives feedback. Those comments and shares are feedback. They are fuel for the writer. And, for many of us, receiving them goes some way towards believing we deserve to call ourselves writers. Attending a Writers’ Circle can tick this box too. For, if it is any good, the meetings should foster live engagement, sharing and feedback.
 
Surely then, attending a writing club or circle is a way of investing in yourself as a writer, isn’t it? Even if you only write for a few minutes each time. You see, even if you only move your pen across a page for ten minutes those ten minutes are an investment that will move you closer to that elusive self-belief.
 
When Mariam asked those questions I think the audience believed that ‘being a writer’ meant more than what they do already. I disagree. I think they believed that ‘investing in yourself’ meant more than giving yourself a few minutes alone with a pen and paper. I disagree. Sure, it can also mean that you pay to attend courses or attend writing retreats. But doesn’t buying a book on writing count? Doesn’t appreciating the writing craft in the novel you are reading count? Doesn’t making up a poem about the way the rain runs down the windowpane count? Doesn’t attending an author reading count? 
 
Earlier that morning several of the attendees burst into spontaneous tears, moved by their own writing or by another’s or, in at least one case, moved from the joy of words written and shared. Wasn’t that, then, investment? Weren’t those attendees who took two or three hours from their busy schedules that day investing in themselves and thus that makes them writers… just a little bit?
 
So, let me ask those questions again and add one more of my own:
 
“Are you a writer?”
 
“Do you invest in yourself as a writer?”
 
“What are you going to do this month to invest in yourself as a writer?”

Have you ever subscribed to a writing magazine? I have. Over the years I have taken Writing Magazine,The Writer,Mslexia, Granta and Poetry Magazine. I have found them not only to be valuable sources of advice but also of interviews with amateur and professional published writers. Importantly for me, when I was starting out, it was the source of new markets and competitions that was the main reason I took out subscriptions. For any writer there is nothing so compelling as a focus, a deadline and a word count to get the creative juices flowing. I know that, today, blogs are a great source of inspiration and content but, for me, there is nothing like the print version of a publication. As for the classifieds sections, they are always worth a read. 

I don’t know about you, but I do love a memoir. They are not the easiest genre to write because even though you are writing about real life you still need to have a plot and characters. You need to set scenes and evoke atmospheres that will be so familiar to you that it is hard to see them with fresh enough eyes to recreate them effectively for your readers. And, as for dialogue, it is phenomenally hard to remember what people said verbatim and how they said it and then write it down so it sounds natural. So, when I noticed that Tracey Thorn and her partner, Ben Watt, the two halves of one of my favourite bands, Everything But the Girl, had written memoirs, I decided to read both of them back to back and compare. Okay, so it’s not very fair of me to do that, but then I did know they both studied English at Hull university. I know this because they were contemporaries of mine and I saw them now and again on campus. I also know I love their songs and am particularly drawn to Tracey’s lyrics. They had also both gone on to write more than one memoir, so if the publishers liked their work their readers must have done so too. I was hopeful. 
 
I read Ben’s first. Romany and Tom. His parents. I bought it without reading the blurb and was slightly taken aback to realise this was a book about the last few weary years of his parents’, Romany and Tom's, lives. They were old, feeble and sick, so it’s hardly an attractive topic, but this book gives a snapshot of a life stage we will all go through once as our parents age and again as we age ourselves. It resonated big time. Tracey and the couple's three children feature as shadowy characters as does Ben’s own career but this is a book about his parents, his half-gypsy journalist mother and his now washed-up big band leader father, and their demise. Despite the maudlin topic, this is a great example of a book that stands squarely on its voice, for Ben is a terrific writer with a wonderful way with words. I could not put it down.
 
Tracey’s was next and frankly, despite the fact that she has an MA in English and is the pair’s lyricist, her memoir, Bedsit Disco Queen, is totally different. It is solely about her music career – and what a career it has been.  I’m no musician and so it didn’t resonate quite like Ben’s. That Tracey has a plot is not in dispute and we are compelled to read on to find out what happened between then and now and how they reached such meteoric heights when Tracey had little confidence in her ability. I guess she can't hear what we hear. That she can write is a given, but she handles narrative very differently from Ben, returning to her diaries, written at a time when she was less polished but no less honest. As she matures, so does the book and her writing comes into its own. I’m left impressed at how she handled times when memory's vague knowing that it had to be there; the fan reader really does want to know about the days before the band and how this quirky punk from Hatfield rose above other wannabes.
 
To me, Tracey and Ben come as a pair and have always come as a pair. They have lived and worked together since they were 19. They ‘walk the same line’ as Tracey sang in We Walk The Same Line in 1994. While they often tell the same story, having both lived it, they do so very differently. Their voices are different. They alight on different aspects of the same story and they tell it their way.
 
So, when you consider how you might tackle writing your own memoir, I invite you to consider how you might choose to tell it – like Ben, who expands a short space of time into his 350 page memoir, or Tracey, who packs over 25 years into hers.