Prize Winning Author

Have you noticed? You look at the website or blog of a well known author, and some not so well known authors, and are faced with a sidebar full of awards. Their biography includes every single literary prize they have one from the year dot and the cover of their latest book proclaims it to be “prize winning” – occasionally it actually states which prize! Has anyone ever bought a book because the author has won a prize?

Do I sound jealous? I shouldn’t. I too have won a writing prize.

Last Monday evening, it was the Rugby Family History Group AGM and Christmas Social. As a member of the committee I was armed with my report – how far we had got with the transcription of a local Parish Register; how our First World War Project was going (300 men researched, 100+ to go) more volunteers wanted, and what was happening on the website (not a lot). We dozed through the financial report and looked elsewhere when asked if there were any volunteers to replace the secretary, who was retiring at that meeting. Another report concerned the Magazine. As always the editor complained of lack of copy, please could someone write something for the next issue. Because I’m a helpful type, I can usually manage to produce something when she gets desperate

Some years ago, to encourage submissions, we set up The Harry Batchelor Prize for the best article in the previous years magazines (three issues). This is to commemorate our first Chairman, and is presented at the end of the AGM – before we let the hordes loose on the food – provided, of course, by the committee. The prize is judged by someone from the local library, a local writer and last years winner. I got out my camera to take photographs, to add to the website. The envelope was opened, imaginary drums rolled, the commended and highly commended articles were announced. I lined up my camera. The winner was an article entitled “But what was he doing in  Ireland?”.  Must be that chap with the Irish ancestors.

It wasn’t. It was me! I had forgotten all about that one.

I stood up to receive my prize. Cameras flashed,  well, one did and someone had the foresight to pick up mine, and take a picture. Champagne flowed – someone later opened the wine box!

And I became a prize winning author.

Shall I add it to the side bar? Winner of the Harry Batchelor Prize, 2017

And 2013, 2011 and 2009 – did I mention I’ve won before? I try not to do it too often – it means I have to act as judge next year!

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Back to work, but is it too late?

With a sigh of relief, I am writing again. When I returned to Byrhtnoth 2 (first draft) I realised that I had abandoned it for four weeks.

There was no problem, it was planned. There was editing to do, a blurb to be written (still a work in progress!), chocolate eggs to be eaten, and a lot of thinking to do. Too much thinking – I am beginning to get ideas for book three, but I must resist the muse’s call and get book two finished first. At least I had left my protagonist in a comfortable position – too comfortable, but I have thrown a bucket of cold water over him and got him going again.

I warmed up on Thursday, with the first writing class of this term. Well, not actually at the class – when given an exercise, my mind went blank. But later, when I got home. I wrote about 600 words on the subject of foreshadowing. I cheated – I started book 3! I’m not sure what I was foreshadowing, because I don’t yet know what is going to happen, but it’s not looking good for a major character. I wonder who it will be?

The best type of foreshadowing is quite unintentional. Sometimes I write something, some minor detail, something to fill the gap between one scene and the next. Later, it might be a few pages further on, or half the book, something happens and you say “Oh, that’s why I wrote that bit earlier.” Is it my brain being particularly clever or is someone else in control? Perhaps I’ll write more on that another time.

Having got my hand in, I managed 1175 words on Friday and 1318 on Saturday. I am back on schedule. I have Sunday under my belt and so long as on-one drags me out to “Do something because it’s a bank holiday today” I will write more this afternoon.

It’s May Day – let’s go dancing!

The enforced break has made me think about why I write. I have heard all about these writers who started scribbling in the pram; they always keep a note-book handy to write down ideas and have a cupboard full of half completed manuscripts. That’s not me. I started four years ago and I could stop tomorrow – couldn’t I?

I found myself saying something strange, last week at the self-publishing conference (report here). “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t started writing.” Sacrilege at an event like that, but what did I mean? I have got into the habit of writing regularly. When I stopped I felt ill for a couple of days; sick, shivery, unable to settle, almost as if I was suffering withdrawal symptoms. It was probably a coincidence, a passing cold.

I remember, back in the days when I helped run a Family History class, one of the first things we taught our students was: Be very careful, researching your ancestors can be addictive. I know, I have experienced that addiction for many years, I never thought I could  escape it. But now? Yes, I still get that thrill, when I am on the trail of some long-lost ancestor, but sometimes, just occasionally, when trawling through some list of names or ancient document, I pause, this is boring, what is Byrhtnoth, or some other character doing?

Have I exchanged one addiction for another?

Am I beyond help? I recently woke in the middle of the night and scrabbled round for a piece of paper, to write down a few words. Soon I’ll be doing it in broad daylight!

Help me! My name is Christine and I am a writer-holic.