FLOORED

Yesterday was a genuinely exciting day, which rarely happens to me.  A TOP SECRET project that I have been working on was announced to the world, so finally I am allowed to talk about it!

The news is that I am working on a very exciting and totally unique collaborative novel with six other brilliant YA writers. I am so hugely honoured and excited to be working with such a wonderful and inspiring group.  I feel incredibly lucky to be involved.

So, the writers are: Sara Barnard, Holly Bourne, Tanya Byrne, Non Pratt, Melinda Salisbury, Lisa Williamson and me.  The novel is called FLOORED and it will be published next summer (2018). The novel was the brainchild of my brilliant editor Rachel - it is the story of six characters, who meet by chance and whose lives become intertwined.  We're calling it The Breakfast Club meets One Day.

One of my favourite things about this collaboration is that we are not going to tell who wrote which character.  I am fascinated to see if people will be able to guess.

You can find out more information about the project in yesterday's announcement in the Bookseller.  We celebrated the fact that it is no longer a secret by meeting up yesterday for lots of tea and chatting and a lovely lunch.  And taking selfies in a lift.  This gang are the best fun, basically.  I am so incredibly delighted to be a part of it.

You won't but you might.

Possibly the quietest weekend on record.  Followed by a gentle and sleepy Monday morning.

On this Monday morning... If Kurt Cobain was still alive, today would have been his 50th birthday.

I can't quite process this thought.  I would love to have seen KC at this age.  He would have been GREAT at being an older man.  Like so many people who die too soon, he had an old face even as a beautiful young man.  An air of having been around a long time, as well as having packed a crazily impressive amount into 27 years.  At 27, I think I was still working out what haircut suited me; he was a father and a husband and had made In Utero.  He looked ageless.  Jesus and William Burroughs, I think.

I like to believe, had he lived, he would be following a broadly Neil Young sort of role in the world.  I wish he'd just been allowed to give it all up and disappear for a bit, and then I really believe he might have eventually, quietly resurfaced with the most interesting music of his career.  I think he might have lived in the woods somewhere and occasionally put out an unlistenable album, occasionally something brilliant.  Even more grizzled, more difficult, more sexy; maybe when it had all calmed down, more funny.  I'd like to have seen that.

I think Kurt would really like Cat Power and Pussy Riot and RuPaul's Drag Race.  His hair would be longer and even more raggedy.  He would still smoke and he'd probably watch a lot of Netflix, generally.  He would paint more.  He would be political.  He would have worked with Michael Stipe. Maybe he'd have written a novel, which I assume would have been dense and unreadable and I would have loved.

These are the things I like to think.

Kurt, I'm still sad you died. It's a sadness that still has the exact same flavour as it did when I was 12.  It's one of the many things I wish were different about this world.  I'd rather you were in it.  I hope you got your Leonard Cohen afterworld.  Of course I do.

I should probably put a Nirvana song here.  But we know them all so well and you can sing your favourite ones in your head.  Mine are probably Heart-Shaped Box, Drain You and About A Girl.  Maybe in that order.

So here is a song that is more like I am feeling today.  I've been listening to it on a loop all weekend; I don't know why.  I have no idea how KC felt about Elliott Smith.  Wistful and fragile, but with a sting in the tale...  It feels fitting.

Somewhere Between

Bonjour.  Been a while...right?

I've been ill.
I've been to Monte Carlo.
I've been listening to Lift to Experience.
I've been eating too much cake and blaming the time of year.
I've been watching Broad City (I've been late as usual).
I've been watching a lot of rubbish horror films.
I've been casually experimenting with headstands.
I've been drinking pink cocktails on balconies with boys (a boy) in ridiculous weather.
I've been not cooking enough.
I've been wearing two scarves at a time.
I've been buying flowers and looking forward to spring.

That's kind of it.  I'm probably forgetting some important things, but that's the way it goes.

Spring is in the air so much you can taste it in your mouth.  A week ago we were catching snowflakes in our hair, today I can see actual sunshine as I write this.  The south bank right now is a dream.  We're nearly there, comrades.

Heaven can wait and hell is too far to go...

P.U.N.K.A

I got up this morning at 5:30am to travel from Brighton to Sunderland.  This was my first ever ‘proper’ school visit – talking about my books, answering questions and leading a creative writing workshop.  Fortified with much coffee and a good book for the train... yep, I was still mildly terrified.

At the time of writing, it’s now 8pm and I am still on a train an hour and a half away from home, feeling that weird combination of over-caffeinated and bone-tired.  However, it was totally worth it.  I’m feeling better about the world in general than I did this morning.

The girls I met today were charming, bright and very, very kind to me.  They were an absolute delight.  I was struck by how little has changed since I was that age, to my immense relief and slight surprise (they even still love Nirvana – well, one cool girl did).  They started off shy and gradually became noisy and hilarious.  I love teenagers so much, and this was a great reminder of it.

In my talk about books and writing, I brought up one of my current favourite phrases: ‘a rising tide lifts all boats’.  I truly believe that there is enough good fortune and positivity and general good energy to go round.  We should support and encourage each other, never pull the ladder up behind us.

I usually kind of hate nebulous talk about ‘creativity’ and ‘being creative’, but I tried to talk today about how I believe we can all make and do great things if we want to.  Writing a book isn’t a rarefied activity that is for ‘other’ people.  I have known people who have tried to make out that writing a book (or learning the guitar or singing ‘properly’ or becoming a serious actor, etc etc) is some mysterious and difficult thing that is only for the special, talented few.  It’s not true.

We all have stories in us and telling them is a great and brave thing to do.  Nobody can tell your story like you can.  I don’t believe in that ‘X Factor’ type trope that ‘you just have to want it enough’ – that’s not what it’s about – but I do believe that ideas and imagination and hard work can take you a long way.

In the past I have been accused of having a slapdash ‘that’ll do’ attitude towards my work.  And it’s true.  Maybe it’s not always a virtue but I’m kind of proud of it and it has served me well.  I’m not a perfectionist.  But I’m a person who gets things done.

It doesn’t have to be perfect.  It just has to exist, and then you can do what you like with it.  This is probably why I am such a big fan of DIY culture – fanzines and underground bands, and people making stuff and general enthusiasm.  I always want to be an enthusiast, and meeting brilliant teenagers is a great reminder of why.

In a workshop today, we came up with ideas for stories – there would be a hundred ways of telling them and nobody’s story would be the same.

I am sure that the girls I met today are going to do many great and interesting and brilliant things, and that makes me feel much better about a world that can sometimes seem very bleak, and for that I am grateful.

Fittingly, Sunderland is the hometown of Kenickie, one of my favourite teenage bands and a perfect example of DIY brilliance – friends who decided to be a band, made up the rules as they went along and just did it (and incidentally, in a pleasing circular twist, Ms Lauren Laverne once sent me a lovely encouraging letter about my long-ago fanzine)...

The joy this video brings me is basically off the scale.

Almost a mirror

I think 2017 has got off to a rough, or at least shaky, start for a lot of people.  January feels very bleak.  We are all doing our best and struggling.

My theory is we all got so hung up on '2016 was the worst, can't wait for it to be over!' (which I guess was broadly true), that we're all extra disappointed that nothing has magically changed.  I mean, with the wonder of hindsight, why would it?  What were we expecting?  But we had to cling on to something.

As for me, I've been struggling to write, struggling to stay healthy.  I started the year with good such good intentions, also with 108 sun salutations (of which possibly more later).  Then I hit a wall.  A grim, cold, dark, January wall.

And now it's about whatever gets me through the days, which seems to be through the media of hibernation and carbohydrates.  I may be aiming for morbid obesity by February, but I'll deal with that when the days get a bit lighter.

As always, in the meantime, there is joy in the tiny things.  Dancing.  Winter sunshine, today, for the first time in a long time.  Running at night - I never usually do it, but the mood struck me the other evening and I set off at about 10pm for a long run through the streets of Brighton; it was something close to magic.  Porridge and coffee on cold mornings.  Over-the-knee suede boots that have turned out to be surprisingly practical.  Staying in bed, frankly.

On another whim, I took myself off to the cinema to se La La Land.  It was just for something to fill the hours, really.  I knew very little about it and expected only some jolly singing and dancing, maybe some bright colours to perk up my poor tired eyes.  Well, if you haven't seen it yet then I'd say the less you know about it in advance the better.  I have been badgering all of my friends to see it so that we can discuss at great length.  It was not in the least what I anticipated and it smashed every possible expectation I had.

So, here's to those who dream and those who are struggling.  It seems to be a lot of us, at the moment.  It's a hard path to take but here we still are.  I'm with you.

Current soundtrack, conversely the most gorgeously romantic imaginable, which is transporting me swooningly out of this endless dark winter today*.  When your heart is really on its knees, I can only recommend listening on a semi-permanent loop and thinking of that beautiful man who you don't know very well in the real world but reads you Rimbaud from 6,000 miles away...  It's all out there somewhere.  It's got to be, right?

* Yes, I do know that Rowland S. Howard meant it ironically, but I don't care.  I don't care so much that if I ever get married I think I would like to dance to this song.  I don't think Nick Cave cares either.

Sounds of 2017 (nothing new here)

So, I stayed in by myself for new year.  It was nice.  I did a lot of writing, built a fire (burned a bit of sage), sipped a bit of tequila, watched TV.  That was basically it.

As midnight approached, I thought about myself, my friends and family, my neighbours, the world.  All the things I am wishing for us all.  I honestly felt a great sense of joy and peace, sitting there alone on my sofa.

I could hear kids outside in the street (there was some sort of rowdy teen party going on down the road), see lights on in neighbours' houses and hear voices drifting in through my window.  I hoped for good things for us all.

When midnight hit, and fireworks went off outside and I heard someone shouting 'happy fucking new year!', I listened to this song - and it was true.

When I woke up in the morning, it was sunny.  As I got up to make myself some coffee, before a long wallow in a hot bath, I thought about what I wanted to be my first song of the first day of the year.  And what I put on the record player - of course, of course - was this.

2017

A belated happy new year...  It's been a slow start, courtesy of dark mornings, broken sleep patterns and The Good Intentions Paving Co.

I'm not sure how I feel about the current climate of '2016 was the worst year ever' / '2017 has GOT to be better!'.  I find it a bit dispiriting.  Not feeling sorry for myself here, it's just the way it goes.  However, I  honestly feel that I've had four or five years now of utter turmoil, intermittent disasters, unwanted change, diminishing returns and fruitless soul-searching - interspersed with moments of success and joy.  I don't buy this idea that a good year must follow; it doesn't work like that.  I also can't quite subscribe to 2016 being as bad as people made out - most of the people bitching about it have their health and a roof over their heads.

What I do know is that we can try to be good people and work hard, and make the year as good as we possibly can in our own way.  I believe there is great comfort in managing to find a kind of happiness in the unhappiest times.  You can find flashes of joy in the smallest and most unexpected places.  This is what keeps us going.

Sermon over.  In other news, here is What I Did In The Holidays:

• A lot of self-imposed solitude and writing.
• Fires.
• Fell in love with Rogue One.
• Stayed home alone and sober on New Years Eve, accidentally got falling-down-drunk on New Years Day.
• Went for a long country walk by myself, enjoyed it.
• Meant to read many books, read none.
• Cried over broken washing machine, got a new one, felt like a grown-up.
• Watched A LOT of 'Brooklyn 99' and 'Garfunkel and Oates'.
• Stayed in bed.