Hiding behind words

This week I have been thinking about words and images and meanings. Sometimes we can’t quite find one single word that expresses the multitude of meaning, or the shades of meaning our imagination conjures up for us. I like to define things: people, words, stories, because I’m not very good at reading between the lines, to use a cliche, and I sometimes don’t understand what a person means if they are not really explicit. I am good at recognising images of shades of grey, not so much with spoken ones.

Someone (Emma Baird!) said that she thinks I am a visual person. And I think she’s right. If I can’t picture it, I can’t write it. But I am always compelled to try to picture ‘it’ – be it a story idea or a cover design or a garden feature, a home makeover.

So when I came up with the absolute vaguest idea for a title and story for book 10 of my Dottie Manderson mysteries, (let’s just remind ourselves, I’ve only recently started writing book 5, so I’m talking a possible publication between 2020 and 2022… I like to look ahead.) I wasn’t able to relax about it because I couldn’t picture a book cover, or a title, and this bothered me.

I was mulling over cold heart, the coldest heart, your cold, my cold, everybody’s cold, colder or coldest heart. It was a nebulous idea that stuck in my head but refused to blossom. A browse through Pixabay’s images usually sets me off in the right direction, but not this time. I was offered images of hearts, literal and metaphoric, and ice cubes. This was not helping.

A thesaurus is often a big help too, so I had a quick look and found suggestions of dead, unfeeling, (yes these were kind of what I was getting at), blue, uncooked (!?) and impassive (again, yes, kind of…). It just wasn’t the kind of thing you could find an image for on the image sites. A dead blackbird, a brick wall, a funeral. Just not quite what I wanted.

Words have so many possibilities, don’t they? Even though a dictionary may define a word, we often use words in a very personal sense, with our own definition overlaying the ‘official’ one. Let’s not forget, no dictionary was beamed down from Planet X with a set-in-stone array of words and their meanings. The meaning of every word in use today – and those we will use tomorrow – has been developed, changed and somehow agreed upon over thousands of years of speech, social interaction, education and writing. It’s really quite amazing when you think about it.

So I was overwhelmed by the possibility of choice and variation of shadow. I set it aside. Uneasily, as it irks me to leave something unsettled.

Then on Saturday I was reading Dead before Death, a sonnet by Christina Rossetti. I love that gal’s poems. And what was the opening line? I’m glad you asked. It was:

Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold

With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes

And so, like a tiny bolt of lightning, inspiration dropped on me. The story, and its title, fell into my mind. So, book 10 is to be: Changed and Cold: a Dottie Manderson mystery. Phew. I’m still no nearer to a cover image, (suggestions on a post-card, please) but at least I’ve got something concrete to work on. Now all I need to do is write the next 5 books…

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Perilously close to Dalmuir…

Ooh dear. So here’s the thing. There’s this lovely lady called Emma Baird. She is a writer. And I’m going to blame her for this because in all honesty, I can’t remember if I said to her, ‘Wow what a great idea if…’ or if it was her who said that to me.  So let’s blame her. Next Monday, not today but next week, she and I are going to step WAY out of our joint comfort zones and stand–or sit, they might have chairs–up in front of easily tens of people, and talk about what it’s like being a writer, and in particular what’s it’s like being an Indie or self-published writer. (note to self: check blouse for food stains, you know what a messy eater you are and no one needs to see that.)

So if you are in the Dalmuir area at 7pm next Monday, the 19th November, and you think, ‘Ooh, it’s a bit chilly out here, what shall I do?’ go into the library and sit down and listen to a saintly Scottish young woman and a mad old bat from England (that’s me) waffle on about what writing is to them, why they do it, how they do it, and why that means you could do it too. Because, think about it, you could!

Isn’t that amazing? Because five years ago, no one had even heard of me, and now, at least 12 people know me and have read my books. I’m exaggerating. It’s about 11.

Seriously though, it’s been a weird five years, full of highs and lows, full of challenges, tears, and ecstatic ‘OMG it worked!’ moments. There was that one crazy day shortly after I published my first book Criss Cross (which is still FREE for eBook download btw) when someone I didn’t know bought a copy of my book. If you have never done this, I really don’t think you’ll understand, unless you paint and people buy your work, or you sing and people pay to listen to you, or… that kind of thing. It was one of the most genuinely surreal moments of my life. Because yes, I know I had written it, rewritten it, edited it and uploaded it to the relevant platforms for the exact purpose of selling it to unwary members of the public, but even so, I cannot help but marvel at this magical revelation: someone bought my book.

Once, a couple of months back, ‘someone’ (no idea who, well, I have a couple of ideas, but no specific evidence) mentioned my book on Twitter, and in one (glorious) afternoon and evening I had 3800 downloads of the eBook. And this of course led to increased sales across all my books for a few days. That has happened a couple of times actually, and it is so strange when you can almost see the little dot that represents your book sales going up and up and up before your very eyes. To think that someone I don’t know, whom I may never meet, who probably lives thousands of miles away from me or perhaps, just a mile down the road, has chosen my book. That is why I do this. It’s not about the money, though that helps, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t matter, but it’s not the main reason. the main reason is that weird connection thing, where you have written something that someone else thinks, wow, I’d like to read this.

So thank you for buying my book, nebulous, anonymous person-I-have-never-met. I really hope you enjoy it. And as for you Dalmuirites: get ready!

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