To Plan Or Not To Plan...

I've no idea when actual Autumn starts, but as far as I'm concerned, it's begun. I know this because a few days ago I woke up to fog, and as I type this very sentence I am wearing a jumper. Case closed.

Me, right now, in a jumper!

Autumn usually prompts me to feel refreshed and raring to go. I buy an academic diary, I batch cook hearty meals for the weeks ahead, and I plan the following term's work, right up to Christmas. You can take the girl outta teaching but you can't take the teaching outta the girl, or something. (And it's woman, btw.) The point is, this is usually a new start. 

Except it isn't. Not this year. First there was the Rule of Six. Then Liverpool provided its residents with their own extra rules. Then Whitty and Valance talked the nation through the scary data. Then the Prime Minister got on and hinted at further restrictions coming up over the forthcoming weeks. All this was done in an eight-day period and I don't imagine that's the end of it. Planning ahead has repeatedly proven to be a big fat waste of time. I haven't bothered getting an academic diary for 2020/21. What's the point? I can map out the following weeks' plans all I like, but it doesn't mean they're going to pan out the way I intend. I can set deadlines and work myself into a stress about meeting them, but with every change to my daily routine that's thrown out on Twitter - or if they're spoiling us, televised speech - then it will only result in excessive crossings out and scribbled changes. This won't help me feel organised, so I'm not going to bother in the first place. The only plans I have right now are the niece's 1st birthday party, and a family caravan weekend in Wales. Both are next month. The party is currently rejigged into shifts - small groups of the family passing a present to a small child in numbers that total less than six. And the weekend away is not even worth thinking about yet. We'll know we're going when the day arrives and the rules haven't changed again. No point looking forward to it. No point planning to go. It's one day at a time. 

But enough of the doom and gloom. The events of the past six months have shown that people can adapt and that includes me. I WILL adapt my Autumn routine. I WILL make plans. It's what I do. I'll just have to plan things that are unlikely to be changed by the powers that be. Here we go.

This is a previous Autumn's
soup creation. ISN'T IT PRETTY.

1. Batch Cook Soup

Butternut squash, chilli and coconut. Broccoli and stilton. Spicy pepper and coriander. French onion. THERE ARE SO MANY OPTIONS. To be honest, the enjoyable Sunday afternoon of chopping veg and blitzing hot liquid is much more fun than the eventual months of eating it. But look, it's Autumn. Tupperware boxes of frozen soup are what it's all about. Defrosting one for a late lunch goes hand in hand with a cosy jumper, log fire, and steaming cup of tea. The risk is that with nothing else to do, I will be overrun with soup by November, but still. It's relaxing to cook. No virus can take that away. 

A slow, steady
work in progress. 

2. No-Deal Drawer

I am categorically against panic buying. That's my statement and I stand by that. But slowly building up store cupboard reserves for whatever comes at the end of the year isn't the worst idea. It's sensibly cautious thing to do, and the planning of it can be a fun project to occupy a rainy afternoon. Make lists of ingredients you can store, that will make food you like. There's no point stashing 20kg of pasta if you've nothing to make sauce, or add flavour. Sauces, pulses, spices, dried veg, cereal, preserves. Whatever floats your boat and gives you the means to rustle up a basic chilli or curry should the need arise. I did this in the build-up to previous deadlines too. The tins and pasta I had put aside for last October were very useful in March when shopping was tricky. (And supply chains weren't even affected then.) As long as it's a couple of extra items here and there, week by week, it's not going to cause any problems. And, if the microwave pings in time and the oven-ready deal rocks up before the year's end, then there's no harm done. You've got groceries in for the start of next year when you can't be arsed shopping. Win.

Earwigging provides
SO much content.

3. Work

To repeat myself from six months ago, I am lucky. I can work from home. I have everything I need in my kitchen to do my job. All of these are true statements. Except the events six months ago proved how wrong that was in reality. I might technically have all I need - a power socket, a laptop, cups of tea - but that wasn't enough. I needed to have the freedom to mix up my routine. I needed the bustle of Costa a couple of times a week. I needed my writing space in the Pharmacy office in order to change the four walls around me. With those changes taken away, the writing stopped. My brain packed in. I cannot let this happen again. For as long as it's allowed, I will make sure I work out and about a few times a week. When/if that changes, I will FORCE myself to keep working. If it means driving somewhere scenic and working from my car seat, I will do it. The March/April/May brain freeze can't happen again. I have time to plan for that this time around. 

If it's a Christmas in lockdown, I will just
have to eat everybody's roast potatoes for
them. It's a challenge but I'll do my best.

4. Come Closer. I'm going to whisper it.(...Christmas... Shhhhh!)

Look, I KNOW. It's far too soon to be thinking about that now. (It's probably not.) The fact that no one has a clue what this Christmas will look like, is one good reason not to dwell yet. If we're still limited to groups of six (although in my neck of the woods, households can't mix in private homes) the seventeen of us that should be eating roasties together on Boxing Day will have an interesting dilemma. (Question: If you pull the short straw does that mean you miss out, or that your attendance is mandatory? Answers on a postcard.) But forget about the logistics of that for now. When I say Christmas, what I really mean is Christmas films. And yes, it's far too soon for Home Alone and Elf. We all know that. But Netflix has done sterling work over the past few years to bring us cheesy, snowy, cosy, daft, fluffy, festive content whose sole purpose is to MAKE US FEEL NICE. With the darker evenings and the chillier weather, I see no reason not to dive into seasonal cinema as soon as possible. With no friends round for BBQs and garden get togethers, what on earth else will you do? Make sourdough? Nah. That was so First Lockdown. Instead get on to Let it Snow, The Christmas Inheritance or The Christmas Prince trilogy. Shmaltzy and restorative. Just what the fear of a second lockdown needs.

I have other plans in my head that will see me right over the next few months, but they're less fun. Sort out my wardrobe and tidy my desk might make me feel better once they're done, but they don't sound particularly exciting for a list of cheery plans. Likewise, I'll have to tackle the Christmas logistics at some point, but not yet. All headachy jobs to be done. The trick will be to space them out with cheering activities between them. And for someone who started this Ramble throwing her hands in the air at the lack of opportunity to plan, I'd say it looks like I have adapted. 

Have a lovely week, folks. 

Choose (Pretend) Life...

Almost exactly like this
but without the cat.

About a year ago, I turned up to a family get together at my parents' place, to be greeted by my then three-year-old nephew in a gendered-nurses' costume with shiny pink Disney heels. (Proper cute tbh.) He asked me if I had anything wrong with me that he could fix. I said, 'Ooh yes! I have period pain. My tummy is sore.' This was the wrong answer. He replied, 'Nooo. Not in real life, in pretend life!' I explained that in pretend life I was in tip top condition and training for an Iron Woman competition*. He moved on to find other people to pretend to be ill, so he could pretend to be a nurse.

I loved the exchange at the time and jotted it down for now. Pretend Life. It was so clear to that three year old, and all part of his game. Using his imagination, dressing up, role play – he was having a blast. And, looking at it from an educational point of view, it was character building. Learning about the world, putting yourself in someone else’s (Disney) shoes, acting? It’s an essential part of development, whatever form it takes. And knowing there's a difference between fact and fiction is part of the game; part of emotional development.

No we don't, Tan. We can pretend!

It’s why I get so squeamish around the enforced belief of Father Christmas. Santa is a great character to think about in Pretend Life. At the appropriate time of year, the ritual of writing him a letter, or leaving out a mince pie is lovely. It’s also really good, education wise – letter writing for fun! An English teacher’s dream! But the squeamishness comes when adults shout down any question of Santa’s existence. Lying to kids feels wrong. Santa, like lots of other stories, can be fully loved by exploring Pretend World. Suspending disbelief is something kids do easily. But being told something is absolutely true until some random time in the future when you’re told it's not, makes me squirm.

 

The characters here were
first imagined in 2012.
Next year, the follow-on
book will be out. That's 
nine years of Pretend Life
existence for Tilda.

In my own Pretend Life, I have thought about the characters in my new book since 2012. They feel real to me even though I know they're not. I know what they'll say in any given situation; I know what they sound like, look like, and what they dream of. They're not real but I can imagine them easily. Pretend Life doesn’t stop when you put away the dressing up clothes. It’s there in other ways.

 

Here's another nephew-related anecdote. In February my sister’s birthday meal took place at a pizza restaurant. There was an open kitchen in one corner with a pizza oven, visible to the diners. Fast forward weeks later. A WhatsApp arrives with a sweet snippet of reported convo between the Neph and his dad. ‘Dad, was that pizza oven made of snow?’ This was shared with the group where we all laughed or ahhhhed. (Not to the kid’s face. We’re not monsters.) But then someone pointed out how igloo-esque it looked. It was sort of domed and (I think) a pale colour. From his developing imagination and real-life experiences, it ‘might’ have been made from snow. His dad explained that it wasn’t and that snow would melt in the heat. But still. It was all learning. He'd wanted to check about the igloo-looking pizza oven. The igloo oven that none of us adults had considered for a second because we weren’t regularly engaging in playful imagery or Pretend Life.

 

I've just found this photo on Trip
Advisor, and it's bloody obvious.
Of COURSE it looks like an igloo.

Last week in Aberystwyth, where – if you read my post you'll know I was enjoying a mini break in the same place my new book is set - I moved between Pretend Life and Real Life, repeatedly. I ate a meal in a restaurant where my characters eat. I was seated in the window, overlooking the sea, just as my characters do. I looked out onto the prom as I ate my tagliatelle, and pictured the events that I had imagined happen there. It was joyous. The seamless switch between my real evening, and the evening I had created in the book, where a load of action and drama happens, was marvellous. My evening was enriched by my inner world.

 

How do adults – the ones who are not writing novels – use their imaginations? Is this where sport comes in? Does dreaming of your lower-league team lifting the FA Cup to rapturous crowds, occupy your designated day-dreaming time? Maybe it's box sets. Sinking into the lives of others every night for a week, takes you out of your own existence and drops you into another world. Or perhaps it's old-skool hallucinogenic drugs. That's the thrill that gets you through whatever real life throws at you. The late education-guru, Sir Ken Robinson said 'We are educating people out of their creative capacities...we don't grow into creativity, we grow out of it, or rather, we get educated out of it.' This seems a terrible thing to do. I'd say adults need as an enriching mental world as children. The imagination doesn't get boarded up and covered with dust sheets, just because the childhood years are over. The mental thrill I've had this week - from visiting places I've imagined for the past twelve months, from picturing what happens to some fictional people I created a few years ago - has been such fun. It shouldn’t be necessary to write a novel in order to access it. Of course, there's always the old standby. Sexy role play! I'm sure there are lots of adults who manage this perfectly well. Their mundane routines are utterly enlivened by unleashing an alter-ego in the bedroom. For me, the scene from Modern Family, where Claire and Phil have a bash at it means this can only ever be comedic. Soz.

Well, we have to start somewhere.

Perhaps this is why many adults hold onto the idea of Father Christmas so vehemently. The only access back into Pretend Life after all the creativity was drained out of them, is through kids, and for one night a year. Perhaps the person who created the NORAD Santa Tracker was simply bored shitless with their dry routine and needed an escape. Fair play to them, then. Who can argue with upping the fun. I think the point I'm trying to make is that it shouldn't be reduced to so small a window. So next time I'm asked by a small, unqualified nurse in comedy shoes what's wrong with me, I will dig deep and think of something far more exotic than the reality of the moment. It's the quickest way into Pretend Life, after all.

Have a lovely week, folks.

*I didn't actually make the Iron Woman comment. That was a joke for now. You're welcome. The reality was more likely that I walked past him, flopped onto the settee, and shovelled some codeine into my mouth.

A Walking Tour of Somewhere Else...

Ah Tenet. Your charms were lost on me. But 
I thoroughly enjoyed being back in a cinema, in
a dentist's chair with a cherry coke. Upsides.

Breaking News: I'm on holiday. I'm writing this today, three whole days before I went away. Or, to put it another way, I wrote this last week, but I'm typing these words in real time. I am living in the moment, even though it's a moment last Friday. Perhaps because I saw time-twisting Tenet last week, this makes perfect sense to me. (My three word review? Not for me.) So now it's Monday morning and all being well, I'm not in the one-mile radius that has contained the majority of my social life since February. Fingers crossed I made it; I escaped the confines of the village I live outside, and am now somewhere else. I'm counting on there being no last minute policy changes that mean I'm not sunning myself on the Cambrian Coast, dodging rain clouds and feeling the tension drain with each ebb of the tide. Only time will tell. I'll find out, well...now.

Being somewhere else with
cheese is the absolute dream. 

This mini-break to the place I escape every year, is particularly gratifying this time around. Obviously, the fact I am somewhere else, is far sweeter than I've ever felt on previous trips. Since making this booking, I've refused to get excited. I've assumed that when the time came, it'd be called off. There'd be some restriction about entering Wales, that would be announced just as I'd packed up my car. But as of last week/now, it's still on. The sweet feeling of escape continues.

Sweet Aber. Loveliest 
seaside town of the plain.

The second reason I'm well up for this holiday, is even better. The last time I went to this, my favourite UK holiday destination in all the world, I had a rough plan of a novel plus a few early chapters under my belt. This year, the whole thing is done. (Subject to tweaking, natch.) And the reason that's particularly marvellous on this visit to Aberystwyth, is that the novel is set in Aberystwyth. I know. How very meta. 

I do know I've mentioned this before. Last year, around this time, I wrote about how much I love films that bring a location to life. I wrote that particular blog post from the apartment I am about to visit/am currently in. That fact hasn't changed. I love a vivid location. I love when a writer (or director) makes the reader (or viewer) feel like they've been to the place they describe (or show). Some people might find that a distraction, but for me it's a hook.

The cliff railway gets a
mention in the book. A whole
chapter takes place at the top.

So this year is particularly exciting. Not only am I somewhere else, not only do I have a completed draft of a novel set in Aberystwyth, but I can also embark on my very own book's walking tour. Yes! In a wholly-expected egotistical move, I will be spending part of my mini break visiting the specific locations that get a mention. This will include the more mundane delights of the little Tesco and the chippy on the corner, along with the epic majesty of the cliff railway and the hospitality at Baravin - a restaurant that has been used (in my head) as the location for the climax of the second part of the book. A little further up the road is Y Banera - the place in which a chunk of Part Three takes place. I will visit there too - for their lovely wine as well as to remind myself of the logistics of where the characters sit, chat and - in one racy section - snog. I know. Actual porn!

My walking tour has
EVERYTHING.

For now, however, let's keep our fingers crossed that I made it across the border, and I'm spending today/next Monday in my happy place. Meanwhile, I hope those of you who've felt the desperation to be in your own somewhere elses, have been able to make that happen, or are planning to do so as soon as is convenient. We've all got our favourite somewhere else. Hopefully I am in mine right this minute. Otherwise, my somewhere else is, infuriatingly, somewhere else and I am currently at home, annoyed at myself for jinxing my hols by writing this post. Picture me shaking my fist at Last Friday's Nicky. Go on, do it. It'll make me feel better.

Have a lovely week, folks.

How To Be A Winner...

How's your self-esteem today? Buoyant? Dwindling? Elusive? Perhaps you'd prefer me not to enquire right now but come back when you're feeling a little more marvellous. If we ignore the psychological research for a sec, most people understand self-esteem as the positivity they feel about themselves. With the technical research added in, we know that age and life circumstances can affect its levels, and experiencing trauma can knock everything off balance. So, I'll repeat the question. How's your self-esteem today? Are you walking tall with a visible hair swish, or would you prefer to crawl under the covers and have another bash tomorrow? All answers are valid.

Years after my psychological academic training, I’ve forgotten most of the research that's been done on the subject. The parts I do remember have merged with other theories. Basically, I'm saying, 'Don't quote me. I know nothing for real'. What follows are my own thoughts, not peer-reviewed, statistically-accepted studies. You know the score. It's just rambling. Just a bit of fun.

Hello afternoons, days 1-16 and
 26-28 of the month, and the non
 Autumn/Winter part of the year!

But back to the topic in hand. Put simply, my self-confidence and self-esteem differ wildly, depending on the season, the day, or more specifically, the hour. I’m always happier with myself and the world from September to March. Breaking it down more, I’m always ache-free and in my emotional peak from days seventeen to twenty-five of my menstrual cycle. And then even more broken down, I'm much more alert in the mornings. I can tackle any task I need before lunch but after that I’m fighting to stay focused, counting down the hours until I can officially close my laptop and give up. (Even though that unofficially happens three hours earlier around 2pm.) So, depending on the month, the day, or the hour, I can be a confident go-getting writing Queen, or an insecure, writers-block-ridden husk of a woman. FUN. 

Lots of hair and makeup
efforts here, but it doesn't help
 build a strong narrative arc.

Because I am old and wise now (LOLZZZZZZZ) I’ve worked out some tricks. Basic ways of making the insecure husk appear like the confident Queen on the days when it’s necessary. Some are purely superficial. Slapping on the makeup, or taking time to blowdry my hair properly, can make me feel perkier. Let's be clear, the effects are short term, and not the best measure of writing ability. (Or any ability, for that matter. I know, it's true. My hair and makeup do not reflect my value. Breaking news, World!) So sometimes I need more. On the days when my brain has decided I'm only capable of writing rubbish, I have another trick. A better one.

I was not lying.
WINS amidst the boring stuff.

On my desktop, I have a folder called WINS. It’s full of screen shots, saved docs and links to websites, all of which big me up in some way. Yeah, I know. You’re conflicted right now. You want to dismiss me as a narcissistic horror, but you also know how much you're dying to create your own folder of WINS too. Because when I’ve forgotten how to write, or my menstrual anxiety (defo a thing, right?) is telling me I’m wasting my time, then a quick look at my editor’s comments, the Amazon reviews, or texts from friends saying lovely things, all cause my self-esteem to rise. It’s uncanny. WINS Folders: Every laptop should have one. 

Can you spot me? Woohooo!

This week, I was tagged in something wonderful on Facebook. I screenshot it and saved it straight to my WINS folder. My cousin in Australia alerted me to a child in her school, who had read Leeza McAuliffe Has Something To Say as part of a holiday reading challenge. Seeing it listed alongside the other books they had read, was fabulous. I got immediate chills and a proper thrill. That the months of typing my Word Doc in Allerton Road’s Costa had resulted in a kid in Adelaide reading the finished result, was properly gratifying. I checked my records. The immediate shiver of pride followed by the glow of warmth had nothing to do with optimum seasons, days or hours. It was solely down to the Australian reading child. For the rest of the day, my self esteem was in tip top shape. A brill thing had happened and made me feel spectacular. 

In times of turbulent change, whether pandemically related, getting older in general, or simply having a crap day, I highly recommend a WINS folder. Some people might add a cute picture from their kid or photo of a homemade birthday card. Others might have pictures of a DIY project they completed, showing their perseverance in the face of a challenge. For me, it's simple. I need the constant reassurance that I am marvellous. Happily for my friends and family, I have my trusty folder to take the weight of such a task. Get your WINS folders sorted today. It’s the only thing to rely on in these troubled times. 
Have a lovely week, folks.