Jenn Ashworth

On Wednesday 31st August at 6pm I will be in Preston Waterstones discussing Cold Light with the book group.

I don’t know if any bookish Prestonians read this blog, but if you do, and you’re free on Wednesday, and you’d like to chat about the book with us, come along!

There are some discussion prompts for reading groups here. But really, we get to talk about whatever we like.

Freestyle conversation. Books. Preston. Brill!

Today at 1pm I will be on the John Gilmore Show on BBC Radio Lancashire.

This will be the second time I’ve been on the radio. The last time, about three years ago, I confessed, live on air, to liking Will Young. I have no idea why I did that, because I don’t. Well, I don’t dislike him. I just don’t know all that much about him. Will Young and I are not *like that*. We’re actually strangers. You can see why I’ve avoided radio since then.

Tune in to listen to more of my anxiety filled fictional confessions this afternoon.

Meet Bill and Ted, the mini mishie muses.

I’ve been away for a little while.  I am thousands of miles away from DePreston and visiting a place where it is possible to get sunburned in 20 minutes.

So far I’ve been staying in Salt Lake City,  making day trips out and about. Tomorrow I’m off to South West Utah for a bit more of an explore and a think before I head back home.

This trip is half research for my novel in the making, half personal oddessy. I don’t think I’ll blog about it too much just yet.

Half formed ideas are no good. I can feel things tumbling around in there and I’ve been scribbling words down in my notebook most nights, but it’s not time to write yet. And anyway,  I am saving all the best stuff for my book and I don’t want to take the lid off the fizz in my brain just yet.

First, an interview I did with Nik Perring about his new collection of flash Not So Perfect is up at the Lancashire Writing Hub. Nik talks sagely about all kinds of things, and there’s a chance to win a signed copy of Not So Perfect. So off you go.

I quite like doing interviews. I plan to do more. Watch this space, etc.

Next, I’m on a panel event for the Manchester Literature Festival this weekend. Me and Nicholas Royle, author, brains behind the Nightjar Press and general Good Guy will be talking Writing and Place at the Cornerhouse with Clare Dudman during the Rainy City Stories event.

And last weekend I was helping to launch both the Manchester Literature Festival generally and the Bugged anthology in particular with Jo Bell and a host of other poets, storyists and flashers (?) Here on Magma, Jo Bell writes about the thinking behind the project - if you know me, you’ll see immediately why (apart from the eavesdropping angle, of course) I was so keen to get involved – no evaluation forms? No funding hoops to slither, dog-like, through? Sign me up!

You can click here and read a description of the project and book launch at the official MLF blog. For free and as a bonus, you can also see a picture of me and the McTiny reading together. It was his first literary event. He was fairly well behaved until Ian from the BBC tried to interview us. I don’t think he liked that much. Sorry Ian.

My story is about midwives and shoes. If you’d like to read it, you can order the book from Completely Novel by clicking here.

I am also suffering from haircut remorse. If you see me out and about any time soon, I’d much rather you compliment me on my (too short) hair than my writing or ability to breed high quality man-children.

Because that’s how shallow I really am.

Ugly slab and pinch pots with blue slip.

I made these last week. This week I will make some more and find out if these ones have survived the kiln.

There are new words to do with making pots. Like ‘grog’.

Apparently the clay we use has very fine grog, making it suitable for throwing (using on a wheel) as well as manual work.

I have used the wheel before, but we won’t be doing it in this class until week 4.

Using water and a sponge to smooth the thumbprints from the outside of your pots brings the grog to the surface and is considered cheating.

Very pleased to be back home safe from London and I did not get eaten by rats / suffocate on the tube because I didn’t need to take a ride on it, which was a relief. So that’s one of my current concerns ticked off the list.

I met all the folks at Sceptre – my new editor, and the marketing person, and foreign rights people, and lots of other people (it was a bit like speed dating, except I got to drink tea and look at book covers so better than speed dating) who were kind and enthusiastic and worked in really nice looking offices high up in a big glass building. I tried to get into the building by bouncing off the said glass, mistaking it for an open door – but only the extremely professional reception person saw me do that, and didn’t mention it, so all is well there too.

It is all very exciting. Cold Light will be coming out in May 2011 which sounds like a long way away, but in publishing time is actually very near and there are a lot of jobs to do before then. I’ve already mentioned the cover – which is a secret and not finalised right now, but even the drafts (is that the right word?) look brilliant. I wanted something intriguing and dark and enigmatic and that’s just what the preliminary covers look like. There’s going to be a hardback and a paperback a little bit later and an audio book (this last one has me delirious with anticipation because I LOVE audio books – just not the ones that make me dream about seagulls) and I don’t do outward signs of excitement very well so I’m not sure if it showed, but inside I was hopping about with glee.

I always associate the word ‘glee’ with Rumpelstiltskin. In the Ladybird book I had, I think he did a bit of glee, and then when she guessed his name, stamped his pointy foot so hard it went through the floor. Maybe it is hopping I associate with Rumelstiltskin. Hopping with anger. Hopping with glee. Well, I wasn’t angry and I was hopping, but only inside. I didn’t stamp on / through the floor. Not even when I walked into the glass door. Not even when, on the way back home, I paid £95 for some lukewarm undrinkable white wine on the train home. (I have VERY low standards when it comes to the quality of booze that I’m willing to pour down my neck, but all the same.)

Edits are going nicely, thank you. I’m now over the worst and into the realms of ‘tweaking’ after writing two new scenes, rewriting them a few (okay, loads of) times and choosing the best places for them in the book. So much of my process is trial and error that I’d be embarrassed to let you in on it. I have one chapter that I’ve fallen out with and am still trying to wrestle into submission – so have just turned it over to the wise eyes of the creative writing workshop I keep mentioning but forgetting to blog about properly. All the loose ends are coming together and I am confronting, again, just how poor my spelling can be when I’m typing quick (or slow). Looking forward to getting it off my desk because the ideas are coming thick and fast for novel number three. No title yet.

I keep having dreams about big shopping centres and huge shops like Ikea. I think this is because I’m spending a lot of time on Cold Light and the main character works in a shopping centre, and she is also remembering several important events that happened in Debenhams, of all places.

And in advance of the McTiny’s arrival there were several real-life trips to Ikea to buy chairs and cots and things. All pregnant women have to wander around Ikea getting sweaty and angry in the last month of their confinement. It’s in the rules, or something.

And I was looking through a box of old handwritten stories under my bed, partly to make some space and partly because I wanted to scan a story that I’d written when I was about nine and send it to Socrates for Other magazine. I chucked out a lot of it, and I was worried about that, like I’d done something wrong, or foolish, but then actually felt good about it and wanted to throw more of my things out.

I don’t know exactly what it is. Every few months I have an urge to throw out lots of my possessions and I feel oppressed by how many things I have. We’ve been thinking about buying a house, and it seems silly to me to buy an entire building just to keep stuff in, when that means you’ve got to spend more of your time arranging and dusting the stuff and wandering around Debenhams and Ikea to buy shelves and boxes and Storage Solutions in order to keep the stuff in and the dust out. A lot of the time I know I’d prefer a tent or a van just so I didn’t need to wonder about what colour curtains to get.

So I have been dreaming about Ikea. About trying to ask the Mr to buy me a wardrobe, but feeling embarrassed about it, so asking him in a secret code, and him not understanding.

I am embarrassed, generally, by my need for wardrobes.

And still thinking about all those stories under the bed, how they felt like they were worth keeping – that I or someone else would want to read them again, and how you’ve got to have a silly amount of arrogance in order to want to add to the amount of stuff in the world. To make your words into a physical object and then spend time storing and dusting and arranging it. It struck me with a kind of silence and I suddenly felt I didn’t have anything I wanted to say badly enough that would mean someone would have to go and wander around Ikea and buy a bookcase to keep it in. I felt like if I was to delete everything and chuck away all my possessions I’d feel good about it.

I have been here before, of course. The only thing to do is to shut up and keep typing.

Because I’m still not quite sure I understand what is going on, I’m going to keep harping on about this. A few days ago, Jenn won against Steve. We went to penalties. Is that good? I hardly ever win stuff.

I wanted to bid on and try to win this, but when it comes to Ebay I get carried away too easily. I nearly bought a rascal van last week, and had to step away from the computer and calm myself with a pair of vanilla slices.

Sorry blog readers. I’ve been quite and unexpectedly poorly and although I’m on the mend now, it is going to take me a while to catch up with things. Sadly I’ve had to back out of my last two Too Much Information gigs as well as a couple of other events I was planning to attend / workshops I was planning to teach. Sorry if you bought tickets. If it’s any consolation, no-one in the world hates being ill more than me (possibly the Mr hates it more, as it’s his job to stand over me and prise the computer out of my hands).

I hope to be back to blogging again soon, as I have some good news to share as well as some up and coming projects I want to write about. For the time being, I’ll get to your message / email / voicemail / while I can, don’t worry about me and check out these links:

Bugged, a mass overhearing / creative eaves dropping project I’m taking part in – developed by Jo Bell and David Calcutt and launching on the 1st July. Here for more. I’m really excited about this, and have spent some of my time languishing in waiting rooms, hospital wards, clinics and pharmacies scribbling down my over hearings for this project…. can’t wait to read yours.

Next, Rainy City Stories and Creative Tourist are teaming up to run a short story competition and I’m on the judging panel. You can find out more, including how to enter and all about the prizes, by clicking right through to here.

Not So Perfect – Nik Perring’s story collection. I’ve read it and liked it and will be blogging about it better soon, but until I’m able to, take a look at the online buzz surrounding the launch via Nik’s blog here.

To coincide with the US Launch of A Kind of Intimacy, a guest blog by me about one of my favourite books in the on-line version of Elle (I know, and trust me, whatever you’re giggling about at the back, it occurred to me first). Along the same lines, a blog about finding Annie in Borders – face out, no less (we don’t have them here anymore…) by my friend and fellow writer Brian Centrone. Thanks Brian!

That’s all for now. See you soon…

Something strange is happening here on one of my old posts. It’s not even about writing. It’s about a mole I saw once.

Thank you Mole Poets. You are making me happy.