Lost Apostrophe – the Diary of a Writing Group
by Rosalie Warren
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: EPISODE SIX: January 2015 – Rud Summerskill
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: EPISODE SIX: January 2015 – Rud Summerskill
My head’s still fizzing. Body too. Every bit of me’s fizzing. Can’t settle to anything today. Jim, my boss, has asked me twice if I’m OK and it’s not like him to be observant – not of people, anyway. Cars, yes. He can diagnose a car from right across the forecourt, as often as not, but people, no. Takes a lot to make Jim notice that there’s summat wrong.
Not that there’s owt wrong with me. Anything but. Best day of my life, apart from when the kids were born of course, and mebbe I should include the day I married Nic, but I’m not going to, because of the way it all turned out. Even though the day itself were pretty good. At the time, but not looking back, not now she’s with that stupid prick…
Anyway. Not going to think about him. Not letting anything spoil today – this week, this month. It’s bloody wonderful, that’s what it is. Me, Rud Summerskill, with a literary agent. One who thinks my book’s ‘in a class of its own’. Now mebbe for someone who allus got good school reports, went to college, university and all that crap – mebbe it wouldn’t mean so much. But to me… stupid little Rud who could never get his sums right or remember stuff for tests, who never even got picked for any teams… for a failure like me, it’s brilliant to finally have someone give you some praise.
To be fair on him, Jim allus praises you for a job well done, but I’ve kind of got used to that. I’m OK at my job but there’s no way you can be much more than OK in this line of work, unless you can sniff a car’s problems on the wind like old Jim, and I’ve never had that gift nor likely to. That’s why I’m dancing. Trying to sing – to find a song to fit my mood, but all my favourites are the downbeat ones, which says a lot about me, I reckon.
That one me Dad played – ‘Eye of the Tiger’ – mebbe that’s a good one except I don’t know t’ words. I’ll download it in my lunch break, see if it fits the bill. Mind you, if I start singing on the job, old Jim’s going to be more suspicious than ever.
Must call on me way home and tell Mum. She’ll be pleased for me. Allus believed in me, did Mum – encouraging me to write those stupid stories when I were a kid. Told me I had a way with words. No one else ever did. Stupid English teacher – Miss Riley – never got past my problems with grammar and spelling. Got that pretty much sorted now. Not the spelling so much, but the spell-checker catches most of it, and I know enough by now to put right the ones it gets wrong. And the grammar – well, since I got hold of that book I’ve pretty much got the idea. Punctuation, commas and all that. Not that hard really, once you get into it. Julianne at the writing group’s given me some good advice, too. That thing about deciding whether it’s ‘your’ or ‘you’re’ or – what’s the other one? Can’t remember – not to worry, I know it when I have to use it.
It were Julianne that told me not to try and write Queen’s English either – to stick to me own way of saying things. Yes, I know that ‘me’ should have been a ‘my’, I know that, but she said leave it the way you speak. So I do. And Bettina loves it. Says it’ll appeal to ‘at least one publisher she knows of, probably more’. ‘Raw and authentic,’ she said – same word as Julianne. Well, it’s the way I speak so I suppose it has to be authentic. Seems daft, after all them years at school being forced to write ‘properly’, but if it’s what the publishers like, that’s fine with me.
See I write from a ‘point of view’, that’s what it is – I have a ‘voice’. My main character speaks like me, so it’s easy. I’d have more trouble if he were a judge or a politician or summat, but he’s not. He just happens to be a car mechanic, same as me. From the same part of Yorkshire. Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy, as we used to say at school. I write the way I speak – the way I think – and everyone’s happy.
So, Bettina loves A Speedy Death but she wants a new title at some stage. No rush with that, though, she says. She loves all of the book except the ending. A bit too contrived, she says. I mentioned Agatha Christie but apparently you can’t do it that way any more. So she says to have a think and change it – not to change who the murderer is, thank God, but to ‘make subtle changes to the denouement’. OK, beautiful Bettina, can do. Can do anything for you. After that, once she’s happy with the rewritten ending, she’ll send it off to these publishers she’s got in mind. If more than one of them’s interested, they have a kind of auction where they bid off against each other to buy the publishing rights. And the one who wins – I get an advance from them. Money, upfront! Before a single person even buys me book.
Seems a bit too good to be true, I says to Bettina, but she says that’s how it’s done. Not that you get a big advance, not unless you’re JKR or James Patterson. Some new authors don’t get one at all. But she’s hopeful I will, cos she reckons they’ll be falling over themselves for Speedy. Christ. Never thought I’d see the day.
I’m trying to stay business-like over this. Julianne says don’t count me chickens and I see where she’s coming from – but then again, she weren’t there in London in Bettina’s office seeing that look in her eyes – that sparkle. Of course I won’t sign owt without getting it checked over – I’ve enough sense for that. Jim’s father-in-law’s a lawyer – he married well, our Jim – and Jim says he’ll ask him to have a look at it.
Can’t help thinking about Nic’s face, when she gets to hear about it. Me, published! She never believed in me, that’s for sure. When I think how close I came to giving up, because of her.
Bettina’s worth a million of Nic. That look she kept giving me… Was it really, I keep asking mesen, just because of the book? Or did she…? Does she? Could she possibly fancy me?
I certainly fancy her. Looks, brains, everything. Lovely young woman. Mustn’t jump too far ahead, though. Focus on the book for now. The rest can come later.
Not that there’s owt wrong with me. Anything but. Best day of my life, apart from when the kids were born of course, and mebbe I should include the day I married Nic, but I’m not going to, because of the way it all turned out. Even though the day itself were pretty good. At the time, but not looking back, not now she’s with that stupid prick…
Anyway. Not going to think about him. Not letting anything spoil today – this week, this month. It’s bloody wonderful, that’s what it is. Me, Rud Summerskill, with a literary agent. One who thinks my book’s ‘in a class of its own’. Now mebbe for someone who allus got good school reports, went to college, university and all that crap – mebbe it wouldn’t mean so much. But to me… stupid little Rud who could never get his sums right or remember stuff for tests, who never even got picked for any teams… for a failure like me, it’s brilliant to finally have someone give you some praise.
To be fair on him, Jim allus praises you for a job well done, but I’ve kind of got used to that. I’m OK at my job but there’s no way you can be much more than OK in this line of work, unless you can sniff a car’s problems on the wind like old Jim, and I’ve never had that gift nor likely to. That’s why I’m dancing. Trying to sing – to find a song to fit my mood, but all my favourites are the downbeat ones, which says a lot about me, I reckon.
That one me Dad played – ‘Eye of the Tiger’ – mebbe that’s a good one except I don’t know t’ words. I’ll download it in my lunch break, see if it fits the bill. Mind you, if I start singing on the job, old Jim’s going to be more suspicious than ever.
Must call on me way home and tell Mum. She’ll be pleased for me. Allus believed in me, did Mum – encouraging me to write those stupid stories when I were a kid. Told me I had a way with words. No one else ever did. Stupid English teacher – Miss Riley – never got past my problems with grammar and spelling. Got that pretty much sorted now. Not the spelling so much, but the spell-checker catches most of it, and I know enough by now to put right the ones it gets wrong. And the grammar – well, since I got hold of that book I’ve pretty much got the idea. Punctuation, commas and all that. Not that hard really, once you get into it. Julianne at the writing group’s given me some good advice, too. That thing about deciding whether it’s ‘your’ or ‘you’re’ or – what’s the other one? Can’t remember – not to worry, I know it when I have to use it.
It were Julianne that told me not to try and write Queen’s English either – to stick to me own way of saying things. Yes, I know that ‘me’ should have been a ‘my’, I know that, but she said leave it the way you speak. So I do. And Bettina loves it. Says it’ll appeal to ‘at least one publisher she knows of, probably more’. ‘Raw and authentic,’ she said – same word as Julianne. Well, it’s the way I speak so I suppose it has to be authentic. Seems daft, after all them years at school being forced to write ‘properly’, but if it’s what the publishers like, that’s fine with me.
See I write from a ‘point of view’, that’s what it is – I have a ‘voice’. My main character speaks like me, so it’s easy. I’d have more trouble if he were a judge or a politician or summat, but he’s not. He just happens to be a car mechanic, same as me. From the same part of Yorkshire. Easy-peasy lemon-squeezy, as we used to say at school. I write the way I speak – the way I think – and everyone’s happy.
So, Bettina loves A Speedy Death but she wants a new title at some stage. No rush with that, though, she says. She loves all of the book except the ending. A bit too contrived, she says. I mentioned Agatha Christie but apparently you can’t do it that way any more. So she says to have a think and change it – not to change who the murderer is, thank God, but to ‘make subtle changes to the denouement’. OK, beautiful Bettina, can do. Can do anything for you. After that, once she’s happy with the rewritten ending, she’ll send it off to these publishers she’s got in mind. If more than one of them’s interested, they have a kind of auction where they bid off against each other to buy the publishing rights. And the one who wins – I get an advance from them. Money, upfront! Before a single person even buys me book.
Seems a bit too good to be true, I says to Bettina, but she says that’s how it’s done. Not that you get a big advance, not unless you’re JKR or James Patterson. Some new authors don’t get one at all. But she’s hopeful I will, cos she reckons they’ll be falling over themselves for Speedy. Christ. Never thought I’d see the day.
I’m trying to stay business-like over this. Julianne says don’t count me chickens and I see where she’s coming from – but then again, she weren’t there in London in Bettina’s office seeing that look in her eyes – that sparkle. Of course I won’t sign owt without getting it checked over – I’ve enough sense for that. Jim’s father-in-law’s a lawyer – he married well, our Jim – and Jim says he’ll ask him to have a look at it.
Can’t help thinking about Nic’s face, when she gets to hear about it. Me, published! She never believed in me, that’s for sure. When I think how close I came to giving up, because of her.
Bettina’s worth a million of Nic. That look she kept giving me… Was it really, I keep asking mesen, just because of the book? Or did she…? Does she? Could she possibly fancy me?
I certainly fancy her. Looks, brains, everything. Lovely young woman. Mustn’t jump too far ahead, though. Focus on the book for now. The rest can come later.
About the Author
Rosalie Warren was once a university lecturer, specialising in Artificial Intelligence and Natural Language Processing. But her earliest love was books and stories, and since taking early retirement ten years ago she has been following her dream of writing and publishing. For details of her publications for adults and children, including science fiction and romantic suspense, see http://srg521.wix.com/mybooks and https://www.facebook.com/RosalieWarrenAuthor/
Rosalie has been an exile from Scotland for the past fourteen years, but still has many happy memories of the wonderful city of Edinburgh, where her children were born and raised, and of the equally amazing Dundee, where she worked for a further three years. Going back even further, she was born and brought up in Yorkshire, and regularly returns there to visit a seaside place not so very different from the town of Castlehaven in her serial.
Rosalie is also a qualified proofreader and editor and (under the name Sheila Glasbey) her editing services can be found at http://www.affordable-editing.com/
Rosalie has been an exile from Scotland for the past fourteen years, but still has many happy memories of the wonderful city of Edinburgh, where her children were born and raised, and of the equally amazing Dundee, where she worked for a further three years. Going back even further, she was born and brought up in Yorkshire, and regularly returns there to visit a seaside place not so very different from the town of Castlehaven in her serial.
Rosalie is also a qualified proofreader and editor and (under the name Sheila Glasbey) her editing services can be found at http://www.affordable-editing.com/