This week I am editing my new novel. I wrote it last year and have been waiting with baited breath for my editor's notes. For my first novel, although I didn't know what to expect, I do know that when the notes arrived, I hadn't expected what I got. I imagined a post-it note saying, "Marvellous, Lorraine, well done." I didn't get that - instead there were pages of notes saying everything from "that's ridiculous, write it again," to "need a comma there".
The second time, I thought I knew it all and felt assured of the post-it again. Nope. Another tome, this time with a few back and fores about whether a character finding two baby rabbits in a pile of vomit on his doorstep was likely or not. My editor thought not, but then, she has never been to my friend's house...
I feel that I am one of those laboratory hamsters that never learns, and still licks the live wires, but it is fantastic to see her notes kicking the manuscript into shape. I lose a bit of unnecessary waffle here, or a boring character there, but get buoyed up by a comment that shows that she too likes one of my favourite bits.
The best bits about the editing process are the differences highlighted between us: she might not get a phrase that I use ten times a day, or I realise that I have always used a word in the wrong context, but my favourite part of this particular editing process is the fact that she said something was too far fetched - but I KNOW that I saw someone showing how he could put two-pence pieces into his foreskin in the corner of a pub...
Lorraine Jenkin is an author, journalist and blogger.
Wednesday 25 January 2012
Friday 20 January 2012
Reducing tasks, increasing efficiency.
Being an overworked drudge, I am always keen to find ways of getting things done a little quicker or reducing the amount of tasks that need doing. I was therefore interested in a conversation I had with my brother, who runs a micro-brewery, about the need to reduce the times a bottle is touched or moved, as when you times it by a thousand it becomes hugely relevant. I decided to apply it to my own life.
I started by checking the things that the girls slung into the wash basket - at first I had been glad that anything made it into the basket, rather than having to be extracted from the carpet, or removed from over-dressed teddies, but I started spotting t-shirts with only a little Weetabix on going in. A bit of spit n rub, and they started heading back to the drawer.
I then moved my attention to the kitchen. I remembered a Peruvian woman I had spotted a few years ago selling some ear stew on the street. She had been given the bowl and cutlery back by her customer. She bid him thanks, looked around, then wiped the bowl on her pinny and put it back for the next customer. At least she didn't lick the fork clean, like I am now doing...
The best example I have seen was on my Uncle Ronald's fishing trawler. When I was thirteen, our class had to arrange some work experience. I wasn't inspired by my peer's choices - primary schools, local factories or offices, so I did mine on my uncle's massive trawler (well, I didn't really as even early Health and Safety wouldn't have let a 13 yr old girl sail around the North Sea for a week, but I did help load and unload, and spent the rest of the week sitting on beaches with my lovely aunty!).
As they had a work experience sucker on board, the fishermen set me the tasks that no-one else wanted to do. I had to crawl around the engine room, greasing all the cogs - I thought it was great, they did too... I was also asked if I could tidy up the galley a bit, and even as a 13 yr old scutter, I was pretty traumatised by what I saw. In that tiny little room, one of the men cooked enough food to feed eight hairy-arsed fishermen who worked for 20 hours a day catching and gutting fish in the cold and rain. It looked as if he'd forgotten to write Jif (it was 1984; Cif was still Jif) on his shopping list for the past ten years.
I spent about three hours in that galley, scrubbing, retching and scratching at things. I even managed to bend the net curtains. Finally the fishermen came down to see how I was doing, and I "ta-daahed" my shiny (ish) reveal. I remember it now. In fact, it probably set my whole life's cleaning mantra. A bloke in dirty yellow waterproof overalls, who smelt of fish and hadn't washed his hands for a whole week, let alone anything else, picked up his mug and said, "Oh, you've cleaned my mug. What did you do that for? I won't be able to recognise it now..."
I think of that now as I wipe a mug clean with a tea-towel, or get the baby to lick a plate. When you're cooking soup, it doesn't really matter what was cooked in the pan before - it's all flavour, so there's no point in cleaning the old one out. Glasses? Pah. Toast plates - a quick smooth over with a sleeve and as good as new. Cake mixture - well, the kids won't allow those bowls to be washed anyway. The time I've saved - priceless.
Something else was set in place that day: as the fishermen shared out their spoils in the pub, I was bought my first ever pint of lager and lime. My uncle would surely have been proud that he installed in me that day a value that I have carried with me since. Every time I've stood at a bar, I've muttered those words, "A pint of lager n loime, please..."
I started by checking the things that the girls slung into the wash basket - at first I had been glad that anything made it into the basket, rather than having to be extracted from the carpet, or removed from over-dressed teddies, but I started spotting t-shirts with only a little Weetabix on going in. A bit of spit n rub, and they started heading back to the drawer.
I then moved my attention to the kitchen. I remembered a Peruvian woman I had spotted a few years ago selling some ear stew on the street. She had been given the bowl and cutlery back by her customer. She bid him thanks, looked around, then wiped the bowl on her pinny and put it back for the next customer. At least she didn't lick the fork clean, like I am now doing...
The best example I have seen was on my Uncle Ronald's fishing trawler. When I was thirteen, our class had to arrange some work experience. I wasn't inspired by my peer's choices - primary schools, local factories or offices, so I did mine on my uncle's massive trawler (well, I didn't really as even early Health and Safety wouldn't have let a 13 yr old girl sail around the North Sea for a week, but I did help load and unload, and spent the rest of the week sitting on beaches with my lovely aunty!).
As they had a work experience sucker on board, the fishermen set me the tasks that no-one else wanted to do. I had to crawl around the engine room, greasing all the cogs - I thought it was great, they did too... I was also asked if I could tidy up the galley a bit, and even as a 13 yr old scutter, I was pretty traumatised by what I saw. In that tiny little room, one of the men cooked enough food to feed eight hairy-arsed fishermen who worked for 20 hours a day catching and gutting fish in the cold and rain. It looked as if he'd forgotten to write Jif (it was 1984; Cif was still Jif) on his shopping list for the past ten years.
I spent about three hours in that galley, scrubbing, retching and scratching at things. I even managed to bend the net curtains. Finally the fishermen came down to see how I was doing, and I "ta-daahed" my shiny (ish) reveal. I remember it now. In fact, it probably set my whole life's cleaning mantra. A bloke in dirty yellow waterproof overalls, who smelt of fish and hadn't washed his hands for a whole week, let alone anything else, picked up his mug and said, "Oh, you've cleaned my mug. What did you do that for? I won't be able to recognise it now..."
I think of that now as I wipe a mug clean with a tea-towel, or get the baby to lick a plate. When you're cooking soup, it doesn't really matter what was cooked in the pan before - it's all flavour, so there's no point in cleaning the old one out. Glasses? Pah. Toast plates - a quick smooth over with a sleeve and as good as new. Cake mixture - well, the kids won't allow those bowls to be washed anyway. The time I've saved - priceless.
Something else was set in place that day: as the fishermen shared out their spoils in the pub, I was bought my first ever pint of lager and lime. My uncle would surely have been proud that he installed in me that day a value that I have carried with me since. Every time I've stood at a bar, I've muttered those words, "A pint of lager n loime, please..."
Sunday 8 January 2012
Environmental not-thought-it-throughs...
I would like to think that I am environmentally aware - I do try and not use / am tight. I recycle, and keep rotten food in the house until it's putrid and stinking as I can't be bothered to put my wellies on to go through the mud to the compost bin and Huw won't let me go in my slippers any more. I am, however, very aware of plastic hippies and stupid contradictions where environmental consumption is concerned, and today I think I saw the best yet.
Before I had children I thought I'd be the kind of parent who spurns all the modern trappings of babies - I'd not bother with nappies, I'd bind my child in rags and let Nature take its course. However, after a few times of being covered in orange slime, I decided to sod it and get some nappies. I started with the compostable ones, but soon found them very expensive - and if you dig about in the undergrowth in my garden, you'll still find odd-shaped balls with fossilised turds in them. Eventually I did what every other parent does and bought shed loads of whatever was cheapest, and piles and piles of wipes. My contribution to environmentalism is to change nappies as infrequently as possible - I expect them to be at least banging around their knees before I'll fetch a new one. With wipes, I use every square inch and reckon to get at least four down-to-knees nappy changes with each one.
Therefore I was delighted to mock a pack of wipes that had a "Help us wipe out waste" logo on the front - "The irony," I laughed, as I tossed my take-out coffee cup into the bin, "trying to be environmental with a product that is an unecessary luxury anyway!" Their idea to cut waste? To save the packet that the wipes were in, print out a postage label from the internet, put the old wipes package into an envelope, post the envelope to a new depot hundreds of miles away so that it could be recyled and turned into (and this is my favourite bit) baby chic items.
Although they may have held a workshop and found out that this actually stands up, I think it could possibly go in the haven't really thought it through basket. If a manufacturer wants to reduce the waste in their product, make it bio-degradable or don't make it at all - print us a leaflet on a doc leaf about how to best wash your baby's backside in a puddle instead.
I can imagine the computers and printers around the world being cranked up, paper jams, printer cartridges running out, jiffy bags being the only things to hand, rolls of sellotape being used to stick the labels on, parcels being driven all over town - all of which are racking up loads of environmental bad-things. Then when the new (heated) depot finally receives the parcels, it would then use loads more energy to turn them into baby chic things.
I have decided to right the wrongs. I have turned my wipes packets into shoes. I shall wear them until I feel that I have made up for all the jiffy bags, sellotape, road miles, print toner and heated depots.
If you wish to support my stand, please send my baby a handful of doc leaves from your back garden to save her from becoming socially unacceptable.
Many thanks.
Before I had children I thought I'd be the kind of parent who spurns all the modern trappings of babies - I'd not bother with nappies, I'd bind my child in rags and let Nature take its course. However, after a few times of being covered in orange slime, I decided to sod it and get some nappies. I started with the compostable ones, but soon found them very expensive - and if you dig about in the undergrowth in my garden, you'll still find odd-shaped balls with fossilised turds in them. Eventually I did what every other parent does and bought shed loads of whatever was cheapest, and piles and piles of wipes. My contribution to environmentalism is to change nappies as infrequently as possible - I expect them to be at least banging around their knees before I'll fetch a new one. With wipes, I use every square inch and reckon to get at least four down-to-knees nappy changes with each one.
Therefore I was delighted to mock a pack of wipes that had a "Help us wipe out waste" logo on the front - "The irony," I laughed, as I tossed my take-out coffee cup into the bin, "trying to be environmental with a product that is an unecessary luxury anyway!" Their idea to cut waste? To save the packet that the wipes were in, print out a postage label from the internet, put the old wipes package into an envelope, post the envelope to a new depot hundreds of miles away so that it could be recyled and turned into (and this is my favourite bit) baby chic items.
Although they may have held a workshop and found out that this actually stands up, I think it could possibly go in the haven't really thought it through basket. If a manufacturer wants to reduce the waste in their product, make it bio-degradable or don't make it at all - print us a leaflet on a doc leaf about how to best wash your baby's backside in a puddle instead.
I can imagine the computers and printers around the world being cranked up, paper jams, printer cartridges running out, jiffy bags being the only things to hand, rolls of sellotape being used to stick the labels on, parcels being driven all over town - all of which are racking up loads of environmental bad-things. Then when the new (heated) depot finally receives the parcels, it would then use loads more energy to turn them into baby chic things.
I have decided to right the wrongs. I have turned my wipes packets into shoes. I shall wear them until I feel that I have made up for all the jiffy bags, sellotape, road miles, print toner and heated depots.
If you wish to support my stand, please send my baby a handful of doc leaves from your back garden to save her from becoming socially unacceptable.
Many thanks.
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