Feelings of unreality

Feelings of unreality are a side effect of being pregnant, according to one of the guides to pregnancy I have been given. I can certainly relate to this. Although I know that I’m pregnant, I still find myself wondering why I’m feeling so tired, or sick, or why I’m finding it difficult to get up off the sofa. We are beginning to collect baby equipment and have just one adorable sun dress that our daughter won’t fit into until next summer. I look at the dress from time to time and I’m not sure what it’s doing in our house.

I suspect that part of the feeling of unreality is a deliberate caution on my part. I’m still aware that there are things that could go wrong. But mostly, I think the sense of unreality comes from the sheer improbability of conception and birth. It is extraordinary to think that a real person is growing inside me and that one day they will emerge into the world to live a life of their own. No matter how much she kicks or hiccoughs, I still find it hard to comprehend.

Having a book published seems equally implausible at the moment. Wild Rose is undergoing a second round of submissions to new set of publishers, which means that I’m trying not to check my emails obsessively for news on how it’s going. Despite the encouragement of my agent and the knowledge that most authors experience lengthy periods of uncertainty before someone finally makes them an offer, at times it feels it will never happen.

Despite these feelings of unreality, there is an impetus to keep going. We are picking up more baby equipment over the weekend. I continue to slowly clear the study to make room for a nursery. And I continue working on re-writes for A Good Death, hoping that before long I will be going through the same process of hope and doubt about its chances with the publishers.

Feeling that the baby will never come is irrational, while feeling that the book might not find a publisher is more reasonable. But in both cases the answer is to carry on regardless. Thinking about what could go wrong with the baby is unhelpful to my general sanity and wellbeing. Thinking about whether a publisher will like what I’m writing slows me down to an excruciating snail’s pace.

When the day comes that something extraordinary happens, whether it’s the birth of our baby or the publication of one of my manuscripts, I will try to remember how unlikely it seemed and therefore how much more miraculous.

Beware 'expert' opinions

For the past year I’ve subscribed to a writing magazine. The majority of its content is relevant to writers who hope to be published one day. There are stories about how established writers got their first breaks, advice on writing for particular genres and discussion of the hot drinks, clothing and ambience most favoured by writers. (Tea, something respectable, the hum of a coffee shop.) There are also numerous adverts offering training, consultancy, courses, retreats, stationary and qualifications all designed to help you get something published.

I’ve benefitted from the expert advice of both Cornerstones Literary Consultancy and Shelley Instone Literary Consultancy. They both came at the recommendation of my agent, who was in turn recommended by the agency that represents my uncle’s literary estate. Without these personal recommendations, I would have found it difficult to trust that the advice I was getting was worth the money.

In publishing, there are numerous ways to spend your money to receive ‘expert’ advice and help. How much of it makes you more likely to be published is another matter. I have learnt a great deal from the advice I have received, but I have also been careful not to seek too many ‘expert’ opinions. The fewer editing voices I hear in my head as I write the better, my own is loud enough.

Preparing for having a baby has inducted us into a world that is similarly saturated with ‘expert’ opinions, mostly in book form. There are even more numerous ways to spend your money to receive contradictory advice. We have been leant or recommended several books that line themselves up at various points on a let them cry – don’t let them cry spectrum: from ‘knitting yoghurt’ in my sister’s words to borstal for babies. The range and manner of advice is, frankly, alarming.

My favourite book so far is a Great Ormond Street Hospital book that deals from a medical point of view with mainly practical issues of birth and baby care. For the time being, this is expert opinion enough. When our daughter arrives I will have plenty of my own doubts without the editing voices of the ‘experts’ fighting for position.





Earlier this week we went for a third scan to check our baby’s heart, as I have a (completely benign) hole in mine. It was conducted by a doctor who specialises in foetal ultrasound and the baby was found to be just as she should be. For us, that was the ultimate expert opinion.



The baby strikes a gymnastic pose at the cardiac scan

Paraphernalia

A striking difference between writing a book and having a baby is the amount of specialised equipment needed.

Whilst it’s true that our baby could sleep in a cardboard box lined with something soft and have a bath in a bucket, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that she will need a great deal of kit in her first year. Guarding against gathering too much that we won’t ultimately use, I’ve paid attention to the lists of basics that our pregnancy book suggests and scanned online forums discussing the worst purchases parents have made for their babies. Despite this, there is world of new products that we will need to borrow, bid for and buy before she arrives.

The aim for January is to clear the study ready to be transformed into a nursery. We have moved from a stage of getting used to the idea of being pregnant to thinking seriously about having a baby in the house in a few months time. Earlier in the week, I began bidding for a buggy on EBay, which led to me wondering about car seats, which led to me wondering about a bigger car, which led to me thinking about our holiday in France, which led to me thinking about travel cots, which led me to wonder if the Moses basked attachment of the buggy I was bidding for would be suitable for sleeping in for a night, which led me back to EBay, which led me to a baby bath…





Wild Rose in notebook form and a complete first draft



Writing, on the other hand, is delightfully simple. When I first started writing Wild Rose I bought myself a notebook from ‘The Kite, Koop and Bookstore’ on Chincoteague Island and took it to the beach with a biro from my hand luggage. I found the same notebooks on my return and kept writing in coffee shops or in the garden. Writing in longhand meant that I could edit as I went along and I felt less committed to the text than when I was typing onto a laptop. Even when I printed off my first full draft, all I needed was paper and bulldog clips.

That is not to say that there isn’t a similar pleasure in buying stationary as there is in gathering cute baby kit. But while all I needed to write a book could fit in my satchel, it won’t be long before our baby has a whole roomful of paraphernalia waiting for her.



Happy New Year

The Book and the Baby is back after a Christmas holiday - Happy New Year!