You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to

BTW I took this picture on aperture setting, as the Frog 

summed it up, I took a picture instead of just pressing 

a button.

Due to my SCBWItis*, I didn't mention in advance that I was going to an event last Saturday. It was a workshop with Andrea Brown agent Mary Kole entitled: High Concept Ambitions. I'm not going to tell you too much about the content of the workshop because if you don't know it by now, Mary is about to release a book about writing for children and we got a sneak preview of a chapter. Yes, the one on concept. So what I will say is, Mary is a fun lively speaker and despite jet lag wants her writers to understand what she's talking about. If you get a chance to attend one of her sessions or webinars, do, you won't be disappointed. 


I also got a chance to have a one to one with Mary. One to one's are always great because however fabulous your crit group is (and mine is truly fantabulous) you and they get close to the work. So when I came back in on Saturday as the Frog passed me on the way out (to go watch Rugby), he asked me how it went and I replied: "Oh, I've got a bit of work to do." It's taking time, but the Frog is slowly getting to realise that a WIP is never finished (well I guess until it gets slapped between two covers and then you really have to let it go). 


Anyway, if I haven't bibbled on about this before, or you've missed it, here it comes again. Yes, I'm going to talk about cultural differences once again. Because during the course of the morning it struck me a couple of times. Firstly, at one point Mary mentioned that she's always reading tweets about a certain TV show that agents would love writers to turn into a book. I had never heard of the TV show (or Netflicks), but the first thing I did on Sunday morning was look up the show. The premise is all American, I couldn't even begin to get to my head round something like it because a) in the UK we don't play American football and b) whole towns aren't united around school teams the way they are in the states. So that's my bestseller up the creek, hey. Secondly, as Mary pulled out my 'not more than ten pages' the instructions had been VERY VERY clear, I blushed then blinked then the light bulb went on. In France and the UK we use A4, in the States they use Letter and my 10 pages (my partial and synopsis) had gone to 12! Duh! Yes, it was facepalm time, because let's face it, it's not very difficult to change a page size on word is it? Facepalm moment number three was my spelling. I'd used UK. Despite being very very familiar with US spelling and making sure every Monday that when there is a difference students are given both options, did I think to connect that to my own writing? No. Look, I'll 'fess up now, as I did to Mary, I'm not considering submitting to the US, but if YOU are and you're not from the US, look how many potholes I fell into and that was before she even got into my story. The final thing Mary pointed out was the voice. It was a very important point because my main is meant to appeal to girls and be cool and amazing, so if she is sounding like an old fuddy duddy that needs to change toot sweet. But her brother is old fashioned and a little at odds with the changing world and I went to great trouble to make his voice 'wrong' for this time. And it wasn't an issue with the British agent in December, but it was with Mary. 


So, basically if, like me, you don't live in the UK or the US or Australia (basically not an English speaking country) and you're wondering where to submit: 
1) Make sure you get the page size right for the country you are submitting to;
2) get the spelling right, and;
3) go for the country where your voice is right, because all the countries I mentioned speak English, but it isn't the same English. 


*def: I mention I'm going to a SCBWI event and get struck down by some disease ending in 'itis'. 

Cultural characters

The other day I was checking my Twitter feed on the way to work when I came across one that linked to a now taken down article in The Guardian and stated that French parents were better than me. Of course, that was bound to set my blood boiling and my little thumbs furiously smacked out a reply all about those great French parents. Then I planned a great big long rant about French and UK parenting, before remembering that this was a writing blog. 

By the time I got to work (having already tweeted the 140 characters of aforementioned rant) I had that little moment to reflect on the fact that my child is half Brit, half French. In our parenting combo, right from the off, everything the other did was wrong. Totally wrong. Not because it was wrong, but because we were brought up differently. Where the Frog suffers (and believe me it shows all over his face) the indignity of having to put his child on time out and then asking the child if she understands why she was on time out, I have to chew my lips when I can see the three year old is dying to leave the table, but we haven't all finished eating yet. We're different. It's different, there's no right or wrong parenting. The book French Children Don't Throw Food, may purport French parenting styles, and we may read it to further our understanding of social anthropology in the same way that we might read A Year in the Merde, but we're not actually going to start acting like the French, because we're culturally programmed not to.

Which brings me to writing. I've lived here for eleven years, before that a couple of years in Madrid and before that Mexico. This year I can no longer vote in the UK, I am well and truly an ex-pat, yet I still write British characters. I can't stop. I just don't feel equipped to write a French one, and wouldn't dream of writing a Spanish or Mexican. I may put them in as minor characters, but as a main I wouldn't dream of it. I think that as my child grows up, I'll be in a unique position to write the French character and may even do so one day, but at the moment it's easier to create a whole new fantasy world.

And then boys? Do I write boys? Yes, British boys. But I was reading this blog the other day: Interview with Shelly Harris, and she raised the point:

I was surprised how much I had to learn about a male viewpoint, and how different it can be from that of a woman. 

She also wrote from an  British Asian point of view and talks about how she went about making the voice authentic. And that is the point. I'm not saying we shouldn't do it. Having just reviewed Unhooking the Moon, by Liverpudlian author Gregory Hughes, one of the things that I really liked about the book was that the characters seemed real. As writers we can write from a male/female POV or a Peruvian one, if we so wish, we have that liberty, but we have to make it true.

And just to prove this was a writing post, books mentioned during this post:
French Children Don't Throw Food by Pamela Druckerman
A Year in the Merde by Stephen Clarke
Jubilee by Shelly Harris
Unhooking the Moon by Gregory Hughes.

Gunpowder, Treason and Cultural Identity

Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot...

As festivals go this one has got to be my favourite and the one I miss the most. To me it was the marker that the days were becoming colder and darker. I loved being all bundled up in my scarf and duffle coat and standing before that immense roaring orange monster, whose flames reached high into the sky, crackling and lunging upward. I loved the sparklers (although if truth be told, they scared me a little), and most of all I loved the fireworks. The whees and whizzes followed by a dandelion puff of colour that meandered back to the ground losing its shine. Even today I still love anything that involves fireworks, but it’s still not as special as Guy Fawkes Night.

The build up to Guy Fawkes was special too. Groups of shaven headed boys patrolling around town demanding: ‘Penny for the Guy’. And it always seemed to me, those who shouted loudest were the ones with the most poorly put together Guy. What the effigy lacked in stuffing was made up for in volume.

And then Guy Fawkes Night is one of the few things that is celebrated over the year that is curiously British. Maybe it’s my rebellious nature that loves the thought of something that is based in conspiracy and a fight for religious freedom. Maybe it’s the bonfire and fireworks. Maybe it’s jacket potatoes. Whatever it is Guido and the motley crew he worked for made an impression on me that has stuck. It has become part of my personal cultural identity.

Until I left England I never really thought of myself in terms of nationality, but since leaving I’ve realised that it is actually a large part of who I am. In general I don’t miss England, but on the occasions when I did, I missed being able to communicate easily. Sometimes I miss the sense of humour and feel frustrated when what I have said is misinterpreted, but I know that an English person would understand me. I miss the strong culture of music. I miss a good curry on a Friday night. I miss the quirky TV dramas that explored all kinds of themes and hate the Hugh Grant/Mr Bean factory of comedy that is exported.

I sometimes get frustrated when people ask me what nationality I am and then ask me where I was born. Sometimes it’s just great to open my mouth and for someone to say: Oh you’re a Londoner and straight away there is a shared understanding.

It’s challenging and exciting to live outside my culture and in some ways I feel I understand it more now that I am outside of it. I am more able to criticise and be open-minded, to take the aspects I value and leave those I do not. I suppose I wouldn’t change anything; although it would be nice for my face to be licked by the heat of a bonfire tonight and for me to stare up open-mouthed at the fireworks.