Flatcap Day out in Edinburgh

Edinburgh Castle - Wikimedia Creative Commons

          A couple of weeks ago, I enjoyed a Flatcap day out in

Edinburgh.
          I should explain - I'm a member of the other SAS, the Scattered Authors Society, which has a chat-board called 'Balaclava.'
          The lovely Penny Dolan (who wrote 'A Boy Named

M.O.U.S.E' which I recommend highly) started an off-shoot group, called 'Flatcap' - partly because it keeps up the head-gear theme and partly, I suppose, because Flatcap is about work.
          Its purpose is to spur on the writers who form its small membership. They have to say what it is they intend to work on, and then report on progress. It's  highly effective for most of its members, though for me, not so much. (My fault entirely, not the group's.)

          It concentrates a writer's mind wonderfully when they know they will have to report to a group of other writers, who might have written many more thousands of words than they have. Karen Bush, especially, has been powering through the pages.

          Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I was in Edinburgh - arguably the best capital city in the UK, though it may soon be leaving us - and I was at a loose end. So I emailed a couple of Flatcappers, who I knew lived near (or near-ish) Old Reekie - Linda Strachan and Joan Lennon.

Joan

          They both put aside their own work to travel into Edinburgh and meet up with me.

Linda

          First I met Linda at Waverley Station, and we walked to the Dovecot Cafe, where Joan was already waiting. We ordered coffee and we talked, for about two hours non-stop - oh, about the fantasy Linda is working on, and the prospects for Joan's novel of the Stone-Age, Silver Skin (which I am looking forward to), and my consultancy training with the Royal Literary Fund, and Joan's poetry (which is great and we keep urging her to produce an ebook) - and agents and publishers and blogging and - 

Berserker

          Nobody could wish for better, wittier, livelier companions than Joan and Linda.
         Then we went to the National Museum of Scotland because Joan wanted to show me their stone-age exhibits (we are both keen on the Stone Age) and also those of Lewis chessmen who live there. Which included a berserker! - I bought myself a couple of replicas: one of those berserkers, and a King. I was torn between the King and Queen, but eventually settled on the King because of his beautifully combed tresses.
          And all the time we were talking...
 

King, King, let down your hair

        Linda showed us some display cases designed by an artist. I'm ashamed not to remember more, but the cases were works of art in themselves - like strange robots, with pieces displayed in boxes in their chests or arms.
          Then it was lunch-time, and Linda guided us to the library cafe - because, it being the middle of the Festival, we were unlikely to get a seat anywhere else. (We passed cafe after cafe, packed to the doors.) Once in the library, we talked and talked.
          The party broke up at about four. We all had to catch trains from Waverley - and as we rose to go, there was a flash of lightening, a clap of thunder worthy of 'Macbeth', and storm-clouds burst over the city.
          Linda and Joan had been wise enough to bring umbrellas. I hadn't - but Linda, kind as ever, shared hers with me - and also led us by wynd, close and dreel down to the station. I know Edinburgh a little, but I couldn't have found that route.
          At Waverley, Joan and I said goodbye to Linda (who got home safely, you'll be glad to know), and started scanning the trains for Fife listed on the Departures Board. Thus it was we discovered that the lightening had wiped out all the signals for Fife, and all trains for the Kingdom were cancelled. Aaargh! Joan had to get home, and I was expected back at the digs by my partner.
          Joan collared a Scots Rail 'Customer Information' Officer, and exerted her considerable charm. In moments, though surrounded by scores of anxious passengers, he wanted to talk to no one but her.
          For about fifteen minutes, all was confusion while the rain crashed on the roof above us. The signals might be restored - they might not. We might be taken to our destinations by bus - but there was no news of the buses yet. We might consider catching a train to Perth, and then finding our way south into Fife - but we wouldn't be getting to Perth until 7pm, and how did we know there would be trains into signal-less Fife? Trains. I hate 'em.
          And then, suddenly, the signals were restored, and our train - although late - was leaving from platform 18. Joan and I joined the stampede to it - and by some stroke of fortune, managed to find seats together.
          So, on this Scottish trip, I crossed the Forth both by the road bridge and the rail bridge, which I count a plus. Always a thrill to see the magnificent Forth bridges, and to recite, 

'Oh, beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.'

McGonagall.

In banana pose

          Even plusser, I had Joan Lennon by my side, who pointed out seals on the rocks 'in their banana pose.' A trip across the bridge was a trip incomplete and wasted unless a seal was spotted, according to Joan. I have to agree.
          I got off before Joan, and trudged back to the digs through the pouring rain - my partner had taken the car to Glasgow. I watched rain fountaining up through the lace-holes of my shoes at every step - something I haven't seen since walking home from primary school through the downpour that seemed a permanent feature of my childhood. (Other people remember eternal summers: but I remember grey, cold days with water rattling down the gutters, splatting on my head and spurting out of my lace-holes.)
          But the day out in Edinburgh was a great success. Thank you Linda and Joan, for giving me your company, many laughs and much kindness.

Photograph of the seal - GeographBot, Wiki Commons
Photographs of Lewis Chessmen, National Museum of Scotland, Wiki Commons.

The Dogs of Papier Mache

        

    The photo is of a whippet sculpture, made by my friend and frequent commentator on this blog, Madwippit, aka author Karen Bush.  (Not only an author, but an expert horsewoman and riding teacher, a dog-trainer, and now we see, also a pretty nifty sculptress.)

         Karen says:

Karen Bush

Here's a picture of a papier mache greyhound I made of Maxi for her owner, who won it in a charity auction.

           Karen sent me the photo because of my post last week, about my persistent brain-worm that pestered me to make a Green Man mask.  I woke up with the idea in my head of making one out of papier-mache – I suppose simply because we used to make paper-mache things when we were kids.  I seem to remember the older of my brothers setting out to make a brontosaurus (he was mad about dinosaurs).  The thing ended up looking more like a cat, so he painted it black and called it 'Tiddles.'

          Karen has knowledgeable tips about papier-mache (as well as horse-riding on a budget, and planting dog-friendly gardens.)  She says:

          It's fun - have a go. It's also cheap - newspaper torn (not cut) into strips is perfect (tissue paper is good for the finishing layers) - wallpaper paste is easy to use and keeps for weeks and weeks - make up a small batch and keep it in a tupperware type container with a lid. If you want to sculpt more you can make your own papier mache pulp but it's a bit of a faff and much easier to buy it in dried form which you add water to - use an electric hand mixer to whizz it and add some PVA glue to make it a little more plastic and stop it from drying too quickly. The pulp sets like rock when it's dry. I prefer using just newspaper, but pulp is handy for detail like toes or the coats of shaggy dogs.

          Look forward to seeing your Green (Wo)Man! 

                   Karen :-)

          This is quite encouraging.  I can feel the call of papier-mache pulp and PVA.  But I must resist!  I have the Sterkarm book to finish; I have an outline to work up for my agent (which I haven’t even starting thinking about, but which I have Davy researching.  That is, he's reading a book he wanted to read anyway, and reporting back to me on it.)  And next week it’s the Scattered Authors' Society's four-day conference, and I haven’t even started to begin to think about organising myself for it…

         But just look at that lovely whippet.  Could I make something as good as that?  Could I?

         If you want to see more whippets, have a look at Karen's blog here. 

         And if you're interested in ghostly Black Dogs, you might like my contribution to Lucy Coats' Fantabulous Fridays blog here.


         And a review of mine is up on the Awfully Big Blog Adventure's review wing here.

The Sterkarm Relativity

The Sterkarm books by Susan Price

          I’ve finished summarising every scene in Sterkarm 3, in different coloured inks, with emoticons, and many notes to self.

          It has been very useful: and has made clear that the time-scale, in places, is impossible.

          I have different parties heading off in different directions to roam the soggy, midge-ridden hills while having varied adventures, before finally meeting up again… but the timing just doesn’t work.  Everything that happens to Party B just couldn’t be crammed into the time that elapses before they join Party A again.

          I have to admit that I haven’t worked out in enough detail where the places in the story are in relation to each other, how far apart, and what the terrain between them is like.  And, most importantly, how long it would take my characters to get from one place to another, do what I want them to do, and get back again.

          I have to do this for six different groups of characters, who’re all in different places, doing different things.  Trying to kill each other, mostly.

           The ‘terrain’ option on Google Maps has allowed me to hover over Sterkarm country, looking down on all the burns and waters, the fells and laws.  I could decide where to site the towers and the Time Tube.  So many streams!  It brought back memories of tramping those hills, meeting deer in the twilight.  I could hear the burns splashing down the hillsides and smell the heather; could hear skylarks and whaups as I hunched over my laptop.

          Some of my characters are riding the tough, strong, sure-footed little reiver horses – but how fast could they travel?  I’ve read that rievers could cover 40 miles in a night, but surely that was only in desperation?  Or would they, as Davy suggested, take spare horses with them?  Would 20 miles be more usual?

          The riders were ‘light cavalry’, but would have worn helmets and heavy leather ‘jakkes’ stitched with pieces of metal, and carried lances and swords.  Other equipment too: blankets, food, bows, arrows, axes.  And the country was difficult – steep slopes, boulders, scree, thickets and many streams and rivers.  Come on, Karen (aka madwippit) and Kath Roberts, those expert riders– and any other expert riders out there - what’s your opinion?  (And Kath - wow! I like your website's new look!)

         Another party’s on foot.  If they were all fit, strong men, I could use the yomping experience of my ex-army acquaintance, but some of my characters are ill, or unfit - and they’re not all suitably dressed for scrambling over border hills either.  (One is dressed like a 16th century lady, in clothes that would hamper you walking across a room. I should add, this character is a 16th century lady. I've no doubt the rievers had their cross-dressers, but that's for another book.) My guess is that, under the circumstances, they’d be lucky to cover much more than six or seven miles in a day, if that. Walking that country is hard work.

          So, can I cut some of the events?  I’ve read through them with a hard eye, while asking those damning questions: Is this scene introducing or developing a character?  Is it introducing or developing something important to the plot?  Is it necessary?  Even so, it’s hard to see what I can lose.  Maybe I just need a good editor.

          Can I reduce events by combining  them?  Kill two Sterkarms with one arrow, so to speak.  I’ve already divided the parties differently, so one character doesn’t have to go to and fro so much.

          Time, distance, speed - I’m beginning to see what Einstein was on about.

          Davy, unable to put his cup down because of my sketch maps scribbled in coloured inks, my laptop open on a satellite scene of empty moors, my index cards and beat-sheets, said, “I dunno why you’re doing all this, getting yourself all of a fash.  You can bet other writers don’t bother.”

          Tell him, people, tell him.

          And to get you in the Border reiver mood, here's the wonderful June Tabor, from her album An Echo of Hooves -           

And here's Blott: