Stephanie Butland

Blogging. Telling stories. Thriving.

In which reality turns up

More than a year from signing my fiction publishing contract, and with only just less than a year to go to publication to the first novel, and the second one submitted, is a strange place. There are times when I think I might have dreamed the whole thing. There are times when I feel as though it’s never going to happen.

So it was lovely to get a box from Germany through the post.

With six Actual Physical Books in it!

I danced. I fizzed. I squeaked. I called my agent and fizzed and squeaked at him.

Although I can’t read German, when I looked at the dedication, I had a tear in my eye.

‘For my grandmothers, Isabel and Ursula, who always knew I was a writer’.

I’m happy and proud. And I’ll take a look at this every time I feel adrift in this waiting time.

Meanwhile, if there are any German readers out there who would like a copy, please get in touch. I’d love to send one to you – the thrill of writing is to send words out into the world.

2 Comments by Stephanie on May 18, 2013
filed in Life is Good, surrounded by water, writing
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Random Kurdish round-up

I keep thinking I will Get Organised And Do A Proper Post About Kurdistan but, quite frankly, if that goes as well as Getting Organised And Sorting Out My Photographs Period, it’ll never happen.

So, on the grounds that something is better than nothing, let me show you some photographs, chosen because I like them and they mean something, and, as my mother says, we’ll make that do.

This lady, who speaks no English, and I, who speaks no Kurdish, have a great affection for each other.

Mountains!

The place where I bought clove necklaces to hang in wardrobes and yarn stashes to keep the beasties away. The man was very smiley in real life. I think this is his camera face.

My beautiful, amazing friend Sazan standing next to the ACTUAL rope of dried *makes note to put in name of thing when she remembers* that now hangs in my kitchen, waiting for me to remember what it’s called so I can find recipes for it.

Dolma. Beautiful dolma. Made for me by the wife of one of the people I was working with, because (I’m sure) they all got absolutely fed up of me banging on about how much I love the stuff. It’s vegetables stuffed with rice and lamb, beautifully spiced, and cooked for a looooong time…… it’s amazing.

Me and a man. I have no idea who he is. I insisted that he have his photograph taken with me for two reasons. (1) So many strangers asked to have a photo with me – because I am so English-looking, and therefore considered lucky – that it seemed like the norm. (2) I was buying the scarf that I’m holding when the man, without a word of English or a hint of creepiness, insisted that I put my money away and paid for it for me. This, and the dolma, are typical of my experience of Kurdistan: a generous, kind-hearted, welcoming place.

Guess what? I’m going back….

And tonight, Alan and I will be at a black tie do in London and I will be giving my jli Kurdi its first airing. Pictures to follow….

No Comments by Stephanie on May 16, 2013
filed in Life is Good
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Where do you get your ideas from? Part 1

WDYGYIF is, in my experience, the second most frequent comment offered to a writer, after ‘Oh, I’m going to write a book, when I have time.’ (Which is fair enough, because as we all know, the only reason writers write is because they have absolutely nothing to do. No other demands on their time, ever. Not  single one.)

My usual answer to WDYGYIF is something like, ‘well, I just see things, hear things, and sort of store them away and then use them as starting points’. I know this isn’t a very satisfactory answer. It’s a bit woolly, a bit meh, the sort of answer that the questioner could probably assume, which is not what you want when you have and Actual Writer in front of you.

So, I thought I’d give some specific examples. Here’s the first.

On my last trip to Kurdistan, there was a brand new towel waiting for me in the apartment I was staying in. I knew it was brand new, because it still had the label on it. Like many writers, I am a compulsive reader – I could probably recite the label of a bottle of Toilet Duck – so I took a look at the label before I put it in the bin.

And it didn’t go in the bin. It went into my jewellery box, and it came home with me, and now it’s sitting in the studio waiting for the next book. Because Karen Peacock is not, for me, the name of a rather loudly pink-and-flowery bath towel. Karen Peacock is the name of a classroom assistant, a hard-working, slightly-disappointed-by-life woman who hears a lot and says little and likes making greetings cards in her spare time. Karen Peacock is short and plump and almost pretty, although she doesn’t take a lot of care of her appearance, because no-one else in her world seems to see her. Karen Peacock wanted to be a teacher, but couldn’t find the money or the courage for university. Karen Peacock is really important, in the new novel.

And now, when you meet Karen Peacock – who may, by the time she’s ink-and-paper, have changed beyond all recognition from the description above – you’ll know where she began. On a towel on a bed in an apartment in Kurdistan. Which might make for the basis of another story, in itself.

1 Comment by Stephanie on May 14, 2013
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