Helen Dring’s Blog

I am one of those people whose eyes are bigger than their stomachs. By which I mean, I take on too much. Right now, I am trying to write two novellas by December 1st at the same time as writing my novel for my MA writing course. It is too much, and I do not have the time or the physical stamina to keep up with myself. I should stick to one thing at a time. I should, instead of trying to write 5000 words a day be content with 500. I shouldn’t constantly feel like I am behind myself and letting myself down. But I do. Because I am hungry to be a writer, to be out there, to establish myself. I am twenty seven, I have my entire life to write these two novellas, but the deadlines for their competitions is December, and so I keep on, setting up write or die and hoping that I can type fast enough.

Do you take on too much? Or do you know how to say no to yourself?

Recently, I took part in a small workshop on characterisation. We were working in pairs, and the task was to introduce our characters and for the other person to come up with a one sentence description containing a marker. My partner was a lady fifty-ish years older than me, a lady who I’ve known for a long time and who I have a great admiration and respect for. My character was a thirty year old lesbian who has been with her partner for six years. One of the main points of the story is that my main character cooks wonderful, healthy food that her partner doesn’t eat. When it came to talking about the relationship side of my character, I made her straight. And felt immediately guilty. I felt guilty in the same way I do when someone asks if I have a boyfriend and I simply reply ‘no’ rather than ‘I have a girlfriend’. I felt like I had utterly sold my character, and myself, out. Or rather, in. In my writing life, I make no secret of being gay. I do not change pronouns in my poems or write straight sex scenes. I don’t do these things because I believe in writing what you know, at least to the extent of writing something with which you have a genuine affinity. So why, at the crucial moment, did I switch my character’s sexuality? And, more importantly, does it matter?
Well, yes. It does matter. It matters to me. It matters to me because such a large chunk of my romance writing strives to change the representation of lesbian relationships. There isn’t always melodrama – at least no more than our heterosexual counterparts. There doesn’t always have to be a traumatic coming out scene and yes, despite almost every other representation out there, long term lezzies can be faithful. In this story, it is the apparent perfection of my character’s relationship that causes a pivotal change, a change that perhaps, not definitely, but perhaps, would be very different if she was married to a man.
As for why I sold her out, that is probably easier to answer. I did it because, in a room full of people where I knew we would be reading our work aloud, I was suddenly acutely aware that I would be announcing my own sexuality. Not that it is a secret. I am sure several people in my group are aware of it. But, at that precise moment, saying to a seventy old woman who I have come to view almost as my own grandmother ‘I write lesbian characters because I’m gay’ seemed like too tall an order for a Monday night. The irony of this? My actual grandmother would have loved my fiery, sexy, all loving dyke storylines, if only because they came from me.
I can’t change this situation now, and I can’t say it’s one that will cause me endless sleepless nights. But, the next time I am in the same situation, I will preserve my character’s integrity, even if it does shine the spotlight on my private life.

Lately, I seem to be meeting a lot of other writers online. Randomly, on twitter, on facebook, at poetry events in my city, everywhere. And I love it. I love it because they can offer feedback in a clear, not overly critical way. They understand when you give the excuse ‘I’m having plotting issues’ for missing an event. They understand. But where do you meet writers when you’re starting out? It’s hard. A year ago I met a writer more than three times my age on a writing community. We have nothing in common beside writing, and even in that common interest, our interests are chalk and cheese. But in that year he has given me a lot of advice. Sure, he doesn’t want to hear about my difficulty in writing the latest lesbian love scene in my book, but he is happy to listen to how I need to make sure my time lines are clear. It’s useful to have these contacts. So, in order to try and be helpful to those who are currently still isolated, I thought I’d introduce some good writing forums.

1. More Writing.
This is a good old, post your work and someone reads it, affair. It’s a good beginning. People are usually friendly, and while they may not offer you the most useful criticism, it’s a good way to get used to receiving critique which, let’s face it, is a hard skill to develop.
2. You Write On.
Run by the arts council, this site attracts large publishers and has been the launching pad for a lot of authors. It’s worth signing up to again just to be in the right place at the right time. They also offer a good value self publishing service.
3. Great Writing
Again, a good place to post and get feedback.

These are just a tiny sample of what’s out there, but I hope it will give a good starting point for people who need a little writer to writer contact.

I have a poetry collection called Like Love, Lost available for download at Smashwords. I’d love it if you could download it or spread the word to your friends, or both. I love this collection, and it came Commended in the Indigo Dreams Summer Collection Competition. It’s all about love, and loss, and pictures of kittens and pregnant lesbians and shagging in your parents’ basement in the early nineties. What’s not to like?

I am indeed suitably ashamed of how long it has been since my last post. Apologies. I’d like to say I have a good excuse, like rewriting a novel and writing a novella and compiling a poetry collection but… Whilst I have been doing all of these things they are not good excuses.

I don’t have a lot of work doing the rounds as submissions right now, so I don’t have a lot of acceptances or rejections to announce. Instead I’m beavering away at long term things, which do not have the instant gratification and have a nasty habit of resembling bad marriages.

I do find the time to ramble on twitter, so if you’re interested in my work you can find me a lot on there. You can also find me on facebook, but do add a personal message or I won’t add you.

I promise some fun updates/posts soon.

Thanks for still listening.

I recently read a comment on twitter where another writer wrote ‘understand that if your writer bio mentions your pet’s name, no one is going to take you seriously’. The bio I use for print and magazine credits does not mention my pet, but my bio on my website does. And for a reason. Not because I want to publicise that I am a proud pet parent, but because of the audience that my bio is aimed at.
I write adult fiction, and whilst I am sure few, if any, readers are bothered about the name of my dog, I also write children’s fiction. Most of my children’s fiction is about animals, and, particularly, about a naughty dog who is based on the exploits of my own. If children visit my website, I don’t want them finding out about the erotica I also write or how sometimes I write stories based on my own bad dates, I want them to find out things that they may be interested in. Hence the name of my dog. And if adult readers are going to dismiss my validity and intelligence after having made the effort to visit my website just because I mention my dog, then perhaps it is their character in question, not mine.

Last Wednesday I attended the 21st anniversary of Dead Good Poets Society at the Everyman in Liverpool, and one of the regulars asked me the ultimate question: what kind of poetry do you write?
I think all writers have categorization issues. We don’t like to say out loud ‘I write intense, mood-centric poems that capture a specific moment or parody old love stories’. Sounding so sure of yourself sounds pretty wanky in public. Also, it’s a mouthful. So we just say ‘oh, I don’t know really’.
If you want to be a professional writer, most of us know we have to know ourselves, our writing and our style. But most of us are shy to shout about it to other people. It all results in a curious I’m a writer dance to avoid coming off as the cocky new kid.
Next time, I’m just going to say a simpler version of what I described above, and not be ashamed of it. Or maybe I’ll get a sign.

I know, I know, you wait months for me to update and then two come along at once.
My week so far:

Monday: I wake up to an email telling me I have won Folded Word’s Pic of the Week competition, which you can see here.

Tuesday: I wake up to an email accepting my story Pin Pricks into Doorknobs and Bodypaint Flash Fiction magazine issue #57.

So far, it’s been a great week. I hope it continues in the same vein.

First of all, I know it’s been forever since I updated, and I promise to rectify that and to post at least semi regularly from now on. Last night, I read at Dead Good Poets Society in Liverpool, and I got some lovely comments about my work from people. A few people even asked if they could find my work online, so, for those people who made my night, here is last night’s set.

Wolflet.

She wanted wolf cubs.
Not kittens,
Not husky pups
Given as infant gifts with
Red bows around their scraggy necks.
No, she wanted wolf cubs,
Even when it grew to
Pace the length of her hallway -
Proud as men -
She could not love it.
What she wanted was a wolf -
Fresh from the womb
And newly vicious.
She wanted baby tongues
Rough against her face as she fed them,
Not a puppy and a dog bowl.

He ripped the skin from her shoulders,
Clawed imprints into her hip,
Bit her lip without sympathy.
She mewed against his chest
And whispered a secret, desperate plea
For a wolf cub that would hurt the way he did.

Full Stops

The hardest thing of all was to wrap you,
Shivering and cold,
Into the blankets of parentheses,
To confine lost kisses to a question mark.
You I learned by lust, not grammar,
Your collar bones written
Under layers of my epidermis.
We were verbs -
Not static nouns
But all action gerunds -
Falling, aching, wanting, hating.
I redefined us as a colon.

Stolen Valentines

I stole the onion.
I tried kisses, silk, whispers,
Even garlic -
Thinking that something would
Tighten you against my chest.
I tried other kinds of rings,
Other powers,
Other I love yous whispered close against your skin.
I hid peppercorns in your shoes,
Hoping my makeshift stones would make you stay.
The onion was all I had,
Hung above the door, stolen from another poet.
‘It’s yours if you stay’.
You squashed it against the carpet as you left.

Happy New Year, everybody!
I know it’s been too long since I blogged, and I apologise. In the meantime, I have new work at
-Eclectic Flash
-Like Tooth and Claw, an anthology by Circlet Press
- A poem forthcoming in Writers’ Bloc.

I have a lot of short stories on the go just now, and I’m ploughing through a novel as part of Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Contest.

I also got accepted into the MA in Creative Writing at MMU, which is exciting.

That’s all for now, weekly check-ins will resume once I get back into the rhythm of things.