Tag: memoir

A slow dawning

~ Angela Hughes ~ Leave a comment

As a young child I was told a joke* that made my friends laugh but puzzled me. I never got the punchline. Years later, I was in university (yes, that many years later) and suddenly, from out of nowhere, I began to laugh. I finally got the joke. It wasn’t funny – my laughter was at the realisation of how obvious it all was.

I recount the story to demonstrate how my brain works. Sometimes it takes a long time for me to get something which to others is obvious. In my defence, there’s a lot going on in there.

Earlier today a similar thing happened: I suddenly got what it means to be a writer – you have to write. Obvious I know, at least on the face of it, but for the last year I’ve been having a crisis of confidence when it comes to my writing ability. Almost every time I’ve sat down to continue working on my book, I’ve frozen. On the days where I have written something, I’ve ended up extensively rewriting before ultimately deleting. It’s been my main source of anxiety, which is saying something given that we’re still in the midst of global pandemic and I remain in one of the high risk categories.

This despite My Heart’s Content being longlisted for the Mslexia Memoir and Life Writing competition 2020. To be fair, the news offered a moment of respite, before the doubt crowded out the euphoria: ‘I won’t be shortlisted; I’ll never win’. I wasn’t and didn’t. Case in point. Prophecy self-fulfilled.

There’s a saying in yoga (and probably in other areas of life) that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. My teacher materialised this morning, via an email from Mslexia, featuring advice to writers from Hilary Mantel. Among her many pearls of wisdom was this:

There isn’t any failed writing. There is only writing that is on the way to being successful – because you’re learning all the time. It follows that nothing you write is ever wasted, and that to become good, and better than good, you need to write a lot.

Hilary Mantel

And just like that, something clicked into place.

To be good at piano, I practise daily. I’ve only just started so my playing is limited at best but already I can play a tune with both hands, whereas six weeks ago, I could barely play a scale.

For yoga and meditation to work their magic on my body and mind, I practise regularly. To begin with I couldn’t touch my toes and my thoughts never stopped racing. Today my body is comfortable in downward facing dog and I can comfortably sit in meditation for 20 mins (my thoughts a meander rather than a full on sprint).

It all takes practice. Regular, sustained practice. Obvious, and yet when it came to my writing, I just couldn’t make that one stick.

Until now.

I write this not to look for reassurance about my writing ability but to make myself accountable. To me. To the writer I long to be. As from today, my pledge is to write. Preferably daily but certainly as often as possible. No matter the subject. No matter the number of words. No matter the result.

Not procrastinate. Or doubt my ability.

Just write.

And to heed another piece of Hilary’s advice:

Don’t try to edit while you are writing. Your first draft is all about energy and unleashing your power. Respect the process of creation and give it space. It’s like planting a seed. You have to water it and watch it emerge and grow before you can prune it into shape.

Hilary Mantel

Finally, I’m going to celebrate the amazing personal achievement of being longlisted for a national competition by singing one of my favourite songs, loudly, and without apology.

For those who are interested, here’s the article from Hilary Mantel: What I wish I’d Known

*And finally, the joke: 

A kid riding their bike in the street:

“Look mum no hands.”

“Look mum no feet.”

“Look mum no teeth.”

Aye Write! 2021

~ Angela Hughes ~ Leave a comment

The email asked if I would be interested in taking part in this year’s Aye Write! book festival, to talk about My Heart’s Content. I read it three times to be sure.

What you grinning at? Paul asked. I read him the email.

Well are you interested? he said. I nodded vigorously and asked if he wanted a cup of tea. He raised an eyebrow.

I’m playing it cool, I said. Don’t want to appear too eager.

Half way to the kitchen, which in our flat is around 10 steps, my coolness, such as it is, dissipated and I rushed back to send my reply, fully expecting to see a message telling me my window for responding had expired and I’d missed the opportunity. Or dreamed it.

Let me set my excitement in context. For those of you who aren’t aware, Aye Write! is Glasgow’s annual book festival. As with the city in which it’s based, it is big, bold and friendly. And this year, it was online, which means you could buy a pass for the whole festival and watch at your convenience.

There were sessions about dealing with grief, and the healing power of nature. Rock stars talked about memoirs and authors talked about fiction being the new rock n roll. There were authors talking politics and politicians, including Scotland’s First Minister Nicola Sturgeon, talking books.

Participating authors included big hitters Andrew O’Hagan, Douglas Stuart and Maggie O’Farrell, alongside those less well known but equally brilliant, such as Helen McClory, Ruth Thomas and Jenni Fagan. And there were those just starting out, like me!

Scottish Debuts: Aye Write! Festival 2021

The Scottish Debuts, of which I was one, opened the festival, with a flurry of Tweets and a dance around the living room (in our house at least). The event was pre-recorded, which given my nerves, was just as well. We were each allotted a few minutes to do with what we wanted – read from our book, talk about our writing, grin inanely. I opted for all three.

And so, on Friday 14 May, there I was, reading from the book I had written, to an invisible audience (which would have included my mum, if she had been able to get the link to work on time) as part of one of the UK’s biggest book festivals.

Just another ordinary day then: aye right!

*Although the main Aye Write! festival is now over, you can watch the events online for up to three weeks from the date of their release. Check out Glasgow Life TV to find out what’s available.

The Scottish Debuts event is free and still available to watch for a couple more days.

To buy a copy of My Heart’s Content: A Journey to Transplant, visit Liminal Ink.

The joy of firsts

~ Angela Hughes ~ Leave a comment

In a car, outside a hospital, on a water-logged autumn morning, I prepare to answer the questions sent to me for an interview in SNACK magazine. They arrived in my email inbox the evening before. Throughout the night I mulled my answers between snatches of sleep in the midst of a storm that exfoliated the root of our ancient camper van. The camper van and hospital belong to another story; the questions are about my book, the writing of it, my transplant experience and my relationship with Paul. This is my first interview as an author. My first chance to talk about my writing. With a wave to the parking attendant (I’m a regular), I slide into the passenger seat and pull out my laptop to begin.

SNACK magazine cover

Apprehension stalls my first sentence. Start, delete. Start, delete. I know I’m over-thinking. It’s not like I don’t know the answers: I wrote the book and what’s more, I lived the experience. It’s my story. Breathe. Start again. This time I let go and write as I would talk. And guess what, it’s fun.

Since my transplant I’ve told and retold my story so many times I’ve lost count. Mostly it’s to friends, family, work mates. Occasionally it’s to the press or other media. I’ve even performed parts of it, as recounted in an earlier blog. What I haven’t done much of is talked about my writing. About what or who inspires me. How it feels to reveal details of my experience, my relationship, on the page. To do so was exhilarating. Turns out I had a lot to say. Too much. No matter, I could save the overspill of words for a podcast I’d been invited to take part in a few days, this time for the Scots Whay Hae!, a website dedicated to Scottish culture.

For the podcast it’s an evening and it’s with Paul, in our living room, via Zoom. It’s also the same interviewer, Alistair Braidwood. I’m familiar with SWH! and have listened to several previous podcasts. So why the frizzle of nerves? The sensation of standing on the banks of a fast flowing river? I’ve checked to make sure I haven’t spilled anything on my shirt and my hair isn’t sticking up, yet (private joke for a few of my university friends). Inside I know why. It’s the fear of jumbling my words in the school play, of dropping the ball at third base of rounders, of tripping over at sports day, of forgetting my steps at the end of year dance show. The potential to misspeak or dry up completely.

Scots Whay Hae! website

The good news is, it was, as you’ve probably guessed, fine. More than, in fact. As far as I’m aware, I didn’t speak out of turn or inappropriately, laugh too loudly (well perhaps a little but it’s my natural laugh) or offend anyone. In fact, as with the written interview, after a wobbly start, I enjoyed the whole experience. It helps that Alistair was warm and encouraging, the questions were interesting, and Paul was there to take the slack, or surreptitiously poke me to remind me to slow the pace.

And as if that weren’t enough firsts, I also received feedback from three readers with no connection to my story. And they loved the book. One said it was the best book she’d read all year, another talked about how it resonated with her emotionally, the last about how she had been unable to put it down. What a remarkable privilege to write something and have it read and enjoyed by others.

These feelings, all of them, I hope they never go away.

And if you’re interested, below are the links to the SWH! podcast and the interview in SNACK magazine.

Scots Whay Hae! https://scotswhayhae.com

SNACK magazine https://snackmag.co.uk/read-this-months-magazine

Putting it out there

~ Angela Hughes ~ Leave a comment

On Thursday 22 October, My Heart’s Content was officially ‘released’. There was no event, as such, but a number of those who supported the Kickstarter campaign and had read pre-release copies, took part in a literary flash mob – a fancy way of saying they shared pictures and encouraging words on social media. It may not have been grand but it was special. It laid down a marker: my first book was officially out there. Now there was the simple matter of bringing it to the attention of potential readers.

When Paul and I decided to set up Liminal Ink and publish my book ourselves, we weren’t without some experience in the area. Paul has a PhD in Publishing and we both have MLitts in Creative Writing. Further, as my book had originally been signed to a publisher, we had a wee bit of insight into how the process worked, and as a former press officer, I had some idea of promotion. However, there were a couple of things we hadn’t factored in: potential difficulties with distribution, and my mum going into hospital.

Undeterred we enlisted some help with promotion and decided that for now, we would handle the distribution ourselves. During a week off from work, fully masked and maintaining an acceptable social distance, we drove around Scotland, delivering books to our Kickstarter supporters. We hadn’t seen most of our friends for at least six months and despite partially obscured faces and muffled voices, being able to stand on a doorstep, or in a garden, or out on the street, and see people in ‘real-life’ was disproportionately exciting and emotional. The ‘you look great, have you done something different with your hair?’ jokes never grew tired; the urge to grab each of them and hold on for a very long time, never lessened.

Our mini-tour reinforced my belief in the value of community. It also reiterated my idea that the book was already a success. Sure the words ‘bestseller list’ and the title of my book were unlikely to feature in the same sentence any time soon (never say never), but the tingle of excitement I felt each time I handed over my book to someone would be hard to be beat, a sensation that would be amplified as people gradually began to give me their feedback. And yes, I do realise that those who didn’t like it would be unlikely to say so, or at least unlikely to say so via an email / phone call / text / WhatsApp message to me, but hey, don’t burst my bubble quite yet.

Back in the world of trying to reach other readers, Paul contacted some of the independent bookshops: a couple took it, others mentioned how they ordered their copies through a certain distributor. We applied to be included with said distributor and sent off our sample copy. It takes up to six weeks to be added to the stock list. If the distributor likes it. And so we wait.

Meantime we keep drip feeding social media. And leaving messages for book shops. Of course I’d love it to find its way into the hands of someone with a larger presence, a louder voice. Someone who, should they like it, could influence others. Act as a champion. At the same time I fight shy of actively seeking to get it to such a person. Why? Well that’s a question with no simple answer.

Perhaps because I love the thought of my book being discovered. Passed on by a friend brimful of my words. The story alive in their enthusiasm. I would be delighted if each person who reads my book would tell one or two others. That they too would like and share it with another. And somewhere along the way, my whisper of a story would become a raised voice and then a shout. On merit.

Or maybe it’s my unease with marketing, which developed during our MLitt, when a well-known literary agent visited to talk to us about the industry side of writing and publishing. One of the main pieces of advice was that writers should always be considering their potential readers, as well as where their book would sit in a bookshop – which genre; under what label. To make it easier for marketing. There was also talk of the ‘elevator pitch’ – the ability to succinctly describe (or sell) your book in the length of time it takes to ride in a lift, although it wasn’t clear how many floors you would be ascending and whether it would call at intermittent ones along the way. I find this element of writing hard. It seems cynical. Contrived. And yet I know that to make a living from writing, it was, and is, sound advice.

At the end of the talk, my perturbed expression attracted the attention of the speaker. I explained my disappointment that writing should be bound by an invisible audience; defined by a slot on an imaginary, commercial bookshelf. My naivety was audible even to myself. But it was more than that. For me, writing constantly evolves. And what I’ve discovered is that even after the book is written, the ‘story’ isn’t fixed.

When I wrote my book, I imagine my elevator pitch was along the lines of ‘firsthand experience of waiting for, and receiving, a new heart. Of what that means in real terms – an insight of how it feels to be suspended between life and death.’ I know, not terribly snappy but you get the gist. And the thing is, it is that. And it isn’t. What I discovered from early feedback is that some readers consider it a love letter: to family and friends; to our amazing NHS; to the kindness of strangers. To Paul. To the human spirit and the will to survive. And it is that too.

So if you do stumble across it, if you read it and like it, tell someone. Share why it moved or challenged or annoyed or fascinated you. What the story means to you. Because whatever you get from it, however you read it, that’s the book it was meant to be.

My Heart’s Content: A Journey to Transplant – available from: Liminalink.com

Almost there

~ Angela Hughes ~ 1 Comment

The few weeks since the end of the Kickstarter have been a whirlwind of tweaks, layouts and design decisions. And now it’s all done. The book cover design is finalised, the manuscript is typeset and print ready, and the e-book versions are complete. All that’s left is to send everything to the printer and wait for the book to arrive. The real-life, proper book.

Remember how it felt as a child on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa, body tingled, eyes screwed shut, sleep elusive, willing time to go faster? That’s a fraction of the excitement simmering inside me. My Heart’s Content was a labour of love; an exorcism. It wasn’t my planned first book, nor even my preferred genre. It’s the one I couldn’t not write (double negative intentional and necessary). The end was a long breath out.

The prospect of writing memoir fascinated me – not so much deciding what to include but rather how to present it. When I arrived at the format of a day per chapter (I know, not exactly ground-breaking and yet it took months to get there), it freed me to be more creative with the content. With little experience of biographical writing, I began by reading other memoirs, across many subjects. For several weeks I inhabited the genre: from brain tumours to birds of prey. What struck me was the stylistic crossover between biography and fiction. The weaving of a story around a moment in time. None of the dry, factual text I had imagined but instead a journey into another life, a glimpse of a different world. A revelation.

“There is another side of writing a memoir for which I wasn’t prepared.”

There is another side of writing a memoir for which I wasn’t prepared. The emotional toll. Not the writing, which was almost cathartic, not even the reading of the story over and over, although there were moments where triggered memories were almost too much to bear. What I hadn’t expected was the underlying fear of those unknown readers. People with whom I have no connection, who don’t know my story, who have no vested interest in me and don’t need to be careful with their comments. What if these people don’t like it? Or actively dislike it? If it were fiction, it would still hurt but it wouldn’t be my story. I knew releasing a book into the wild would be tough but this extra dimension …

And yet.

Whatever the readers think, I’m proud of my book. I’m proud of Paul and my friends and family who helped me through my experience. I’m proud of our NHS and the care and dedication of the staff in the transplant unit of the Golden Jubilee Hospital. I’m proud of the team of professionals who proofed, edited, typeset, designed, primped and preened my book ready for its prom night.

My book’s all grown up. Time to make its own way in the world. All I can do now is let it go.

* My Heart’s Content is launched on Thursday 22 October. Backers from the Kickstarter campaign will receive their copies as soon as they are ready.

A sense of community

~ Angela Hughes ~ Leave a comment

It’s just over a week since I launched my Kickstarter campaign to publish my memoir about the time I spent on the urgent transplant list, waiting for a new heart. What a week it’s been. As many of you probably know, we hit our funding target of £1000 in less than an hour and a half; one hour 24 minutes to be exact but hey, who’s counting?

To celebrate the launch Paul and I invited our friends to share photos of themselves raising a glass at 7pm. The response was fantastic. I’m still reeling from the excitement. And I wasn’t the only one. Even if I hadn’t been refreshing the Kickstarter page with obsessive regularity, I would’ve known the exact moment I hit my target: from my mum!

Raising a glass for the launch

Paul answered the phone: 

Mum: ‘You hit your target!’

Paul [trying not to laugh]: ‘Really, we weren’t checking. Don’t tell me, it was you who pledged all the money using false names…’

Mum: ‘No! Although I would’ve done if I could’ve worked out how to do it!’

It felt fitting to launch the publication of my book in this way; for it to be a shared experience. During the wait for my transplant and the subsequent long recovery, I was supported by a community of positive, uplifting people. From my family and friends to hospital staff, workmates, even those strangers who would stop to ask me if I was okay or offer to carry my shopping. 

Even the journey of the book, from first draft to final, has been a team effort. Several friends contributed their perspective to my situation in the form of letters talking about how they felt when they received the news about my transplant. To help me start to write the book, I was mentored by Karen Campbell a Scottish author whose work I admire, who also read the final draft and provided me with a quote for the cover.

An early draft won a work in progress grant from Moniack Mhor, Scotland’s creative writing centre, where I was able to spend a week working with other writers to develop my manuscript, and a further week, several months later, to edit it. It also meant I was invited to read a section of my writing at the Ullapool Book Festival.

On completion, several friends read my manuscript and contributed their thoughts: from Lisa, who suggested I change the ending (or rather where the book ended – she was right and I did), to Stephen and Ali who made the first edits and helped the book to shine.

One of the good things to come out of the short time I was signed to a publisher was that it was professionally edited by Iain Maloney, another Scottish author who I also really enjoy reading. Iain immediately understood what I wanted to do with the book and every one of his suggestions improved it. He is responsible for the other quote on the cover.

When Paul and I decided to publish the book we sought the advice of those who knew more about the world of publishing than either of us. By my own admission I am not the most organised of people and it is an endless source of frustration for me that I have the kind of brain that struggles to follow instructions and is devoid of logic. Ade’s help walking us through the stages to publication, and warning us of the potential pitfalls, has been invaluable. 

What would you consider a success as far as your book’s concerned?

Thanks to Laura, the image of her embroidery on the mock up cover made a striking banner for the Kickstarter and an engaging visual when sharing the link on social media. We follow each other on Twitter due to our shared heart stories and Paul chanced upon her image when she posted her work in progress. We had just been discussing the kind of image I was thinking about for the cover of the book.

‘Is this it?’ he said, turning his phone to show me.

It was; is.

On top of all of this, there are 77 people (so far) who have decided to take a chance on my writing and support my book. Some are friends and a small number have read earlier drafts, but most of them haven’t. It’s a leap of faith from each of them for which I am grateful.

‘What would you consider a success as far as your book’s concerned?’ Paul asked me during a walk along the beach a couple of days ago.

‘It already is’, I said.

A new way of doing things

~ Angela Hughes ~ 3 Comments
Angela in her favourite green dress

Today I’m wearing my favourite green dress, the one I wore at the weddings of two sets of friends last year. It’s loose and the colour makes me smile. I’m wearing it because later today, along with my husband Paul, I will launch the Kickstarter campaign to raise money to help me fund my first book. And because I cried during my daily meditation (more on that later).

At the end of 2016 My Heart’s Content, the memoir I wrote based on my time on the urgent transplant list, was signed to a publisher, with a provisional publication date of spring 2018. At the news Paul bought me flowers and prosecco and we ate chips in gravy for tea. The publisher was my first choice and the only one I had sent my manuscript to for consideration. I couldn’t believe my luck. In 2017, before my publication date, the publisher went into liquidation and my mum was diagnosed with a brain tumour. Priorities shift. Things change.

Three years on the world is on pause. My mum’s recovered and after much discussion, my husband Paul and I have decided to use our ‘staying in’ time to publish my book ourselves. 

We both believe in making things happen; in taking creative control, though sometimes there’s a lag between our belief and the actual doing. We love that the literary world is beginning to embrace and celebrate those who take initiative and either self-publish or form collectives to share knowledge, expertise and enthusiasm and get things out there. 

I did try the traditional route. With the help of a friend we knocked on the doors of some of the bigger publishers. The rejections were positive but apparently books about heart transplants don’t sell, or at least don’t sell enough. Unless you’re a celebrity. Which I’m not. Except when I’m headlining Glastonbury in the shower, but that’s another story.

Embroidered heart by Laura Donald
Embroidered heart by Laura Donald

For me, and I imagine lots of authors, it’s not about the money, well not completely. Of course it would be amazing to write a bestseller and retire off the profits but I think the lack of wizards in my book precludes me on that score. The thrill for me is the thought of someone reading what I’ve written. And liking it. Or not. (But preferably the former.) The sheer joy of getting my words out there. Of sharing my story. It’s the equivalent of standing on stage and hearing the audience sing your words back to you, even if that audience consists of two slightly inebriated punters, a tired barman and a random dog. At least I imagine that’s the equivalent.

But there’s a cost involved to writing a memoir about such an intimate, life-altering experience. An emotional toll, payable each time you relive the moments of terror and desperation. Each time you try to describe how it feels to be utterly exhausted and yet to fight the sleep you so badly need, night after night, for fear if you succumb, you may never wake up again. Or the pain of catching the momentary slip of a smile on the faces of those you love when they see you for the first time in hospital, hooked to a drip; your drug-induced tremble, skin slackened and grey. The guilt of knowing your future relies on someone else being denied theirs.

During the preparation for the crowdfunding, I’ve found myself in a head-on collision with memories from that time. Of willing the pressures in my lungs to reduce, or my kidneys to keep working. Dreams filled with abandonment, by Paul, my family, my friends. Relief on wakening to find I’m not in a hospital room with hermetically sealed windows. Delight at the breeze on my face, the ability to turn over in bed without fighting for breath.

In this morning’s meditation, breath even, mind beginning to settle, I was suddenly back in that hospital bed, being wheeled along a corridor, lights passing overhead. Paul at my side, holding my hand. And then the point where we stopped; the theatre doors. The discrete turning away of the accompanying theatre staff so Paul could say good bye. That’s when I realised I was crying. Silently. Relentlessly. The moment when I knew there was a real possibility I would never see Paul again. Or my family and friends. And for a few moments it was more than I could bear.

That’s the emotional price you pay.

That’s the reason I’m wearing my favourite green dress.

But it’s worth remembering that when time is limited, there is joy to be found in even the smallest of things: a bedside Christmas tree gifted by one of the nurses; unexpected chocolate from a friend; penguins in a text; the softness of a cashmere scarf; the touch of a loved one; the drawings from your cousin’s children; the laughter from across the ward of those who have already had their transplant. Pink fizz and Paul in a festive jumper!

I wrote My Heart’s Content as a story but hoped it would also help raise awareness of heart transplantation and what it means in real terms. Organ donation and the change to an opt out system in the UK is a current issue and my story provides insight to the flip-side of the subject – to what it feels like to wait for a new heart, knowing that your chance to live depends on someone else dying.

As I say on my crowdfunding page, it’s the best book I could’ve written on a subject I would not have chosen to write about. 

I was compelled. I owe it, somehow.

For details on how you can support the project, have a look at our Kickstarter page: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/myheartscontent/my-hearts-content

I hope you like it.