February Blues

To write or not to write...that is the question.

For the majority of the last year, I have been so in love with botanics and herbs and making my own lotions, potions and meds that finishing my book took a rather large of amount of will-power (and the not-so-gentle urging from my mother to finish the damn thing before allowing my butterfly brain to flit to something new). But I did, and proud of myself I am indeed. Perhaps not as much as my mother, bless her heart, but enough that I do feel I have finally accomplished something.

This is new for me, this feeling of accomplishment. Because even though I have produced three very healthy and, dare I say it, good-looking children, who each have such spirit as to drive their mother up the very walls, it's not exactly something that most women do not achieve. In my pursuits of various crafts, all with the view in mind to earn some money from the joy I get in their creation, I have always succeeded to fail very well. I didn't finish school and have, for as long as I remember, had a list of the things I want to be when I grow up that extends well below my knees. Whenever I have tried to figure out, definitively, what I want to be, what career I am going to pursue, I have never been able to pin-point any one thing that will tick all my boxes, namely: creative, flexible, challenging, work from home mostly, beneficial to the public, rewarding etc. least of all tick them continuously until retirement.

So what did I do? I flitted from one thing to the next, dreaming up schemes and creating plans to make my current hobby into a career. It started with beads and progressed through silk flower arranging, polymer clay sculpting, sewing, drawing, web design, make-up artistry and writing and eventually a combination of most of those things at any given time. I did do quite a few craft fairs with a dear friend who also makes jewellery from beads, polymer clay and even silver clay, but the market was always too saturated. As it was with make-up. In fact it wasn't long after getting into make-up and realising that yet again, it wasn't going to go anywhere, that I fell very much out of love with the whole industry for realising how well we, as consumers of cosmetics, are conned out of tons of money to cause terrible damage to our largest organ. It led me on the path to herbalism as I sought out natural alternatives to products whose ingredients labels might as well have been written in Greek. In herbalism I discovered a passion that rivalled my love of writing; a driving need to discover everything the natural world has to offer in these times of synthetic living.

And through all of this there was the book, in the back of my mind, on a forgotten disk in the drawer, on a forgotten file on the computer, occasionally hinting at being let out into the light, being completed and brought to life. So, true to form, when I did grab it by horns and made up my mind to see it through, it was with the usual grandiose dreams of money coming in and a comfortable life. But a little part of me kept doubting I would see it through, would get it out there, would get the submissions to agents sent off. After all, I never had gone from start to finish with anything else. But I did it, and it feels great.

Except...I don't know what to do now. The agents were all very kind, but each one came back with a a starting line of "We regret..." and though I am still waiting on one return (which indeed, I may not even get) I still have a few more I can try. But for all that I am a dreamer, I work very hard to pretend to be a realist, and force myself to consider the realistic outcome of any endeavour. I know that I am about 600% more likely to end up with cancer than a book deal, and I know that even if I did eventually get noticed by the right person at the right time, I would need to be earning some money, somehow, until then. So I began looking to herbalism as the one thing, other than writing, that would, hopefully, tick all my boxes, and for a long while to come. It's a subject in which one will always be learning and I want that. But it's going to take time and money (which are not exactly in abundance in our house) to become a herbalist and set up a practice, not to mention a lot of hard work and studying. But the idea of the hard work and studying aren't so daunting now that I know I am capable of achieving what I set out to do. It's the doubt of being able to make it work, of being able to see it through in the long run, after investing all that time and effort and money into it, that worries me. What if I lose interest five years down the line?

And what about the writing? Sitting here now, typing away, makes me long for the nights sitting up late and weaving the threads of my story into an attractive piece of work. I want to write, but I know this is probably never going to put food on the table, no matter how hard I may work to make my luck. And so I am at odds within myself; neither wanting to waste time writing when I could be studying for a very wholesome and worthwhile career, nor feeling confident enough to throw everything I have at a dream when I could take the path of least resistance and continue writing in the comfort of this chair and resign my financial fate to the gods. Or perhaps, just maybe, there's a way to combine the two?

Dear Agents and Colleagues...

Yesterday I sent off my first batch of postal submissions to literary agents; with quaking I hands passed an indifferent man at the post office all of my hopes and dreams wrapped into A4 envelopes that looked no more important than a letter to my Gran in South Africa. Though somewhat thicker and a little lumpy on account of the big grips I'd used to secure all the pages, since they all specified "no binding or stapling".

Most of the preceding two days I spent drafting and redrafting covering letters, synopses, an autobiography and a CV - "not the likes of which you would use for a job application" as specified by one agency's website - and then going through it all again just before sending it off via email or printing it (hundreds of pages, including the sample chapters!) for the purpose mentioned above. I can truly say that I spent the last few days in a permanent state of pre-heart attack, so anxiety-inducing such a process becomes.

The fact that agents are just so particular with the specifications of their submissions process is utterly daunting, and indeed almost soul destroying. One wants a synopsis that is up to two pages long, one says it can't be more than a page, while yet another says 500 words. And that's without mentioning the fact that it all has to be double-spaced with decent margins on all sides. It becomes very difficult to condense one's masterpiece into the roughly 300 word space that a single page holds, especially as you know that this is your one chance to really grab their attention. The chances of getting an agent are ridiculously slim, but for the thousands and thousands of submissions they receive each year, usually they will only take on two or three new authors because that is all they can realistically gain publication for as well as continue working with their current clients. So they have the right to be picky. Though one could argue that "picky" doesn't quite cover it...

Even if one was to find an agent, it does not necessarily mean a publishing deal. And even if you get a publishing deal, there's no guarantee you'll make a big enough name for yourself to be more than a flash-in-the-pan. Or one of those genuinely great books sitting on the shelf, that no one knows about unless their friend recommended it to them or they happened to read a review somewhere. It was for this very reason that I loved working in a book shop so much: I got to review the books I enjoyed, that were not necessarily big-name authors, but whose work deserved so much more than just dust-collection rights.

Submitting your first book to agents is one of those moments in life that even someone who has been there before couldn't adequately explain it to someone who hasn't. There are just no words to describe the fear, the anticipation, the hope, the thrill, the utter desperation to get it just right in the hope they might actually read your submission that you've just spent the last three hours polishing to their exacting standards... It's the same as the first time you drive a car, or have a baby, or get married. People can explain it to you, describe it to you, but until you go there yourself, they cannot begin to make you understand what it's going to be like. It's one of those moments you just have to experience for yourself.

I can only sit back now, and wait for them to receive, hopefully read, and (Please Lord!) respond kindly to my submissions. In the meantime, I am designing my website and waiting for my wonderful sister-in-law; who happens to be an English teacher; to finalise the proofing of my manuscript so that I can upload said manuscript onto Amazon and hopefully make a few pounds. Once that's been done, I will (possibly, if I can stand it) take a week's break and then begin drafting book 2, which, as yet, is very cleverly named "Volume 2". Thank you, thank you, please hold your applause till the end...

Should anyone who happens upon this rambling care to take a look, you can read the first three chapters here http://www.wattpad.com/user/TLJ550 and please do be kind enough to put me as a fan if you enjoy it, and even more gratefully received would be a vote! I'm not entirely sure what all the voting is about, but it seems to make me more inclined to read others' works if they have not only many reads of their story, but many votes as well. I imagine if this is the effect on me, that possibly it might be the same for others too. Either way, if you then decide you like my wattpad page, be a darling and go and Like me on facebook http://www.facebook.com/TamarynLJohnson

I always respond to any Comments, Liking, Fanning or Voting and will be sure to publicly thank you! And maybe, just maybe, your fan/vote/liking of my pages will encourage any passing agents to reconsider sending my proposal straight to the recycling bin. You just never know.

The Story...

If you read my other two posts you probably know more about me than you ever wanted to, and I can only humbly apologise, and then kindly point out: that no one had you strapped to a chair with your eyes held open by tiny hooks in front of your screen. Just saying. However, if you were reading my other posts you may be interested in knowing a little more about the story. Here is a rough idea.


Borne of a virus spread by mosquitoes, Vampires believe it their given right to cull the human race and keep the over-population of Earth under control. The Hunters are the human race’s evolutionary response, banding together to keep the ruthless, killing machines under control, but there is little they understand about their foe...and themselves.

Sonia is young Hunter, but with her father long dead and no other Hunters to guide her training, she is lost in a confusion of fact and fiction, with only her father’s journals to help her. When she meets Lee, the attraction between them is unstable, yet undeniable and she finds herself suddenly far deeper into the world of her enemy than she had ever imagined possible. She faces the ultimate choice: join her rivals...or die alone.

Lee belongs to Jódís' Host, an old Nordic Vampire who escaped the short summer nights of Norway by moving south into Africa with her brother, Andersson. But his new position of power had corrupted his mind and she left him on the crossing to Morocco. Now his hunger to annihilate the Hunters drives his narcissistic existence, while his sister simply aims to live in balance with the predators and humans alike.

Andersson want Sonia’s blood; after losing Lee to his sister, he needs the next purest bloodline to create the most effective virus to eliminate the Hunters without harming the humans. But she’s proving to be hard to attain and when she shows up at his sister’s Host, he lays plans to take her back...


If you're interested enough that you want to read the sample chapters, hop along to www.wattpad.com/user/TLJ550 and please do fan and/or vote for me if you like it. Also have a look at my facebook page http://www.facebook.com/TamarynLJohnson and if you like it, then please Like it! It will also hopefully be on Amazon very shortly as an e-book for Kindle (or just about any e-reading device) to buy for under £5.00, though I'm not entirely certain exactly what the price will be and if I will be allowed to create an introductory offer. If I can, it'll start off at 99p. More details soon.

How to forget you have a blog...

I guess with the interruption of a third baby, giving up my job and becoming a stay at home mother and then dealing with the endless stress of having not two, but THREE children kind of makes it easy to forget you started a blog when the impetus to knuckle down and get your book done was upon you. Ironically, said third baby was already in-situ but not yet discovered when I wrote my first - and up until now, only - post. I found out six days later, and promptly declined into a state of panicked anxiety surrounding the how, why, when, of the situation, and got to pondering the enormous question of "what the hell do I do now?!" 

The how and why, I was later rational enough to realise I had the answers for, it was the when that truly stumped me. And for a woman who was very determined to get her life back on track, had just begun a new exercise regime and was just about learning to cope with two children, an unexpected pregnancy was not on the wish list, at all. It was not a fun few weeks. Nor was the incredible difference in morning sickness, in contrast with the very mild case of said affliction with my two other pregnancies. Yes...it was a girl this time.

But I knew from the moment I found out, despite a bit of an internal debate on the matter, that I could never give up such a gift, no matter how ill-timed and ultimately devastatingly impactful the gift was to be upon our finances. My little girl is like a ray of sunshine in our lives, and has been since the moment she arrived. She truly was a blessed surprise. 

And then we made the delightful mistake of giving her a name that means "playful", a name she has lived up to very well since her second birthday. The fact that she was named after a purple-haired, one-eyed, self-righteous, stubborn and compassionate cartoon character makes it just that little bit worse. If you guessed Leela, from Futurama, then you'd be right. Well, it's not like we actually expected her to become her namesake! But, bizarrely, she has done just that. A true madam in every sense of the word, right down to coveting shoes since she was six months old; something I have never done. It can only mean that she has more of her father's (and by default, his three sisters') genes, and hence will be a true pink and fluffy girly-girl even though her mother is very much not!

Anyway, enough about the, er, distraction. I started this blog to get my name around a bit and keep myself focused on my writing, something it has done very well thus far...not. But although I had totally forgotten about it, I had not forgotten about my book, and in the January of this year, decided it really was high time I finished it. I scrapped nearly everything from the original story, rewrote the plot, scrapped more bits from what I'd written pre-third-pregnancy, and got down to it. 

I finished on Saturday, the 20th of October, created my Facebook page for it, updated my Wattpad account with a few sample chapters and started spreading the word to my friends and family. I have gotten a lot of positive feedback and well wishes already, and it's only Monday. Of the few people privileged enough to have gotten a copy gratis, they are apparently hooked and staying up too late because of it. I take this as encouragement to move forward, put it on Amazon and actually start contacting that list of prospective agents I've compiled. Now that is daunting.

The Beginning

Unless you are writing a book yourself, and are a first time author like myself, you are probably not going to get past the first paragraph without yawning. Likewise, even if you are, as suggested, writing yourself, you are likely to be bored reading this blog. At least the first few entries anyway, until something exciting happens.

I am writing a book; well a trilogy to be precise; and it's a bit of a long haul with many things to do, consider, write, research, re-write, research some more and re-write again, and not to mention look for a publisher/agent. It's all a wee bit daunting really. But I have for the first time in my life felt really dedicated to one craft in particular (I tend to flit from jewellery making and polymer clay bead-making, to drawing, to sewing, to decorating, to playing music and singing etc etc etc...) and I'll be damned if I'm going to let it slip away. I want this more than anything else; I want it for myself and I want it for my family, so I can show them that I can achieve something without having gone all the way through school and provide for them more than a weekend bookseller's salary.

About the book
It all started when I first came to the UK from South Africa. I initially came for six months when I was nearly 15. I had stopped going to school in the April of 2000 and gone to stay with my Aunt near Thabazimbi in the Northern Province while my mom made all the arrangements for schooling etc in the UK. My step dad to be, I had met only once. By the August, all was set and about 4 days before my birthday I stepped off the plane to the most miserable place in the world (I thought at the time) and all I wanted to do was go home. England was so green and wet and the long evenings were strange to me. I could not attend school, even if it were not summer holidays and I knew no one other than my mother. I spent my days reading/watching tv/crying/smoking/getting on my mother's nerves/cooking/cleaning/crying/drawing/smoking etc. You get the picture. I was depressed. I couldn't go to school, I had no friends and no means to make any, it was Autumn of a very different kind to the ones I was used to. By the time October came around, I had taken to wandering the little streets of South Darenth just wishing I were Dorothy and could find a pair of red sparkly shoes. I began to dream up fantasies about vampires and witches and as they became more and more real to me, and as my home became the inside of my skull, so came the urge to get it out of me, to write.

I started writing one after noon and didn't stop until about 3am. This happened every night for about a week before my mom started laying into me for screwing up my body-clock and never lifting a finger in the house and smoking too much, the list went on, but I honestly didn't listen after the first twenty minutes. She was really worried about me, but I was, I'm now ashamed to admit, past caring. If I couldn't go home, then I would live there, in my head.

I wrote the prologue and first three chapters before I had even the vaguest idea what my book was about. I started with the title and just went on from there, typing in time to my imagination as it led me from one thing to the next. As you could imagine, not much of it made sense, but it was just so real to me, I couldn't type fast enough to capture each image in my mind, each voice, each situation's atmosphere. And then she sent me home two months ahead of schedule. By the end of November I was back home. Christmas was heavenly and hot at my Aunt's house, the only one missing was my mother. I did miss her, but I was hell-bent that I would not be returning to that God-forsaken country (that became a well-used phrase, I'll come to that soon) and the 8 months passed, mainly at my Aunt's house, but a few weeks with my dad here and there. Life was a breeze without having to go to school (yup I was still not attending...) and not having to work because I was underage. I spent the time drinking, smoking and acquainting myself with men (I say men, because, by and large, they were much older than me, the youngest being only 3 years older, one of my brother's friends).

You're thinking, so what happened to the book? This is about a book right? Well yes, it is, but at that point in time I had all but forgotten about it. I was back where I wanted to be, I didn't need to recreate it to make a home for my mind anymore. I tinkered with it occasionally, but never wrote more than a few paragraphs at a time, mainly because I had no idea what the story was!

To cut a long story short, I did end up back in this God-forsaken country, and I did go back to school in September of 2001, but only managed a year, having leaped from below GCSE levels straight into AS levels because of my age. I met my husband the following May, at a friends birthday party, where he'd come to collect his sister who enjoyed art and English lit with me. He pursued me and though I turned him down a few times I finally came to my senses...7 years, two living quarters, two sons and two years of marriage later... and I've finally started writing again. I've been at it now for about 6months, having had the epiphany that the story would not imagine itself and that I would have to actually sit down and work it out, whence I promptly sat down with a coffee, pen and notebook and did just that. The problem was that the story became too intricate and too involved to be able to restrict it to just one book. And so I divided it up, fleshed it out a little and voila! A new Vampire trilogy has impregnated my mind, and slowly, will come to bear upon the world...

As for the story line, well you'll have to wait, because it's bed-time and though it's a little earlier than I would like to go to sleep (the brain is way way to awake) I have two boisterous boys (4 and a half and 13months) who wake up at 6am and 7am respectively, demanding their porridge oats and milk as if I can magic it onto the table without having to pull my eyelids up and throw myself out of bed to dress. At least Ethan starts school in September...peaceful days of only Leon's whining to contend with...