A Radical Retreat

I’ve just come back from an intense and very enjoyable week at Moniack Mhor, Scotland’s national creative writing centre. Over the years I’ve heard a lot about their courses and retreats; people seem to come back raving about what it’s done for their writing, how the beautiful isolated location and immersive atmosphere has inspired them. Nice work if you can get it, right, but it always seemed out of my reach. This experience, though, was fairly unusual because it was part of a new experiment they’re involved in, so I think it’s worth recounting. I stayed there with six other ‘emerging’ writers and, between us, our ten children aged between 2-9 – so it was hardly free of distractions!

The tutored retreat was part-subsidised by a Creative Scotland project called Radical Care, which as I understand it is trying to establish models that arts organisations and institutions can use to support people with caring responsibilities to fully work in those industries which for too long have been inaccessible in this as in other ways. Without that subsidy and a voucher for the Centre that I won in the Bridge Awards, I couldn’t have gone. A previous retreat earlier this year was for mid-career/established writers.

During the week, our kids were taken to Abriachan Forest School nearby between 10-3, where they made campfires, whittled things, climbed trees and generally went feral. Meanwhile, the parents could write or workshop pieces with experienced tutors (Alan Bissett, Hannah Lavery and Cynthia Rogerson). We were fed, extremely well (“unlimited cake,” said my child, dreamily, though I did have to set some limits) and didn’t have to clean up. Let me emphasise that: three excellent meals a day AND NO DISHES TO WASH UP. For someone with a fair number of caring responsibilities, that is the most tremendous treat.

Nice holiday for me and the kid, then, but of course that wasn’t all there was to it. During the week, I felt supported and enabled to just think and create for a few days, having it accepted that that work, whatever it was – even whether it actually produced anything – was valuable in itself. Is that the truly radical bit of Radical Care? Frankly, it was like having a 1950s stereotype wife: no wonder all those Great White Men of the canon managed to write so much.

I went in thinking that I would be ok with just taking a few days to relax, read and think, but ended up in a productive frenzy writing thousands of words of my new book and a couple of other personal pieces, thinking even more about the edit of my first, workshopping some in-progress short stories and making some good connections. And beyond that, there was the unique experience of being in a small intense bubble, like a village, learning how other people navigate work and childcare, parenting and creativity.

Feminists in the 60s and 70s used to hold consciousness raising groups where women would gather to talk about their experiences. It’s a dated concept but this week reminded me of the value of knowing that your own struggles are not atomised, unique to your family or situation but part of something structural and sometimes they need structural solutions. Even leaving creative work aside, childcare itself is presented as something non-political and personal, at best a women’s issue alone, rather than a fundamental part of any culture. 

Think of this: I’m told that no men applied for this residency, though it was advertised as being for anyone with childcare responsibilities and it fell in the October school holidays. Naturally, perhaps, given that early years childcare generally falls to women making it more important for them to have such an opportunity. But we’re still not really examining why that happens over and over, why it’s the default ‘natural’ choice that women will put aside their work to cover the holidays. Again we don’t make our choices purely on our own circumstances but in a context.

(That said I’d love to see a future version of this programme reserved for single parents, of whom around 90% are women; it would be such a transformative experience for them in particular I think)

Self-care has become a devalued concept, associated with scented candles and chocolate (not that I have a problem with either, to be honest). But its origins are political, in the social justice movements of the 1960s. The phrase is associated with Audre Lorde, the poet and activist, who saw it as necessary for black women in particular to survive hostile power structures. Some people have argued that a radical interpretation of self-care is more about community than self, about finding strength collectively. But as women we often feel that doing something for ourselves is selfish, especially if we have children.

“There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall,” goes the infamous Cyril Connolly quote, which is both nonsense and insulting. It’s certainly difficult, but I’ve written more since becoming a parent than I ever did before. And parenthood is absolutely valid as a subject for art in itself. There has recently been an upsurge in fantastic books about motherhood, like Marianne Levy’s Don’t Forget To Scream, Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder, I Am Not Your Baby Mother by Candice Braithwaite, Chita Ramaswamy’s Expecting, Kirsty Logan’s Things We Say In The Dark and loads more that I will be reading once my child has learned to GO TO SLEEP WITHOUT ME SITTING IN THE ROOM FOR HOURS. 

As for the kids, they had a wonderful time. My little one mused at one point: “There are good jobs and bad jobs. Some jobs are quite boring, but your job is quite nice because you get to write stories.” Yes. I may not be a professional writer as such but it is work, which kids can find hard to grasp. Another child told me, “My mummy’s hobby is writing. She just writes and writes and writes.” Isn’t that great?

We showed our kids, collectively, that we are not just mothers but writers, that we have creative, inner lives as well as the caring work they see us do. And that other people see that too. I personally feel really proud that I was able to give my child this lovely experience purely through my words. 

I’m taking away the reminder of how important it is to prioritise writing and to make time for my own needs as well as others’. I felt supported and valued. It was a luxury that absolutely should be available to everyone. In Britain of 2022, where government is a game of musical chairs while people freeze and the planet burns, I think it’s even more important to experiment with ways of caring for people that nurtures their minds as well as their bodies. I really hope that the lessons from this are developed further in other opportunities and projects across Scotland. 

The participants shared our work on the last evening and it was sheer joy to realise how much talent was there, not a weak link – from dark visceral horror to relatable parenting dark humour, vivid and honest poetry to touching prose, powerful soundscape to humorous nostalgia. You will be hearing a lot from these fantastic new writers and I’ll be shouting them out here and elsewhere.

I want to thank everyone involved in this project, at Moniack Mhor and beyond. It is an experience that I’ll be thinking – and writing – about for a long time.

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Here Are Some Things I’ve Learned About How Not To Write A Novel

Take years and years to do a first draft. Worry about the quality of it. Edit as you go along. Stress endlessly over whether the plot ‘makes sense’ (it doesn’t, it will). Go down research rabbit-holes. I did all these things and I strongly advise you not to.

The thing is, we don’t learn from others’ experiences, do we? For instance, if you going to have a child, you already know that your life is going to change. You’re not daft, you get it. You embrace it! And then you have the child and BOOM, it changes MASSIVELY and you go around whining, “I didn’t know! I didn’t know it would be like this!” There are, thankfully, more and more books being written about how all-encompassing parenthood – yes, particularly but not exclusively, motherhood – is and even so, I bet it makes absolutely no difference. You don’t know until you know.

Likewise, I have read lots of books and blogs about writing, I’ve been to writing courses, I know published novelists. In various ways they’ve all said: don’t judge your first draft; write 500 (or 1000, or any) words every day and don’t look back; stay in writer mode not editor mode; turn off your inner critic; tell the story like you’re telling a friend – all very good advice.

Which I didn’t take. Because I’m an idiot.

If anyone happens to be reading this who is working on a novel, you won’t take my advice either. You may well get to the end of your first draft somehow, but unless you are someone so perfect I don’t want to know you, you will have made at least some of my mistakes, or perhaps a few others. Why? Why do we do it?

I was miserable over those years writing The Ghost Marriage, at least 90% of the time. Correction, I was miserable not writing it; the times when I actually sat down and wrote for a couple of hours, letting the story spill out, were really good and I felt wonderful afterwards, for a brief while. The rest of the time I felt horrible about not writing The Ghost Marriage, because I was scared to write something so BAD that made NO SENSE. I just about managed to hold my story together in my head, but it was so, so hard to get it on the page.

Then I finished it, somehow, eventually. Took a break, began editing it to get it into some sort of coherent shape to submit to agents. Got some pointers. Began seeing that, actually, it was working. Submitted it, got an agent, got an absolutely amazing Agent Letter (a document, in this case extensive, with suggestions and questions and requests to Make Things Better), worked on that for a few months.

It was so enjoyable. The process was as far from the first draft misery as you can imagine. It was really difficult, sure, challenging, trying to work out how to fix things, but it was good difficult, the kind that leaves you physically exhausted, mentally drained, incredibly satisfied. I loved it! Why didn’t I just get to this good bit earlier! Now I know that, yes, as everyone said, you write the book in the edit, next time I will just race through a first draft, work out what the story is, then enjoy the process of fixing it all. I will meet my self-imposed deadlines, I will write 500 words a day, or a 1000, or 847. I will make necessary plot changes without wasting time by going back to correct everything that came before, instead trusting that if I make a note it can be picked up on one of the many, many times I do another pass.

Except I have a feeling that it won’t be like that, though. Because it’s hard to learn from your own mistakes, to take your own advice. I will probably think that I know better this time, but it’s just that this new book Doesn’t Make Sense! Is Bad! Needs Reworking As I Go Along!

But. I know I will get there. If I can get to The End once, surely I can do it again.

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Emerging

I am officially coming out as a writer, it seems, having been given a Highly Commended place in the 2022 Emerging Writer prize from Moniack Mhor and the Bridge Awards. Thanks very much to them! I am hoping to take part in one of their retreats at the writing centre sometime, care responsibilities permitting. And I look forward to reading the work of the other finalists and the winner Natalia Theodoridou.

Meanwhile, I’ve been enmeshed in edits after receiving the long and detailed notes from my agent Louise. It’s such an interesting process; after so long writing this book on my own, I feel like there’s someone in the pages with me now, a dialogue where we’re both so focused on this little world I created. I can see now why writers rely so much on their agents (and editors), because as well as the business side of things, it’s having someone champion and, hopefully, really understand your work. I love hearing someone respond to the characters, both when she agrees with me (little notes that say “Mrs Nye is so good at this!”) and when she differs (she’s been challenging me to make someone less likeable). It’s weirdly physical work, though, tiring. There aren’t any really big structural or plot changes to make at this stage, it’s more about tweaking small things as we go to make sure the characters are consistent or that each chapter has a real purpose. And I’m almost saying goodbye to them and to the book – I can see the end in sight.

Of course, after this it’ll go out on submission to publishers and if successful, there would be another round of edits. Which is fine, because The Ghost Marriage will never leave me – published or not, this story, these characters, are part of me now. They’ll haunt me forever.

But I really am ready to create a new world.

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Agenting

If I wrote this in a story or a script, it would be too on the nose … but honestly, half an hour after posting that last blog entry, I got a call from an agent. I couldn’t explain why I burst out laughing so haplessly spluttered, “Sorry, I’m just eating crackers!” Smooth!

It was SO thrilling to be able to talk about the book in detail with someone who had READ THE WHOLE THING (I’d thought about getting a beta-reader before sending it off and I think in many cases that is the best idea, but I had had so many extracts critiqued and rounds of edits, it was at the point where I knew it was ready to go). And who said it made sense! Who was engaged with the characters and surprised by the twists!

I was very lucky to get several great offers which was amazing – I genuinely did think I’d be lucky/happy to get one – but also quite anxiety-inducing, in that I had to decide who would be the best fit for the book and, if all goes well, future books. I genuinely agonised and was a bit miserable for a week even though I understand it’s a good problem to have, etc.

But! In the end I am very, very happy to announce that I have signed with Louise Lamont of LBA Books. As well as having the most glamorous name in publishing (undeniable echoes of the fabulous Lina Lamont in Singing In The Rain), Louise is lovely, very experienced, an Anne of Green Gables fan, and absolutely understands my vision for the novel, what I want people to take away from it and talk about, what I would want a publisher to do for it and how to make those final tweaks that will get it there. I am truly excited about what the next year will bring and the prospect of finally getting the book out there to be read.

While that’s in hand, I have started what will be my next novel! It is early days but I love the basic concept. I want it to be quite a different experience to The Ghost Marriage, in two ways: one, the tone and the central character should be quite different (even though it is another historical novel about a woman in an unusual setting; I like what I like), and two, I have to learn from all the mistakes that I made last time. Some basic things like organising research materials better and labelling drafts (has anyone used Scrivener? I am giving it a try), but also I now see how important it is for me to get the first draft done much more quickly. Not just because I would literally die of frustration if it took as long again, but because I realised how absorbing the editing process can be and how just going through it fast can solve those plot problems that held me up for months.

But it’s fun to realise just how open the project can be at this stage. I sketched out a basic synopsis and I can see that it would work, I could write it that way; but I don’t think I want to, because it would take on a certain tone that I don’t want to enmesh myself in for a year. So I can change it! Nothing is written in stone yet, it’s so flexible now and I really want to enjoy that after spending years fleshing out something that I had fairly fixed. I mean, I’m not saying that there are going to be witches flying above the WWI trenches in it, but there could be! It could be anything!

I’d be interested to know what other people think when they’re starting a new project. How do you stay open to the possibilities of a first draft?

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The Ghost Marriage is out on submission

This week I did something: I sent out my book on its own for the first time. Like sending a child to school for the first time (something I’ve also done recently) it feels like a landmark, thrilling and scary. People have read extracts before and been very encouraging, but no one objective has read the whole thing until now. Somewhere, within the next few weeks or, I dunno, months (they get a lot of submissions), an agent will be reading the story of Lucy in Shanghai, as I intended it to be read.

It’s a highpoint for me, I’m proud of what I’ve done because it’s been a really long and difficult journey to get here, with so many delays and frustrations and challenges. I love my book even as I understand its flaws – it’s not the perfect book I planned to write. It’s better because it’s real. It exists, I finished it. The best book you can write is the one you finish. I’ve started so many. 

I’m nervous too. It’s obviously possible that I won’t get an agent, maybe they’ll get a few chapters in and just lose interest. Maybe I’ll try reworking it and submit it elsewhere, but still not persuade anyone to take it on and advocate for it.

Or maybe I will get an agent but then not get a publisher. I know a very good writer who just had a novel rejected by every publishing house the agent pitched it to. That book, for whatever reason, is not going to happen. To make it worse, it’s the second time this writer has had this experience. You’d think they’d give up and crawl away to cry over all that hard work. Amazingly, they immediately began something new; they’re halfway through a first draft. If the same happens to me, I don’t know if I can be so brave. And yet, to have got so close is a sign that they definitely can do this. If my book is rejected, I’ll still know that I got to this point, where the initial idea and first chapters were enough to make someone want to read on.  

Maybe, though, I will get a publishing deal. And then maybe they’ll want me to cut out something I love (actually, this will definitely happen; everything needs edited). Maybe it won’t be the company I would ideally choose. Maybe they’ll stick a really weird cover on it. Or maybe it’ll all go perfectly but the book only sells twelve copies to pitying friends who give it a charity shop a few weeks later. 

It could certainly happen! But at the moment, there’s the glorious window of time where it might not. Where the book I’ve worked so hard on, that’s so personal to me, just goes out there and makes friends, finds other people to love it. That’s all I really want for The Ghost Marriage. 

So for now, I’m sitting with that feeling. I’m trying to celebrate what I’ve done, not worry about what might come next. 

And I’ve started writing something new. 

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Story Shop

I’m reading The Comeback Tour at Story Shop at the Edinburgh International Book Festival today. This is a story inspired by the music journalism I’ve done over the years – I’ve been sent to review many, many old rockers still on the road and sometimes you get the sense that playing their greatest hit is a contractual obligation. After singing it thousands of times, they’re just going through the motions, a bit dead behind the eyes. One particular, very famous and troubled star that I interviewed left me with the unsettling sense that their career – and their life – was no longer really in their own control. I’m also interested in the idea of nostalgia in music, that after a certain point in their lives, some people only really want to hear the songs they know from their youth. Why is that and what does it represent to them?

I’m reading this story in my approximation of an American accent, to fit the main character … I apologise in advance to anyone in the audience who finds it really painful, especially if they’re American! All I can say is that the accent is a hell of a lot better than it was, thanks to vocal super-coach Alex Gillon. 

Here’s my blurb at Story Shop: http://www.cityofliterature.com/story-shop-2014-wed-20th-august/

and the listing details here: https://www.edbookfest.co.uk/the-festival/whats-on/story-shop-62 

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In progress

It’s been an up and down year with my novel in progress, The Ghost Marriage. There have been months when I’ve hated it, months when events (dear boy, events) got in the way, but I think we have come to an understanding with each other. At present, I’m enjoying the writing, becoming more and more interested in the characters (especially a few whom I didn’t originally give much thought to, whose roles are expanding) and I’m feeling better about its tone which has been an ongoing problem.

Structuring my week has helped a lot; encouragement from agent Jenny Brown, at the excellent Pitch Live event in Edinburgh recently did too (specifically, her advice to ‘stay in the emotion longer’ which has unlocked a few things for me). Having more of my stories published helps too to make me feel that I’m still getting stuff out there even as I wrestle with a long project. There are still days when I doubt the whole thing, am frustrated with my inability to make it as good as I want it to be, or when I procrastinate myself into unhappiness, even though I know I always feel better when I’ve written. But it is still very much a work in progress – I keep going back to it – and that’s something.

Other stuff going on:

After The Fall, the post-apocalyptic anthology from Almond Press which includes my zombie rock star story, The Comeback Tour, is now available as an e-book from Amazon (sorry about the tax thing): http://www.amazon.co.uk/After-Fall-Apocalypse-Collection-ebook/dp/B00FBOU8Z2/

Night Shift At The Cessnock Psychic Centre, which is in Gutter issue 9, is still available here: http://www.freightbooks.co.uk/inrude-health.html.

I’m currently teaching classes at Glasgow University’s Open Studies dept, regularly appearing on both Shereen (discussing the week’s news stories) and The Culture Studio (reviewing films) on BBC Radio Scotland, and, of course, still reviewing telly for The Scotsman, as well as occasional book reviews.

Also, watch this space as I have just had some proper author pictures taken, by the very kind Glasgow photographer Paul Harkin who specialises in writer/artist portraits – will put one up if it doesn’t make me want to die inside!
(Paul’s info here: http://www.swordfishphotography.co.uk/)

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Story news, writing courses & book reviews

Lots of updates!

My longish short story, The Iceberg, has been accepted for publication by Alt Hist magazine (for historical and alternate history fiction). It’s based on an amazing true story about a relative of someone lost on the Titanic who was later accused of war crimes. The magazine will be available in print or as an e-book: more info on Alt Hist at http://althistfiction.com/

Another story, Night Shift At The Cessnock Psychic Centre, has just been published by literary journal Gutter, in issue 9 available here: http://www.freightbooks.co.uk/inrude-health.html. It includes wild misreadings of tarot cards.

And my story The Comeback Tour, which is about a zombie rock star (you can’t say my subject matter isn’t varied, can you?) has been shortlisted in Almond Press’ competition for post-apocalyptic fiction. It will be published in their forthcoming e-book anthology After The Fall, which will look like this: http://www.almondpress.co.uk/

I’ve been trying to submit more lately and it seems to be paying off – I have fewer finished stories sitting around homeless!

From 1st October, I am due to teach a new 8-week course at Glasgow University’s Open Studies dept called Planning To Write?: How To Research, Structure And Craft Your Story. I’ll say more about this class nearer the time, but basically it’s for anyone who has an idea for a book, story or non-fiction project but isn’t sure how to get started, so it will look at research methods, structure, techniques and planning. Please alert anyone you think might be interested: info at http://www.gla.ac.uk/courses/openstudies/ under Creative Writing. The course is scheduled to continue in January and will also run at Strathclyde University next year.

AND from 30th September, I am also running the latest in my Now Read The Book courses – this time on short stories which have been adapted to film and including The Birds, Memento, The Shawshank Redemption, The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button and others. Part two (with different stories/films) will run in January. Info as above, under Literature. With all my Open Studies courses, there is a fee but they are also eligible for ILA funding and concessions.

Two more literary events which I’m hoping to attend: Pitch Live, organised by NAWE (which includes my writing coach Philippa Johnston), which is a masterclass for emerging novelists on 21st September in Edinburgh. Excellent speakers and the chance to pitch your novel at publishers and agents, with feedback: details at http://www.nawe.co.uk/DB/events/nawe-present-pitch-live-a-masterclass-for-scotlands-emerging-novelists.html
And on 5th September, the Scottish Book Trust are holding a seminar on ‘Navigating Publishing’ also in Edinburgh – I think there are still some places left, check with them at http://www.scottishbooktrust.com

FINALLY, some recent book reviews & previews what I wrote:
Fair Helen by Andrew Greig: http://bit.ly/16xk4PO
A Night In Winter by Simon Sebag Montefiore: http://bit.ly/14V2Lmi
(both Scotland On Sunday)
Neurocomic by Dr Matteo Farinella & Dr Hana Ros: http://www.list.co.uk/article/54229-dr-matteo-farinella-and-dr-hana-ros-neurocomic/
My Notorious Life By Madame X by Kate Manning: http://www.list.co.uk/article/51087-kate-manning-my-notorious-life-by-madame-x/
A Wolf In Hindleheim by Jenny Mayhew: http://www.list.co.uk/article/51048-jenny-mayhew-a-wolf-in-hindelheim/
Book Festival previews:
Fairest 2: Hidden Kingdom by Lauren Beukes & Inaki Miranda: http://edinburghfestival.list.co.uk/article/54285-fairest-2-hidden-kingdom-reimagines-rapunzel-as-an-anime-heroine/
50 Shades Of Feminism: http://edinburghfestival.list.co.uk/article/54285-fairest-2-hidden-kingdom-reimagines-rapunzel-as-an-anime-heroine/
(all The List magazine)

Phew!

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New story news

Happy to announce that I’ve got another story accepted by leading Scottish literary journal Gutter for their next issue, which comes out in time for the Edinburgh Book Festival (around which I am available for readings, events and bar mitzvahs). It’s a story I’m particularly pleased to have published, so please read it when it comes out if you can. Some very distinguished company surrounds it and the full line-up is here: Freight Books.

I wrote a wee story about my childhood gullibility for National Flash Fiction Day, which was Highly Commended in their contest: read Lost For Words and all the winners here: MicroFiction Competition 2013. Thanks to Calum Kerr for these cool postcards showing my story, which you can see here: NFFD

And I also was a contest winner at fairytale magazine Enchanted Conversation, for a short piece that is not so much a story, more a character study or a meditation on Rumplestiltskin, one of my favourite mythological underdogs. Read it, with a lovely illustration, here: You Know My Name.
Thanks to Kate Wolford for my prize and for sterling efforts to publish it in the face of computer trouble. Check out her book of neglected fairytales, Beyond The Glass Slipper, while you’re at the site.

In other news, I’ve just finished four months of working with coach Philippa Johnston under a programme called Coaching For Glasgow Writers, supported by the agency Glasgow Life. This has been one of the best things I’ve ever done to improve my writing life: not my writing as such, but the ways of going about it, of directing and structuring creative ideas and professional development in all areas of my rambling freelance life of writing journalism, fiction and teaching. I’ve never done anything like this before; as a journalist, after my post-grad, you tend not to have the opportunities for continuing training that other professions have (and, these days, we’re just barely clinging on to it as a profession). And while I’ve found writing classes and workshops very helpful in the past, it was really thought-provoking to have these one-to-one sessions, being (gently) encouraged to think through problems and obstacles and to look for solutions rather than just flail around hopelessly, assuming that there was no other way, or that if I just kept trying harder to do things in the same way, magically it would somehow eventually work. I won’t go on too much about the specific things I worked on with Philippa for now – maybe another time – but just want to recommend her coaching, in particular, but probably any similar programme in other areas too, for anyone who shares my problems of procrastination, disorganisation, juggling jobs and trying to make writing a career. A good place to start might be: The Writers Compass. Final thanks to Philippa, for listening so well and keeping me on track.

What a link-tastic post! Oh, one more thing: I am on BBC Scotland’s The Culture Studio on Thursday afternoon, talking about new films including The Internship and Now You See Me (from 2pm, 4th July). I’ll also be back on the Shereen show on 20th July, despite making a TERRIBLE Iain Banks faux pas last time I was on a couple of weeks ago (mixed up the opening lines of The Wasp Factory and The Crow Road! How could I! Love Iain Banks and very sad to hear about his death). No mistakes next time, I promise …

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Emily: What Happened After

Today is the 100th anniversary of the death of Emily Wilding Davison, the suffrage campaigner who died at the Derby during a protest. I wrote this for her.

Image

What Happened After

The crowd’s roar almost pushing her on, she waits, tingling. And then everything else goes away but the beast looming up before her. She grabs the bridle with clumsy hands and for a moment it seems as if her banner will slip and be trampled. But somehow, somehow, she manages to attach it and as the horse veers away, she is left gasping, watching the colours flutter.

There is just enough time for her to back into the arms already reaching out to seize her, as the rest of the field thunders past. They take her away, of course, and amid a huge public outcry she has her day in court. Something comes over her there that she can never afterwards explain: she has never spoken so well, the cause has never been so eloquently stated. But she is locked up anyway for a sentence designed to send a message.

And it does. For her words are quoted, distributed, chanted. She becomes a symbol, though knows little of it while enduring conditions even worse than before. When she emerges, she is shaken and inarticulate, but it does not matter, for others lead the fight by then. And when it is won, she rejoices.

After a time, she recovers. Her life is rich and eventful. She has terrible years and glorious moments. She watches the world change. And when she is old, they will come to her, these young women so full of possibilities, and ask her to recount over and over that act now enshrined as a turning point in history. She does so, gladly.

But she never tells them that when the beast’s eyes were on hers, for a frozen second she pictured falling, falling, beneath his weight and everything ending. Emily Wilding Davidson will never tell them that.

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