Resolved and Resolute

happy-new-year-2017

No new year resolutions, but three inspiring initiatives to share…

First of all I’d like to wish all the readers of the blog a Happy New Year and to thank you all for your loyalty, interest, likes and comments.

This year I haven’t made any traditional resolutions as such – no promises to myself to get slimmer, fitter or wiser. Although if any of these come to pass I’ll be delighted.

However, there are three New Year related initiatives that have caught my attention and they’re all ways of bringing a little joy into our own and other people’s lives – something much needed after the battering of 2016. So let’s hear it for the power of positivity and individual action in 2017…

#ScotSpirit of Kindness

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Firstly, I’m quite taken by the idea of 21 days of kindness being proposed by Visit Scotland.

The idea of the 21 days came from the fact that on the 25th January Scots, and indeed many non-Scots, celebrate the birth of Scotland’s national poet and bard, Robert Burns and in 1788 Burns wrote Auld Lang Syne, a song still sung nowadays, often as part of the New Year celebrations and other celebratory occasions. The song praises the value of friendship, and one of the lines in the song is we’ll tak a cup of kindness yet- a lyric which expresses a promise to be kind.

Visit Scotland is suggesting that on each day from the 5th of January until Burns night on the 25h people commit to doing one random act of kindness per day and sharing it with the hashtag, #ScotSpirit. Suggestions include complimenting a stranger, feeding the birds in your garden or paying for the coffee or bus fare of the person behind you in the queue. Apparently it takes 21 days to change a habit or form a new one, so the hope is the kindness will persist after the challenge itself is over.

Happiness Jar

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The second suggestion that I like the sound of is the setting up of a Happiness Jar. Again it could be a good way of defusing stress. The idea here is to write down one thing each day that has made you happy and to put the note in a jar. So you not only take a moment to focus on the positive every day, but you can also recall all these moments at the end of the year when you re-read them.

Reflective Reading Challenge

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And the third suggestion is the 2017 Reading Challenge. There are a few of these challenges around, but I particularly liked the sound of this one as it’s ‘only’ 26 books and doesn’t necessarily require a commitment to read more. It’s more about reflecting on one book per fortnight over the 52 weeks of the year and then to ‘inspire your world’ with your reflections. The full list of suggested categories is below and it comes from Hannah Braime at hannahbraime.com So I hope to inspire you as members of my blogging world with my own reflective recollections.

The 26-book 2017 reading challenge

  • A book you read in school
  • A book from your childhood
  • A book published over 100 years ago
  • A book published in the last year
  • A non-fiction book
  • A book written by a male author
  • A book written by a female author
  • A book by someone who isn’t a writer (think Paul Kalathani or Richard Branson)
  • A book that became/is becoming a film
  • A book published in the 20th Century
  • A book set in your hometown/region
  • A book with someone’s name in the title
  • A book with a number in the title
  • A book with a character with your first name
  • A book someone else recommended to you
  • A book with over 500 pages
  • A book you can finish in a day
  • A previously banned book
  • A book with a one-word title
  • A book translated from another language
  • A book that will improve a specific area of your life
  • A memoir or journal
  • A book written by someone younger than you
  • A book set somewhere you’ll be visiting this year
  • An award-winning book
  • A self-published book

 

Have you made any resolutions for 2017 – perhaps reading, writing or reflecting related? Have you considered any of the above initiatives? Do share in the comments below.

Now I am Sixty

Happy birthday

Ageing is a privilege and having just had my sixtieth birthday has reinforced that fact for me

In Now We Are Six, the collection of poems for children by A. A. Milne the little boy, Christopher Robin, says:

‘But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever. So I think I’ll be six now forever and ever!’

And I think as I have just turned sixty, I’d say something similar.

I’m not sure that at sixty I’m as clever as clever, but I think wanting to be the age I’m at now at forever and ever is a sign of acceptance and contentment.

Yes, being sixty can seem old, though less so to those approaching or beyond this landmark birthday, than to those not yet twenty, thirty, forty or even fifty.

But I don’t have a problem with turning sixty––for one thing it sure beats the alternative. Having survived cancer in my forties, having my sixtieth birthday was definitely something to celebrate.

To me it’s not the new 40 or 50. It is 60––and there’s nothing wrong with that, nothing to be ashamed of, it doesn’t need to be dressed up as something else.

I don’t want to be 40 or 50 again––been there, done that.

 

My lovely 60th birthday cake complete with photos from significant life stages, my book covers, my parents and round the other side my children and grandchildren. Thanks to Mr Anne and to cakemaker, Nicola.
My lovely 60th birthday cake complete with photos from significant life stages, including childhood with my four wee sisters, my graduation,  my wedding, my book covers, my parents and round the other side my children and grandchildren. Thanks to Mr Anne for commissioning and to local cake-maker, Nicola for baking and decorating.

 

For one thing, at 60, there’s retirement, I took it early after a thirty-six year career in primary school teaching, so I’m now two years in––and I can find nothing not to like about it. I miss the children, but not the endless politicking and paperwork. And I’m still working as a writer but, finally, I’m the boss of me.

And there’s my bus pass which allows me to travel anywhere in Scotland by bus free of charge––I was so excited to get that. Receiving it was the true mark of my long held ambition to officially be an old bag.

­But mainly, there is now time – time to do what matters to me – to write more books – both for children and adults – where the ages of the characters are no barrier to having adventures, hopes and dreams – to spend time with the people I love, to take care of myself – and to just stand and stare.

It’s not an end but a beginning – as with any day, it’s the beginning of the rest of my life. I’m not much wiser or less prone to worry and anxiety than I was before. But reaching sixty has helped clarify what’s important. Our numbered days are not endless and there really is no time but the present. A new day is a present––a gift not to be taken for granted at any age.

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Yes, I have to face up to the implications of approaching old age whenever and whatever that may be. I’m sure I’ll recognise it when, and if, it comes. But every age has its challenges and requirements to plan ahead. Sixty is no different.

And apart from when I look in the mirror, I really feel no different. Of course I’ve aged physically, but my six-year-old, sixteen-year-old, twenty-six and thirty-six-year-old selves along with their forty and fifty-year-old counterparts are all still there inside, all part of the me I am today. I’m happy with that.

And what advice would I give my 16 year-old self?

  • Follow your dreams.
  • Do what you love.
  • Seek new experiences.
  • Have no regrets.
  • Be kind to yourself and everyone you meet.
  • Do your small bit to make the world a better place.

And remember these 3 things

  • You will be strong enough,
  • You will be brave enough
  • You will be good enough.

 

Here’s to getting older. How do you feel about big birthdays and about getting older?

On Being a Successful Author

 

I sometimes hangout in a couple of virtual staffrooms for writers and recently the talk at the virtual water-coolers has been about how success as an author is judged.

And the discussion got me thinking about what success as a writer looks like to me.

Some colleagues reckoned that being signed with one of the major traditional publishers was an essential part of being seen as a success. Others saw writers who are well-known to a large part of the population through the bestsellers lists, major prize awards, and appearances on television and in the other media as the successful ones. Having a book adapted for television or cinema was another mark of having arrived.

And there can be little argument that authors who fall into the above categories are successful. They’re hardworking and successful earners. They’re successful marketers of their work and they’re successful in writing books which appeal to many people. They are validated not only by their content but also by their sales.

But what of the rest of us, the majority of us, the mid-listers with the major publishers, the authors published by small independent publishers, or the self-published/indie authors? What constitutes success in these categories? As with the famous bestsellers, it seems in many people’s judgement to come down to sales. It’s not really surprising. Certainly for a publisher with a business to maintain and grow, their authors have to sell well. And even in the indie-author world the consensus seems to be that success equals sales.

Indeed even the Society of Authors and the Alliance of Independent Authors, both bodies which exist to support and advise writers have a two tier system. Members can be ordinary or professional and it’s their level of sales that determines the author’s status. Here success and even professionalism is most definitely judged by the sole criteria of number of books sold.

My opinion is that while sales are most definitely an indicator of success, they’re only one indicator. Sales don’t always correlate with the much more subjective components of success such as literary merit, or writing that seeks to raise awareness or challenge the status quo.

As a reader, I judge a writer to be successful first and foremost by how much I enjoyed their work. I’m not interested in who published them, in their sales figures or their media presence. Yes, these things will matter as far as me discovering them in the first place but discoverability, although linked, is a whole other topic. If when reading a book, I was entertained, or moved, or made to think or rethink, or learned something new, if I was captivated and taken to another place in my head – if any, some, or all of these things happened – then that author has, in my view, been successful.

And as a writer: How does success look to me? Am I successful?

Short answer: Yes.

I’ve written three novels. Success!

In the above quote I would substitute or equate ‘happiness’ with ‘success’.

For me the enjoyment, frustration and challenge I get from the writing process – living in the heads of my characters, letting them surprise me as they tell me their story, crafting the flabby monster of a first draft, seeing the thing edited, honed and packaged, holding the finished article in my hand – that’s success. The achievement of getting a novel to the published stage is success enough.

Having just one other person read and enjoy it adds a bit more to that feeling of success and yes, the feeling grows the more readers read it and report favourably on the experience of having done so.

But whether I’m successful or not in the eyes of others, it’s not for me to say. However, in my house I’m a world-beating, best-selling author, and I’m a successful writer just by turning up at my desk every day. Sales or the lack of them make me no less professional or successful in my own eyes.

Of course I’d like to make a comfortable living from my writing, and yeah, it would be cool to be interviewed on the BBC Breakfast Time sofa, or to pull in the crowds at the Edinburgh Book Festival.

But that level of success is not what motivates me, I write because I can’t imagine not doing so. Just the act of writing, to me, constitutes success.

How would you define a successful writer? Please do leave your comments below.

Absent Friend

A birthday tribute to my very dear friend. It’s been fourteen years since she died, but I still miss her…

1968, summer holidays: Elspeth (on left) and me aged 12

Elspeth would have been sixty-years-old on the fourteenth of June this year. I thought about her all day on that Tuesday just over three weeks ago. I shed a tear and I raised a glass to her memory.

I first saw Elspeth when she arrived as the new girl in my class at South Morningside Primary School in Edinburgh in 1965. She stood at the front of the class and the teacher explained that she had come all the way from England and was going to be in our class. The teacher asked me to look after her. We were in primary 5 and nearly nine years old. It was the start of a 37-year friendship. As nine-year-olds I literally looked up to her – she was tall and skinny and I was small and plump – this size difference persisted over the next 37 years! At the time we met Elspeth seemed very exotic to me – with her strange English accent, a mum who drove her own car, and her family lived in one of the brand new houses in the area.

For the rest of our primary school careers we were inseparable. We played piano together, went to ballet lessons, ice-skating, had tea and sleepovers at each other’s houses. I went to all her birthday parties at Gullane beach, getting there in her Uncle Kenneth’s van. We were very loyal to one another and fought each other’s battles – woe betide anyone caught speaking ill of one of us in the presence of the other!

We developed a rather quirky, mutual sense of humour and shared our own special vocabulary and linguistic shorthand, which persisted into our adulthood. Our mothers told us the “facts of life” when we were 11 and we immediately compared notes and assessed our respective mothers’ performance of this duty – with a mixture of incredulity, amusement and horror.

We went on to different secondary schools. My family had moved to the other side of the city. We therefore made regular trips on two buses across town to see each other. Throughout our teenage years we shared our most intimate secrets – especially our experiences with boys! Then Elspeth family left Edinburgh to settle in Gullane, about fifteen miles along the coast, when we were both 17. This meant that we spent weekends living at one or the other’s house in order to keep in constant touch.

University meant even more distance apart –Elspeth at Edinburgh and me at St Andrews – but so what – we just travelled that bit further to keep in touch. Boyfriends became more serious. Elspeth met her Ian. Her Ian had a 21st Birthday party and Ian’s best mate, Graham invited his brother along. Elspeth invited me. I met Graham’s brother at the party. I had met my Iain. In 1978, I married my Iain and Elspeth married hers.

We spent the 1980s having babies and then Elspeth moved – not just out of town but to New Zealand and then Australia.

But we kept in touch – we knew that for best friends distance doesn’t matter.

In 1998 we were both diagnosed, within weeks of each other, with cancer. Elspeth with a recurrence of the breast cancer she first had in the 1980s. For me it was ovarian cancer and I was scared stiff. I called my friend in Australia and she calmed me down. She made me believe cancer could be beaten. She was incredibly brave and strong.

In 1999 I travelled to Tasmania to see her. We were by this time both in the clear. We laughed, reminisced, shared all our intimate secrets once more – giggled like the daft wee lassies we always reverted to being in each other’s company.

Tasmania 1999

Then in 2001, I travelled to Tasmania again – this time my Iain came too. By now Elspeth was ill again – with aggressive secondary cancer – but again she was fighting – refusing conventional medical treatment but fortified by her great Christian faith and a timely visit from her sister Frances. We had a wonderful time together – sometimes we even included the menfolk! We talked about everything – life, death and everything in between. Her strong belief in the power of prayer and her amazing spirit sustained her for almost another year.

Tasmania 2001

I had no such strong religious faith and although I hoped she would not be taken from us just yet, I guessed our farewell at the airport would be our last. And I think she did too. We held each other just that little bit tighter as we said goodbye, both of us in tears.

She died in May 2002, one month before her 46th birthday, leaving Ian without a wife and their three young sons without their mother.

Elspeth was also a much-loved daughter, sister, and friend.

She was one of the kindest, funniest, most generous, most loyal people you could meet.

She will always be my dear friend and I still miss her terribly fourteen years on.

I will raise another glass to her memory on my own 60th birthday in August.

 

 

 

 

Learning: Taking The Plunge

diving in

Every week the folks at WordPress set a weekly challenge. I’ve not taken up the challenge before, but this one inspired me. It is to write about a time I learned something new.

In January 2015, aged 58 and a half, I learned to swim.

Now teaching and learning is something close to my heart. I was a primary school teacher for 36 years and I met all sorts of reluctant or struggling pupils. It’s easy to teach someone who’s ready to learn, who’s receptive to what you’re showing them. However, it’s not so easy to coax someone’s who’s afraid to even give it a try, who has decided in advance they’re not capable of learning. But I thrived on such challenges and persisted and tried everything I could think of to persuade reluctant pupils to just give it a go.

Then, nearly eighteen months ago, the tables were turned. I was now the reluctant learner, the one of was afraid, who didn’t believe myself capable. I had never learned to swim. But I’d set myself some personal challenges when I retired from teaching and top of the list was ‘get in the water and swim, woman!” An additional motivation, on top of the personal challenge, was that I wanted to be able to swim with my grandchildren on a family holiday to Cyprus later in the year.

So I booked a one to one hour long session with the swimming teacher at my local pool.

Now, I should say I’m not afraid of water. I’ve always liked bobbing about in the (warm) sea and when my children were wee, I’d always go in the pool with them when we were away on our annual holiday. I made sure they learned to swim – by delegating the task to my husband.

So, no, not afraid of water. It was just I believed I was the only human being in the history of our species who couldn’t float.

But I was wrong. With the confidence building teaching of my wonderful teacher, Yvonne, during that one hour in the pool I eventually took my feet off the bottom of the pool and with a few feeble and styleless strokes I swam. I swam a couple of widths. I went out of my depth and I treaded water. Me! the least buoyant human ever – could both float and swim.

I walked home through the January snow, oblivious to the cold, wrapped in a coat of smugness and pride. An Olympic medallist couldn’t have felt more proud.

I’ll never be a water baby, but yes, I swam with my grandchildren last summer.

I did it. I took the plunge and learned something new. And boy, did it feel good.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

‘Nothing can harm you as much as your own thoughts unguarded’ Gautama Buddha

Thoughts are just that: thoughts. They’re not facts or artefacts. They’re not necessarily true or correct. But, boy, are they powerful!

I believe storytelling and listening to stories is part of what makes us human and it’s something people have always done. We do it to make sense of our world and how we experience it.

As a writer, stories are my thing. I love the whole process of crafting a story from initial thought to finished novel.

As a reader, I love to be told a story, to be transported, taken out of myself by someone else’s thoughts and words.

But there’s an aspect of storytelling that’s not so positive and not so enjoyable. And that can be the uncrafted, unedited stories we tell ourselves.

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The Story Goblin

Many of us succumb to the goading and taunting of our own thoughts. I know I do. The story goblin in our heads knows all our baggage, all our triggers, all our awful ‘what if’ scenarios and it’s all too ready to jump right in there and take control. Next stop: horrible, out of control anxiety or a drastic drop in self-esteem.

However, if we’re aware of what’s happening, then we can take back a bit of control. Otherwise those powerful stories will sabotage us and may seriously affect our mental health.

While it’s true we can’t control everything that happens, we do have some say in how we react.

So if you make a mistake, or get hurt, or are presented with a stressful or unfamiliar situation, it’s healthier not to go off on one. Don’t follow that goblin down the route to ‘I’m such an idiot,’ or ‘I should have expected it and I deserve it’ or ‘this is going to end unbearably badly’.

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Edit or delete

So what can we do? How can we get a bit of control over the stories we’re telling ourselves? Well we can:

*STOP. RECOGNISE WHAT’S HAPPENING. BREATHE. PUT THAT NEGATIVE STORY AND THE GOBLIN IN LIDDED AND LOCKED BOX. LEAVE IT THERE.*

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THEN

Redraft and reshape

Show yourself some compassion. Forgive yourself. And don’t have catastrophe mode as an automatic, default setting. Be realistic.

We can’t prevent our thoughts. We all have them. We can’t function without them. But we can employ an inner editor. We can decide on what are the useful, truthful and inspiring stories. Yes we can still get stuff wrong, hurt or be hurt, find ourselves in scary situations, BUT we are also the editors of the stories we tell ourselves about our lives. We can control our reactions. We can shape our own stories.

Are you stalked by a version of the story goblin? Or have you learned ways to be the active author of the stories you tell yourself?

 

 

 

 

Why Blog? Just Because

image © 360b via shutterstock.com

It started as one thing but became something quite different…

It was back in January 2010, having just published my first novel, that I began writing this blog. The word on online-writer-street was (and still is), that as an author, it was advisable to have a blog in order to raise your authorly profile and to alert potential readers to your masterpieces and where they could buy them.

So after a bit of research I chose WordPress to be the host for my blog. I liked its ease of use, even for an old, not very tech savvy bird like me. I also liked the wide choice of style and appearance that WordPress has to choose from.

To start with I blogged mainly about my writing. I wrote about the process, motivation and road to publication and beyond. At first the number of people viewing my posts was low. But ever so gradually the numbers grew. People started to ‘like’ the posts and comments started to come in. I also visited and began to follow other people’s blogs.

Later I linked my posts to my Twitter account, so that I could alert folks to new posts. And over the years I reviewed and updated the look and type of content on my blog and I also got my own domain of putitinwriting.me

And now? Now Put It In Writing is my online hub. It’s my home on the web. Yes, I have two author websites – one for each of my author identities – but they’re really just shop windows for my work. And yes, I have two author pages on Facebook where I engage with the readers of my books. But it’s on the blog that I write and share the stuff that matters most to my writing soul.

Nowadays after 268 posts, I write about books I’ve read, I write about my experiences, thoughts and reflections and sometimes I even write about my writing. I hope to entertain, give pause for thought and to inform.

But I no longer do it to sell books. I’m not sure it ever had that effect anyway. I blog because I love it. I enjoy writing the posts and I enjoy the comments and interaction that my posts generate.

And I get just as much enjoyment from reading others’ blogs. I follow a lot of other blogs here on WordPress and elsewhere, covering a wide variety of topics and types of writing. By engaging with fellow bloggers’ posts, I in turn, am entertained, made to think and informed. I read my fellow bloggers posts, comment on and share them on Twitter. And they do the same for me. And it’s through blogging, and the often related use of Twitter, that I feel like I’m part of a mutually supportive community of readers and writers.

The bloggers I follow are, by definition, all writers. They include fellow novelists, book bloggers who love reading and reviewing what they’ve read, and others who are commentators on all sorts of interesting topics.

Below I’ve listed just a few of my favourite bloggers –

Some wise and wonderful author bloggers include:

Helen Mackinven at https://helenmackinven.wordpress.com

Anne Stenhouse at https://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com/

Shelley Sackier at https://peakperspective.com/

Bryn Donovan at http://www.bryndonovan.com/

Summer Pierre at https://summerpierre.wordpress.com/

Henry Chamberlain at https://comicsgrinder.com/category/henry-chamberlain/

Martin Griffin at http://www.martingriffinbooks.com/

 

Some of the insightful and dedicated book bloggers who I’ve ‘met’ through the wonderful Book Connectors group on Facebook include:

Linda at https://lindasbookbag.com/

Hayley at https://rathertoofondofbooks.com

Anne at http://beingannereading.blogspot.co.uk

Joanne at https://portobellobookblog.com

 

Then there’s nature writer and artist and real life friend, Jan who blogs at https://janhendry.com/

There’s spot-on observational post writer Andrea at https://andreabadgley.com

There’s truck driving, Shakespeare buff and art lover George at http://myshakespearejourney.wordpress.com/

There’s lovely writer and photographer Marsha at http://tchistorygal.wordpress.com/

And finally, there’s the educational and engaging official blog of the Culloden Battlefield and Visitor Centre at https://cullodenbattlefield.wordpress.com/2016/04/15/270-years-ago/

 

One last thing  before you go, why do you read and or/write a blog? Do you have a sense of an online tribe and if so where does that come from? Do leave your thought in the comments below.

 

 

Alive, Alive Oh!

I recently read a great wee book called Alive, Alive Oh And Other Things That Matter. It was written by Diana Athill, a literary author and memoirist and it was an inspiring and reassuring read. Athill will be 100 next year and wrote this book, reflecting on her life and the joys of being alive, in the latter half of her nineties.

This post is partly a book review, but it also comes under the ‘Reflecting’ category here on the blog.

My take on getting older

As I’m approaching my 60th birthday later this year, the above book was an especially reassuring and joyful read. I felt positively young for one thing. But it also caused me to reflect on my own feelings about ageing and yes, about life coming to an end.

‘Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today.’ So said James Dean and given that this 1950s actor died aged only 24, it’s especially poignant. It’s also wise.

While there’s something to be said for living in the present, being ‘mindful of the moment’ as current speakers of wise words put it, on a practical level we all have to plan – even if it’s just what we’re going to have for dinner. We also need to have our reflective moments about the past and we need our dreams for the future.

We can’t ‘live every day as if it’s our last’ – another popular slogan. That’s one sure way to madness and exhaustion – and perhaps an early grave. But we can be aware of possible ‘lasts’. That is we should part on good terms when we say goodbye to loved ones, we should communicate our feelings, finish things, enjoy people, places and things as we encounter them, spot and create opportunities as the chance arises.

Although, I can’t treat every day as if it’s my last, if I knew I’d die today, I do know how I’d want to spend it.  It would be with those closest to me and to be able to say goodbye and tell them how much I love them before I departed.

In my head, I’m still in my mid-thirties – at least until I look in the mirror. Life really does seem to have passed very quickly. Each decade has had all the normal ups and downs. I’ve had births and bereavement, gained an M.A. and an M.Sc., had a thirty-six year teaching career, and an even longer marriage. I have two grown-up children who have made me very proud and I’m now a grandma to two more wonderful little human beings. I’ve travelled all over the world, survived cancer and depression and, after a long apprenticeship,

have become a writer.

And in my writing for adults, I write contemporary fiction where the main characters are no longer young. They are – gasp – over 45, but they still have a life, they still live and love, make mistakes, start anew – regardless of their age. And I have readers who range from twenty-somethings to those in their nineties.

And in my real life there’s still stuff I want to do. I want to write more novels, do some more travelling, see my grandchildren grow up. I know, I don’t want much! And I’ll do my best to stay healthy in order to achieve these remaining dreams.

I suppose what I’m saying is yes, age is more than a number. The number is significant, of course it is. There’s no denying that the mind and body are affected by the passage of time. Ageing is inevitable. It’s the price you pay for surviving – and it sure beats the alternative.

I’m also saying cherish your past, it’s what has made you; nourish the present, it’s all you can hold in your grasp; and plan so you can look ahead with excited anticipation to your future. And yes, with equanimity, look to life’s end.

 

Review

Alive, Alive Oh! And Other Things That Matter by Diana Athill

Genre: Memoir

There’s a sense of having experienced a life well-lived that pervades Athill’s book. In this memoir, she looks back over her life from childhood until the present. Now resident in what sounds like a wonderful care home she’s sustained by her memories, but also enjoys a life that’s as full as she wants it to be. She talks about the friendships of old age and how they differ from those we experience when younger. She talks about the end of her sex life, about relative frailty, but also about getting out and about and taking part. And she is honest and candid about the approach of her own death. She doesn’t view death as the end, but as just another part of life.

The book has humour, poignancy and honesty. It is indeed life-affirming. And I recommend it whatever age you are.

Type of Read: Reassuring and inspiring. Read it with a glass of champagne and celebrate the sheer joy of being alive, alive oh!

Alive, Alive Oh! And Other Things That Matter is published by Granta and is available in Hardback and as an e-book.

 

Your Thoughts on Ageing

How do you feel about getting older? Does it scare you or do you embrace it? Do leave your comments.