Jane and Me

 
It is a fact universally acknowledged that Jane Austen is a genius in a bonnet. If you disagree or would like to start a fight (Austen-related only, if you’d be so kind), please indicate your intentions in the comments. Otherwise, let me take up my pen and a sheet of hot-pressed paper and commence. 

When I was fourteen and studying for English Literature O-level, our teacher handed out a stack of novels. “We’ll be doing Jane Austen this term, girls,” she informed us. I’d heard of her, obviously, but only through reading “What Katy Did Next” when the heroine went to Europe and there was a funny scene in Winchester Cathedral which seemed to imply that Miss Austen wasn’t properly appreciated in her home country. 

Anyway. We read it and I didn’t get it. I wrote a couple of essays on it and thought no more of it. Looking back, it was a bit strange as I was reading every minute of the day and ploughing through some books which were much harder and more abstruse than Pride and Prejudice. The next year, aged fifteen and with the O-level done, I picked it up again and started reading. I can still feel the sensation of the penny dropping as I realised that I was engaged in living the story of the Bennet sisters for the first time and loving it. Since then, I’ve read it hundreds of times. Literally. Hundreds. 

At this point, you might be asking yourself, “Has Ruth perhaps lost her mind? Does she not know that this is Day 11 of her blog tour? Why is she banging on about Jane Austen?” Bear with. 

As you know, my very own novel, the Diary of Isabella M Smugge comes out tomorrow and I’ve been clogging up your feeds about it for the last few weeks. One of my favourite things has been reading other people’s takes on my words. Imagine my joy when lovely Fran Hill (a brilliant writer, check her out if you haven’t already) kindly gave me an endorsement for the book which included the memorable words, “Reminds me of Austen.” Readers have also been leaving reviews on Waterstones and Goodreads, for which I am enormously grateful. 

One reviewer kicked off thus: “Imagine Emma Woodhouse as a lifestyle blogger.” Of course! A 21^st century Emma would be very like my own self-obsessed heroine, aspirational lifestyle blogger and influencer Isabella M Smugge. Lots of money, comfortable house, staff, and a burning desire to focus on other people and what they were up to rather than concentrating on what was going on closer to home. The reviewer put it like this: “Jane Austen said of her heroine Emma Woodhouse that 'I am going to take a heroine whom no-one but myself will much like'. There is more than a touch of Emma about Isabella – had Emma lived in the early 21st century, she would no doubt have been a lifestyle blogger and expert on ‘relationship enrichment' – but, just like Emma, Isabella grows in self-awareness and maturity.” 

The really scary bit about writing a novel is when you hand it over and it’s no longer yours. I was concerned that no-one would like Isabella, who is snobbish, pretentious and can’t see past the end of her own elegant nose. And yet people seem to love her. Like Austen’s flawed heroines (Elizabeth Bennet with her prejudices, Catherine Morland and her obsession with trashy novels, Anne Elliot with her disastrous over-dependence on the advice of her friend), Isabella has faults, but is capable of redemption. 

There’s a reason why certain books are described as “classic novels.” We come back to them again and again because they satisfy a need in us to see the protagonist develop and evolve, often through difficulties and struggles, just like us. I’ve read so many of them over the years, and studied them, at school then at university, that I suppose the narrative structure and flow has soaked into my writer’s brain. 

Isabella has it all at the beginning of the novel. Rich, pretty, fit, successful with an apparently perfect home life. But who wants to read about someone like that? For a story to work, we must have an arc, a five-act structure, ups and downs. Without realising it, that’s what I wrote, which is why if anyone ever asked me to give them advice on being a writer, I’d say, “Read. A lot. All the time. Let the housework pile up – doing it only encourages it anyway.” 

So, thank you Jane. You’re a corker and I love your novels more than life itself. Thanks for influencing me, even though I didn’t realise you had until I started writing this blog. 

It seems appropriate to end with a quote. Writing to her beloved sister Cassandra in late January 1813, she shares the news that her copy of Pride and Prejudice has just arrived. “I have got my own darling Child from London.” Yes. That’s exactly it. Receiving my own box of copies from Bungay, on the other side of the county, it felt a bit like holding a long-awaited baby in my arms. 

No-one could ever be as great a fiction writer as Jane Austen, in my opinion. She is peerless and can be read again and again with joy. To have my own darling Child compared, even a little, to hers, is the greatest compliment I could ever receive.

Images from Unsplash

Ruth is a novelist and freelance writer. She is married with three children, one husband, three budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out on the 19^th of this month. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruthleighwrites.

 

 

 

Nine (and very nearly a half) weeks

We’re over halfway through week nine of lock down. At the beginning of all this, my search history reflected what was going on in my life, and presumably, lots of other people’s too. “Where can I buy strong bread flour?” (Nowhere, was the answer, but my husband discovered that 00 pizza flour made an acceptable substitute). “Where can I buy yeast?” (Again, nowhere, so I begged and borrowed some from friends and worked my way through it, occasionally making soda bread in desperation until it started appearing in the shops again). “What are the symptoms of Covid-19?” (With three children, a husband and two elderly and extremely vulnerable parents, that was a worry. So far, so good, thank God.)

As time went on and nearly all my paid work dried up, the other half of my brain, the creative half which is the bit that started this blog in the first place, suddenly realised that it was time to take some of the stuff that had been knocking about in the lobe marked, “big words and made up stories” and actually write some of it down. My search history reflects this. By week two of lock down, a random sample of my google searches were, “Common 18^th Century Hertfordshire Surnames,” “Medicinal Herbs in the 18^th Century” and “Where is Meryton Supposed to be in Pride and Prejudice?” My reading pile doubled in size and started taking on a rather Austen-esque flavour. Longbourn by Jo Baker, Sense and Sensibility by Joanna Trollope, Northanger Abbey by Val McDermid and Emma by Alexander McCall Smith, plus surely the greatest novel ever written, Pride and Prejudice, were my preferred bedtime reading. I found myself writing a book of short stories, based on minor characters in Pride and Prejudice. It’s nearly done. I’ll keep you posted on progress.

Hard on the heels of this new creation, my search history changed yet again. It was becoming clear that grey roots, shaggy hair and wispy layers were going to be a part of our lives for quite some time to come. “How do I cut my own fringe?” was my next question. Back came the answer, “By letting your eleven-year old daughter loose with the kitchen scissors.”

I wouldn’t want you to think that I’ve spent my entire lock down gazing at my hair and googling herbal remedies. There was a flurry of Antarctica-based research a couple of weeks ago due to my daughter’s Year 6 topic. I am now an expert on Shackleton and all his expeditions. 

With social distancing really beginning to bite, my search history reflected new ways to communicate. “How do I set up a Zoom account?” How does Microsoft Teams work?” and “How do I read a book on Audible?” were questions I was asking myself. Never the greatest of technical whizzes, I have got to grips with some new platforms even if I haven’t worked out how to change my background.

With bread proving happily under a tea towel, my blackcurrant gin mellowing nicely in bottles under the stairs and my fringe all sorted, my next project took shape. I write for the ACW’s blog More Than Writers once a month. In April, I wrote a jokey piece about an imaginary lifestyle blogger and writer called Isabella M Smugge (I Am Smug – get it?) which caused much mirth. The next month, I wrote a much more serious piece but used Ms Smugge again for comic effect. The comments were complimentary and several people said they’d like to see a book about her. Guess what?

My google searches are now along the lines of, “Common Suffolk Surnames”, “Posh Girls’ Names” and “Top Five British Bloggers.” I’ve written a book proposal, a story arc and four and a half chapters. As you’ll see from my blog heading, my earliest dream was to be a writer. I crushed that dream and put it away somewhere safe, but now it’s back. My favourite writers are those who create whole new worlds, and Isabella’s world is taking shape.

Let’s not run before we can walk, but in a few months’ time, I really hope that my google search history will say things like, “What should I wear on the red carpet?” “What is the best answer to where do you get your ideas?” and “How do I organise a book launch?”

Dear readers, you saw it here first. It’s been nine (and very nearly a half) weeks and Ruth the blogger is morphing into Ruth the novelist.

Feels pretty good.