My Writing Day… Brenda Woodford.


Welcome to this week’s author Brenda Woodford with a beautiful account of her (very successful!) attempts to squeeze writing into a busy life…

Thank you Daisy for the opportunity to be featured in your blog.

After a lifetime of wanting to be an author I self published Kit’s Reward, and was thrilled when it was taken up by libraries. In 2013 I published online with KDP select.

I wrote it in a notebook while recovering from a spinal fracture when I spent most mornings in bed. It was slow process for a small book.

The book that I am hoping to publish this spring; Dragonflies Draw Flame I wrote when I was very ill with M.E.  It was a lonely time and I wrote whenever I wasn’t too tired. Writing gave me a sense of purpose.

Many years later we bought a beach and watersports business (which will be an amusing topic for a book when I can organise my mind into finding time.) We spent six months in Dorset  and six months in Cambridge. My writing progress reflected that upheaval and my dreams were put on hold.

Trereife – Stolen Roses, the last novel I wrote took four years including research. It is about one of England’s Romantic Poets.  With great excitement I bought five manuscript books and can recall all the places I sat while recreating the atmosphere of the Regency period. I wrote in any snatched moment; in hotels while family swam, at the Blues Festival while my husband listened to music, while grandchildren played in the garden. Even in church. The characters were a gift, their voices clear. Sometimes while helping customers into lifejackets and helmets ready for their Banana Ride I would be thinking about my characters. I spent a summer typing and editing it, while Mr. B was ending the day at the beach, and some afternoons when I wasn’t  needed. One hot summer week the beach was crowded and I could hear laughter and the sea and longed to be with everyone but valued the time to write, the  challenge of giving life to my characters. Helped by the scent of sweet peas wafting through the open door on a gentle breeze.

Idyllic, yes, but like working on a beach in all kinds of weather it was hard work too.

If I ask how I made time to write and look at how long it has taken to produce a few books I don’t seem to have managed my time well, or, considering everything I have survived it is a miracle I managed to write at all.

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