And the word is…Fear

This week is ending with me in a state of insecurity. I read over my writing and see the potential there, but struggle to believe I am the one to be able to tease it out. The editing of the novel appears insurmountable, even though I have printed off three chapters to read through and highlight mistakes. But this just serves to challenge me further, as once I have mended the larger issues - inconsistency in viewpoint and over use of adverbs – I perish the thought of having to go back and identify further problems. What if I have to re-write the whole book?

Perhaps it’s just the monstrosity of the task that lies ahead that has me shaken.

It’s also the lack of any response to the writing I have sent out. Granted, it’s not that much and I’m fairly inexperienced when it comes to submitting. I never expected it to be easy. Yet, some of my hopes have been quashed. I thought I was good at this. But good doesn’t seem enough any more and I am stumbling wildly in the dark.

I’m beginning to believe that I haven’t invested my full self into the effort of ‘writing’. I haven’t tried hard enough, nor am I challenging myself enough. And it’s because of fear. I’m afraid that if I do push so hard that I’ll have nothing to show for it and my hopes will be crushed.

Every writer must go through this. I don’t know why I thought I might be different (every writer probably also thinks this too).

The only thing I can think to do is to get lost in the writing. Keep going. Work long and hard enough for the feelings of insecurity to be put to one side and the fear to be forgotten. I need to be more proactive – submit more writing so that I don’t pin all my hopes on my last piece (the one that my beta readers said was ‘powerful’ and ‘made them cry’).

In the end, I want to make it. I want to know that I really tried and didn’t just pretend to try – this is something that seems to be an epidemic in society today; the pretence that we’re making a real effort when really we’re just going through the motions. And it’s the abject terror of failure that holds us back. That, and the real possibility that we might succeed. These days we’re equally afraid of both being a failure and a success. After all, if we succeed at one venture, then the stakes are raised and the idea that we might fall from a further height becomes not just a possibility, but a probability.

So it’s all of this, and more, that makes me tentative and fearful. Perhaps the only way to conquer the fear is to confront it. If I’m afraid of being a failure, I’ll just continue to try until I succeed. If I’m afraid that success will lead me to high probability of failure, then I’ll have to learn to accept this as a consequence. The important thing is to move forward. Not let the fear immobilise me and take away the essence of my dream.

Therefore the to-do list is back with a vengeance. I won’t let the insecurities beat me – I’ll use the energy to forge on ahead instead.

To-do List
20th – 26th May

1. Write a Story a Day and add it to the collection on the Story a Day 2013 Page (please read and comment if you have the time – a part of my insecurity lies in the fear of my writing not being read!)

2. Print and edit major issues in three chapters of NaNo #1

3. Make changes identified in new draft for NaNo #1

4. Identify ONE competition/submission to be made before 1st June

5. Attend Creative Writing Group at Library (Wed AM) to meet other local writers

Wasted Time

I was given the morning off work today. I had some time in lieu to take and it was suggested that because the meeting I had planned to attend was cancelled, I should take advantage of the chance to take my time back.

So I did.

After a pleasant stroll with the dog in the sun, I made myself a cup of tea and pondered what I could do. I felt a pull to print out Chapter 2 of NaNo #1 and edit it. I resisted. Instead I curled up on the sofa with my cuppa, a healthy apple and watched my missed episode of The Apprentice.

Now, why did I chose to slob out in front of the TV instead of work on my novel?
I’ll tell you.

Time is that very rare thing that eludes even the most organised of individuals. I appreciate this. Therefore, typically, when I am handed time back that I expected to be spent on something else I tend to use it wisely. I’ve experienced the waste that time can seduce us into believing could be worthwhile. I’m privy to the tricks it can play, seemingly speeding up or slowing down at the most inconvenient of moments.

Well, this week for me is a privilege. I have no to-do list. No expectations. I certainly don’t feel that I have the energy or drive. Therefore when I felt that urge to print out more pages and take a seat with that red pen of mine – as I did only a day or so ago – I dismissed it. Just as my writing time is my writing time – if I dedicate an hour or two for writing, then that’s what I’m going to do – then my own time shall not be dutifully stolen by my muse on a whim.

I’ve been struggling for a few weeks – ever since I set to the task of editing my novel – and I deserve some time away, without the pressure of feeling that I ‘should’ be doing something. This is why I turned my back on editing today: because I felt that I ‘should’ be attempting it, rather than actually wanting to do it. When something you enjoy becomes a duty, it can suck all of the enjoyment out of it.

So I decided to waste the time that was given back to me. I suppose it will same me from wasting it later in the day, but this way, I feel in control of it. It can be all well and good to surrender to the hard work of novel-editing, it gives you something to show for the day, but in those chunks of time when you’re surprised by desire it can be just as empowering to put it to one side as it can be to embrace it.

Experienced writers tell us to set aside time for writing everyday, or at least set up a routine. This, it is said, regulates the muse so that they are more pliable and accepting when you truly require their aid. So, couldn’t the opposite be true also? I’m given time to do with what I will – if I acquiesce to the demands of my desire to duty – however rewarding – then am I not allowing it the freedom to control me?

That’s not to say I won’t do any writing today – I am, after all, writing A Story a Day and contributing to my blog. But…and it’s a big but…I’m permitting myself to enjoy the peace that comes without pressure or expectation or frustration. I wanted a simple morning, one not complicated or challenged by sentence structure and inconsistent mistakes in point of view. I wanted to relax, and editing is not the way to achieve this for me.

My morning is now complete. Any time from this point forward is back in the realms of normality where expectation and duty have remained. I am still free to choose how to spend my time, yet if I waste these moments it shall be the responsibility of no one but myself. I think I’ve wasted enough time for one day though…

The ‘No Pressure’ technique

When I woke up this morning, I knew that I didn’t have to do anything. I hadn’t written myself a to-do list for the week and so I could choose whatever it was that I liked.  What did I decide to do? Edit the first chapter of NaNo #1! Sometimes, when you aren’t meant to be doing something, it makes it irresistible to the itchy fingers and their red pen!

Some red pen action!

As a result, Chapter One has been rewritten with some further notes on a need to check facts on the type of cancer I have given Madeline. Now, this was written way back in November 2011 when I started my first ever challenge of NaNoWriMo and I had not yet quite settled into a routine of writing everyday. So throughout the words written I realised I was terrible at sticking to a consistent viewpoint.

One second the narrative was told from Madeline’s viewpoint, the next paragraph Dr Whalley’s thoughts would be expressed, and then oh, are those the cheeky considerations of Betsy the nurse? Yep. Awful. However, not so horrific that I couldn’t fix it. I had obviously started the novel with no clear understanding of who would be telling the story, only working out later on that Dr Whalley would be my protagonist rather than the enigmatic Madeline Tailor. After all, how mysterious a character would Madeline be if the reader were in her head all the time?

I also identified an annoying little practical issue. For some reason I started the novel using single apostrophes  - ‘ – to denote speech. Later on I know I use the more traditional double mark -” –  which meant that I needed to address this problem and decide on a rule. I’m sticking with “-” which means I need to change all the single apostrophes to doubles: not a simple case of just searching and replacing all, given that the single is also used in possessives and contractions.

However, despite these (and a few other) changes, I’m quite happy with the redrafted Chapter One. When I reached the end of it I wrote down exactly what it is that it tells the reader and this is what I got:
- Madeline is dying
- Dr Whalley is concerned that she is going to die alone
- Madeline believes she deserves to die
- Dr Whalley wants to help by finding support for Madeline, despite Madeline not wanting this
- Dr Whalley and Nurse Betsy may be having an affair

It seems like a lot of information, but I think for an initial chapter it provides the novel’s big question (Why does Madeline believe she deserves to die alone?) and establishes some key facts that the narrative will explore. In total it’s around 3,000 words long. I’m not sure how this will compare with other chapter lengths but that is possibly something to consider in a later draft.

It seems like, sometimes, giving yourself the space and time to step back can actually make it easier to step forward. Just by taking the pressure of my to-do list away, I’ve actually managed to achieve something I didn’t expect.

PS: I’m still doing Story A Day - check out my stories written each day on my Story a Day 2013 Page.

Nothing Vs Something. Why I prefer a blank page to a written one.

A Soul Destroying Page
(Corrections from Balzac, Wikimedia Commons)

I’ve had a challenging week. At the moment I don’t feel I am reaching my potential. It is as if I am striving for something that is currently out of reach. Perhaps it’s the recent considerations regarding aspirations and defining success. I’m feeling a bit lost again – not in what to do, but in myself: in finding the motivation and passion for the editing process that I am now struggling so much with.

Taking part in Story a Day is demonstrating to me just how much I enjoy the creative process of initial ideas, of jumping straight in and building the scaffold for an imaginary world that transforms the page from blank to meaningful. I’ve had lots of practice at this by now, so this process doesn’t intimidate me. Editing, however, still does and I’m not convinced I really know what it is I’m doing, so I stumble. As a result I lose confidence, willingness and become afraid to try. This is certainly reflected in my tasks attempted this week:

To do list Review

May 6th – 12th 

1. Type up as much of Cecelia’s section of the novel (NaNo #1) as possible - I managed to type up about 1,500 words. Typing up seems to take longer than actual writing, which I didn’t expect. Am going to continue this throughout the next week. 

2. Finish writing Cecelia’s section of the novel – final four scenes - This, I decided, is best done after I have completed typing up the previous scenes. I don’t want to lose the flow of the character, and I feel I will be better able to achieve the right ‘voice’ once I’ve rehashed the previous scenes. When I did sit down to try and do this, I drew a blank, even with my prompt cards telling me what I needed to write about. It’s not ready to come yet, so I’ll leave it to steep. 

3. Write a Story a Day and post it up on my Story a Day page - I have really, really enjoyed doing this. A year ago it seemed like an effort to sit down and write a story a day, but now with a year’s experience behind me, and two NaNoWriMo challenges done, I feel much more confident in sitting down every day to write something. The ideas come easier, the writing flows quicker and the reward is that I feel like I am really achieving something that will take me forward over the month. 

4. Sketch out Goals, Motivation and Conflict for minor characters in NaNo #1 - I almost started writing another novel thanks to this task! I already have an idea based on one of these minor characters of Madeleine’s life – her daughter – and how this could be turned into a kind of ‘sequel’ to the current NaNo #1. Therefore, when writing Rachel’s GMC’s I got a bit carried away. On the plus side, I now can’t wait for November because I’ve decided this will be my next NaNoWriMo writing challenge: NaNo #3!

5. Complete Bingo Story for submission - Another failure here I’m afraid. I read it over and over, edited it down, played around with some ideas but nothing convinced me. For some reason I dislike this story now and nothing I do appears to make it worthy of my attention. I came to the conclusion that I don’t believe it’s ‘good enough’ and so sending it off would only be applying for failure. 

Having a plan and sticking to it are staples of my everyday routine. I thrive on to-do lists and get so much more done when I know what it is I am required to do. Yet, editing is still a new thing for me. So far I haven’t successfully discovered the right way to do this: nor do I have any outside acknowledgement that what I am doing is right.

Give me a blank page and I know what to do with it!

It feels the same way as when I started on the path to write a novel in the first place. Except now, I have the bare bones of the story and the characters and the words that created them, but I have to go back to the beginning and start over with it all. I’m used to starting with nothing, with a blank page to do with what I like. Starting with something, that is what poses the difficulty now and I don’t know what to do with it. Who would have thought it?

In an effort to cut myself some slack and give my brain a rest from the ravages of attempting editing when I just don’t feel secure with it, I am taking a week off from my ‘to-do list’. This could be a mistake. However, it could also be just what I need to make me realise that the next stage of my journey is a very different one, just as significant to the process as the initial writing phase but that requires the same amount of focus, determination and the faith of trial and error.

The Secret to Success

As promised, here is the second part to my thought-provoking reading this week: all about how to define success as a writer.

I am fortunate to receive e-newsletters from Cathy Yardley (whose book ‘Rock your Revisions‘ I was waxing lyrical about in an earlier post). In this month’s e-news she posed a question that made me stop and really think about my writing. This question was, ”What’s standing in the way of your writing success?”

But this was followed up by another consideration that almost flummoxed me.

“What exactly does ‘successful’ mean?”

The interesting thing here is that success can mean many different things to many different people. Whilst some writers consider that just sharing their work with others is a success, there are others who believe that success only comes with being paid for your words, or even being published. Even the publishable route stands for further scrutiny in the guise of success, as one group see success only in the realms of being recognised by a traditional publishing house and having physical copies of their novel, whereas another is quite happy self-publishing their work and basking the glory of that success.

I don’t really know why I have a compulsion to write. I suspect it has something to do with wanting recognition. I want to be remembered somehow and writing is the only legacy I feel comfortable leaving behind.

What does writing success mean to me? How will I know when I have succeeded in this goal?

Well, in one sense I feel I have already succeeded. I am a writer. I am no longer that ‘aspiring‘ writer I once longed to be that could not exist because I only ever intended to write (see yesterday’s post for more on that). I have written so much in the last couple of years – more so than ever before I think. I have two draft novels that total around 200,000 written words, along with numerous short stories and hundred of blog posts.

I write: that in itself is one form of success.

The Success Circle

But, what next?

I want to see my writing published. In part, some of this can be addressed in the fact I ‘publish’ my own blog. But, what I really mean here is that I want the recognition to be provided by an outside force that will validate the writing I have produced. I want my short fiction to be published by someone else.

Does it matter if I am paid for this goal? Not really, not at this stage, not to me. It might in the future, once I have succeeded in the element of my goal to be published and recognised as a writer ‘out there’ in the world. Perhaps that will be the next marker of success: for someone to pay me for my efforts.

Then, maybe, I might set my sights higher and assume that success is wrapped up in the publishing of a novel, instead of short stories. After that (assuming I get this far) it might be write a novel that is recognised as a ‘top’ seller in it’s genre, or has pride of place in a bookshop, or reaches the top ten in Amazon…

I suppose what I’m attempting to demonstrate is that the idea of what success is can change depending on your circumstances. However, what is important is that you never forget to mark the moment when you achieve your goal of being successful, no matter how quickly you might move the goalposts.

Don’t forget to celebrate each success as you reach it. And, if you immediately define success as the highest possible standard that any writer can set – reaching the NYT bestseller list, or out-selling Harry Potter, or being able to quit your job and live a life of luxury from your one amazing novel – remind yourself that there are smaller successes on the way to the ‘big one’. Revel in these, because not everyone reaches them. Not everyone is successful, in our terms or their own.

Make sure that you allow yourself the option of realistically obtaining success and you will probably find out that you have already missed some of the more successful moments of your journey. Don’t take them for granted. One success can lead to another.

Often, the only thing standing in the way of our writing success is ourselves. Be that because we want to be a writer and don’t write, or because our expectations of success are so overwhelmingly huge that we constantly feel unsuccessful in comparison. But if you set goals that are realistic and that you can succeed in then it all builds up until, one day, that success that you thought might never be yours is suddenly right around the corner. I’m not suggesting we shouldn’t dream big – by all means, dream HUGE – but when it comes to success, we need to realise the steps we take everyday form parts of the whole: take a look at the Success Circle to demonstrate this (image above). Each one of these things is a success in itself, because it is one step further than someone else managed and one step more than you’ve made before.

Allow yourself the chance to be successful and celebrate those times when you are.
That is how success should be measured.

Why the word ‘aspiring’ is a fallacy in writing

I’ve read two really thought-provoking non-fiction pieces this week. And for the next two days I’m going to post my reactions to each of them.

The first piece I want to write about is written by Karen Woodward who asks: Is there such a thing as an aspiring writer? Her blog post is focused on this phrase – ‘Aspiring Writing‘ – and the difficulties this title actually poses for people who would like to write, but don’t. They aspire to write, but never actually get around to it. Karen uses Chuck’s snickerdoodle of writerly goodness to demonstrate this quite well:

Image courtesy of Chuck Wendig
(Click for site)

Such a  definition is something I am painfully aware of, because for years this is exactly what I did. I was aspiring to be a writer; I knew it is what I wanted to do and I fully planned on doing it…one day.

Problem is, I wasn’t a writer. In many ways, such a phrase is what this blog was built on: the intention to write. “The struggle to be a writer who writes.” Now I am actually writing on a regular basis I can see how futile that aspiration was. As Chuck’s image demonstrates: either you write, or you don’t. If you don’t write then you aren’t a writer: full stop.

As Karen’s post so clearly states:
“When a person says they’re an aspiring writer it means they want the afterglow of looking at the words birthed without going through the labor of producing them.”

And yes, two years ago when I started this blog as a means to answer for my desire to write – to change me from an aspiring writer into an actual writer – that is what I wanted. I wanted to fast-forward through the hard work and be able to announce myself a writer.

I’m so glad I didn’t have that wasted opportunity because, really, where would it have gotten me? The hard work and struggles of being a writer is what makes the process fun. It is what defines it as such a demanding yet worthwhile venture. If it were easy, wouldn’t everyone be doing it? It sounds simple – being a writer – and yet there is so much passion and labour and huge parts of the individual themselves buried deep within that phrase that it is as far from simple as you can get.

But the concept itself is easy.
If you want to be a writer – then write. 

Which brings me to that second piece that I read this week that got me thinking….
“What’s standing in the way of your writing success?” and ”What exactly does ‘successful’ mean?”

Check out tomorrow’s post to read more.

That extra challenge, plus one less day

It’s been an interesting week, especially so given that I committed myself to another challenge for the month: A Story a Day in May. This all came about because I decided to write a short story about my friend’s nail polish collection and as it coincided with the 1st May I realised I’d already started the challenge anyway, so might as well carry on. I’m going to continue with this, but rather than post them individually I’ve set up a page – A Story a Day 2013 – that I will post my contributions to each day so as not to clog up the blog feed with too many posts!

To do List Review

29th April – 5th May

1. Sketch out Goals, Motivations and Conflicts for each of my main characters in NaNo #1 - I have managed to sketch these out for the main five characters – Madeline, Dr Whalley, Cecelia, James and Penelope – but I need to examine the same for the lesser characters (Betsy, Holly and Rachel). 

2. Write out scene cards for Cecelia’s section of the novel with clear notes on how each contributes to the story - All done. with only an extra 4 scene cards to finish off the section that is unwritten. 

3. Insert previously identified Chapter Breaks (from read-through) into manuscript in preparation to create scene cards for all chapters - This made my eyes go fuzzy, but I managed to identify all 25 Chapters in addition to the sections for Cecelia, James and Penelope’s stories. They don’t appear to be very consistent, so this will have to be re-examined later in the drafting process. For now, though, it gives me a decent breakdown of the novel to work on each chapter to build up the story.

4. Begin sketching timeline for the entire plot of NaNo #1 - I’m still not sure about this one. I have created an overview of Madeline’s life with significant events highlighted so that I can ensure my sums add up (as it turns out she ends up dying much younger than I expected: at 38 instead of 54, but hey ho, that’s how fiction works!). I think it might take another read through to understand how many days the actual book takes up in ‘real-time’.

5. Prepare Bingo Story (unsuccessful competition submission) to send to Woman’s Weekly as alternative market - I have halved the word count (of 3,000 words) by removing a whole section in the middle. As a result I need to tweak the beginning, add in a few more details here and there and rewrite the ending. This should then round up to an even 2,000 words, at which point it will qualify for submission. I’m hoping it won’t take me too long to complete. 

So this week starts with a Bank Holiday Monday. You would think that this would give me extra time to write, but I’m also working an extra day this week in my ‘regular’ job, so that impinges on my writing time. Therefore this week’s tasks are kept short, to the point and (hopefully) achievable.

To do list

May 6th – 12th 

1. Type up as much of Cecelia’s section of the novel (NaNo #1) as possible

2. Finish writing Cecelia’s section of the novel – final four scenes

3. Write a Story a Day and post it up on my Story a Day page 

4. Sketch out Goals, Motivation and Conflict for minor characters in NaNo #1

5. Complete Bingo Story for submission

The Woman

I saw the woman dragging her suitcase along the gravel path into the woods from my kitchen window. I had thought it odd that anyone would enter the thick copse of trees at that time of night, let alone a woman trailing a large suitcase. I watched her for a few minutes until the dim light of the torch she had been carrying faded between the trees. Not many people used the woods anymore, the occasional dog walker perhaps, and so it had become a potential site for fly-tipping.

I heard the report on the news the following evening. A child had gone missing. They showed a photograph of a four year old grinning beside his laughing Mum and I knew that it was the same woman I had seen the night before. As if to confirm my suspicions the news-caster mentioned the street where the family lived, only three miles away. My hand hovered over the telephone, but I did not make the call.

The next day I showed a charming young couple around my house and knew as soon as I shut the door that they would make an offer. Sure enough, an hour later the call came. I accepted with joy. I had been trying to sell the house for three years. Their offer, only a small amount below the asking price, was the first I had received. I requested a prompt sale. It could be done within a month, they told me.

I made sure I had packed up all my things before I decided to tell the police what I knew. Any time before that and I wouldn’t have sold my house, not if that little boy had ended up in that suitcase. Who wanted to buy a house on the edge of a body dump site?

I told them I had been away during the initial reporting of the incident; that the day after spying an odd woman dragging a suitcase through the woods I had gone to visit relatives in Scotland. I wasn’t a suspect; they believed what I said. By this time, though, they could no longer locate the mother. She had scarpered with the new boyfriend.

The remains of the boy were found beneath a pile of autumn leaves, along with a worn stuffed bear that was missing an eye, and a bloody baseball bat. The suspects – the mother and her man – are still unaccounted for.

I chose to buy my new home because it is surrounded by other houses. It makes me feel safer somehow. But I keep my kitchen blind closed, just in case.

A Serendipitous Challenge

Yesterday was the first of May. It was also the first time in a while that I sat down to write a little piece of fiction just for fun. Perhaps it is fitting then, that without realising it I started participating in ‘Story a Day in May‘ – something that I attempted – and enjoyed – last year.

I’d quite like to try again this year too. I know it will be a lot to ask – especially in the midst of revising NaNo #1 – but I do feel an affinity with the challenge; it’s a means to rediscover creativity and remind me of the joy of writing for fun. I don’t expect to write any stories longer than 500-1,000 words, and it will be good practice for future submission ideas.

Also, what’s the worst that could happen?
I might not write 31 stories? Revisions for my novel could slow down a little? I might not have much of a social life?

Well, I think I can identify my priorities and act accordingly. The very fact that I wrote a story on the first day of May signifies, to me, that perhaps some serendipity may have taken place. As a result, there may be a few more posts from me over the course of the month, as I share some of the stories here.

Whereas yesterday’s prompt was a picture of a collection of nail polish, today’s prompt comes from my afternoon stroll with my father (who also treated me to lunch – Dad’s are good like that).

The Canal Path, Uppermill

Followed

The path curved out of view in the distance, the water narrowing where the lock was positioned. I continued to walk, keeping my eyes on the path ahead trying not to listen to the gentle tap of the footfalls behind me. Whoever it was seemed to be getting closer. I increased my pace. The echo stopped. But no, there it was, merged into the sound of my own feet tapping along the path. We were matched in steps, I hoped not in pace.

I reached the lock and jogged down the steep banking, trying to put some distance between me and my pursuer. I let my gaze linger on the wall to the left and spied an opening. I slipped into it, letting the trees embrace me. I dare not look out, lest I was spotted. Instantly I realised my mistake. If he were to see me, part concealed by the bud of spring trees, I would make a much better target – just off the path and no longer in view. 

The footsteps sounded again, a little faster than before. I stood still, taking shallow breaths, waiting for him to launch in after me with a wild grin. My heart beat out of rhythm with the steps, as though it were still running away from him. For each hollow tap of his shoe my heart would pound three times. He must know I am in here. Where else would I go?

I watched the figure walk past. His head down and hands thrust into his pockets. I could not make out his face through the criss-cross of branches that made up my shield. I let out a long breath and felt my shoulders relax. I must have rocked back on my feet too, because there was a sudden snap of a twig. 

The man stopped. His head raised and hands out of his pockets. He turned. I sucked my breath back in and held it there while I willed him on again. Keep walking, I thought, just keep walking. 

“Get out of there, come on,” he yelled.

I hesitated, not willing to admit I had been found. But then I heard a sharp yap and the scratch of a paw on stone. I looked down. Near to my feet was a petite Jack Russell, head titled up at me, questioning: ‘Why are you in here’? But then, with another call from his owner – the man I had been so afraid of – he hopped back onto the path and scampered away leaving me in the shrubbery feeling abashed. 

Red Roses and Painted Nails

As part of Creative Tourist’s “Love Collecting” campaign on Twitter (#lovecollecting) I was inspired by a friend’s photograph of her nail polish collection, suggesting there was a story in it! Well, @creativetourist encouraged me to share anything resulting from that immediate spark: and so, here’s a short piece I’ve written in response to it.
There were also some red roses floating in the stream near my house, so I combined the images to come up with this…

Red Roses and Painted Nails

On their anniversary he always bought her a dozen red roses. But each year they ended up in the stream behind their cottage, bobbing in the water like thorny life rafts. It wasn’t that he forgot. It was simply a tradition he could not break. Red roses were meant for anniversaries.

‘But not these ones,’ she would whisper. She had always preferred tulips anyway.

Her nail polish collection was stashed beneath their bed, ordered neatly in their plastic boxes by colour and make. He used to joke about it at dinner parties: how she had enough polish to paint their house with, and then some. Other people would laugh. But not her. She would smile and nod, her head bowed in humour but her eyes rolled back in derison.

It was her ‘thing’. Every day she would have different coloured nails, sometimes even an effect or two that would make the girls in the office marvel over her skill. It was this that had drawn him to her in the first place. Her confident quirks that made her stand out. He had admired the delicate attention of her painted nails. It was what defined her, marked her out, made her desirable.

He hadn’t really known how much that desirability cost, both in terms of finance and space, until they had moved in together. She had wanted the entire box room to display the tiny bottles of colour, as if in a museum, but he had stood firm. Now he wondered what might have happened if he’d acquiesed.

Still, each year, on their anniversary he would bring home the roses and place them on the table for her to find. Then, as was his custom, he would clamber up the poky stairs to their bedroom and choose a bottle from the collection. Slowly unscrewing the cap he would savour the moment when the liquid broke the seal formed over the intervening months and he would breathe it in.

The smell brought back so many memories. It was the aroma of who she was, who she had been.Sometimes a tear would work its way from his eye and stain his face at the overwhelming nostalgia of that smell. It built up inside of him until he could take it no longer and he would close up the polish until next year, when he would choose another colour to mark this day.

By the time he got downstairs the roses had already gone. He would follow the trail of torn petals and the occasional thorn-spiked blood droplet down the garden path and to the edge of the stream where she would be waiting. Every year she tossed the roses into the rapid water and every year as she did this she would be crying.

“Who brought the roses?” she would ask, “I don’t like roses. They remind me too much of my husband.” She would break down then, crumple into his arms. “Oh, where is my husband. I thought he was home when I saw the roses, but he wasn’t. He isn’t here. Where is he?”

He would remind himself of his tear already shed in his moment with the polish and he would pull her close and breathe in her smell – the one that wasn’t really hers because she no longer remembered that she ever painted her nails.

“I’m here,” he would whisper but she wouldn’t remember him. Not even for their anniversary.

But still, he couldn’t help but buy those roses.