Book Review - The Salt Path by Raynor Winn

I realised the other day that I hadn't posted a book review for a while. I suppose that this must mean that most of the books I have read recently haven't sparked enough enthusiasm to get reviewed.
However, I have just finished a wonderful read and felt that I had to put down my thoughts here.

I confess that this book has languished on my desk for a while, being passed over as I picked up other books, always thinking that I would get round to it. And eventually I did pick it up and settle down to read. Thank goodness I did for it is a wonderful, inspiring uplifting story of love, fortitude and the endless power of the human spirit. I confess to being in tears at the end of the second chapter and was worried that I would be unable to carry on. But this is not a sad or weepy book. So don't let my emotional response put you off!

Raynor Winn and her husband Moth find themselves homeless after a business deal goes bad and they fail to save it through the courts. The decide to use this 'freedom' to walk the South West Coast Path, initially from Minehead to Land's End but with the option to walk on. This book chronicles their journey, sharing the wonderous wildlife they see, the landscape they pass through and the interesting characters they meet.

Underplaying this travelogue is Moth's terminal diagnosis, delivered just as they decided to set off on their epic walk. The love that binds Moth and Raynor together is beautiful and strong. Without each other I think they would have soon fell apart as their safe lives unravelled. Moth finds the walk arduous at first but as the miles tick off he begins to gain strength and we are left optimistic about his fate. No spoilers here!

I loved getting to know Moth and Raynor, a pair of 'old walkers' who embrace an opportunity and learn so much about themselves through adversity. I was reminded of the saying 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. This journey in this book is a living illustration of this and I loved ever bit of it.

It Can't Just Be Me

I wonder if I over-think these things sometimes, unable to switch my brain off and worrying away at things until I'm not sure which way is up. I seem incapable of making a decision and being content that I have made the correct one, going over and over things until I feel really despondent about everything.

Having decided what I was going to do with my manuscript I have had a few discussions with people and changed my mind about self publishing. So, traditional publishing it is then. Yes?

Well, if only it was that easy. I finally plucked up the courage to enter the Curtis Brown First Novel Contest and with only a few hours of procrastination I pressed 'Submit' and took a deep breath. Seconds later I was sure it was a mistake but it was done so no point worrying about it. Advice I failed to take and spent too much time obsessing about what I had done.

What was the problem? Imposter Syndrome of course!

I managed to convince myself that I had made a dreadful mistake, my manuscript was going to be laughed at and passed around at secret publishers meetings so everyone would know what a terrible writer I was and how dare I presume to submit that drivel to anyone. Coz that's how it works, right? There's a secret publishers cabal who spend their evenings cackling at the cheek of us deluded writers.

Anyway, back in the real world I worried that I had been premature sending the manuscript out when I had yet to hear back from my beta readers. But it is too late to worry about that so now I'm worrying about whether to send it out to agents before I hear from Curtis Brown. And down another rabbit hole I vanish …

So I'm trying to stay sane and balanced while my reptilian hind brain has kittens and gives me sleepless nights! Back to the short story I am writing for another contest and let the manuscript alone for a while or I'll scratch the scab off it.

Nominative Determinism

I've yet to meet a Miss Baker who turns out splendid cakes or a Mr Plummer who can fix a leak in a trice but I have always been fascinated by nominative determinism. You know, the phenomenon whereby a person's name fits their chosen path in life. So when a perfectly fabulous name crossed my path yesterday I knew he had to be the subject of a piece of fiction.

So here is a short piece about a character named Dangerous!

I tried so hard not to roll my eyes as the five millionth person asked the same question.
'So, are you strong and dangerous?'
This was the question everyone I had ever met had asked me and as I had done every time I was asked it I cursed my stupid family for landing me with the name Armstrong Dangerous.
If you're being picky about it I'm Armstrong Dangerous III but as I'm not from Miami I don't use the numbers. In the Midlands if you were to use numbers at the end of your name you'd spend the whole time explaining away the Chinese Burn marks or pulling your underwear from your arse. So I leave that part out until I know someone well enough for them not to snigger when saying my name.
Why my father decided to stick me with a name that had cursed his childhood years I have no idea. Maybe he thought as he'd had to suffer so should his eldest child. Yes, that's right. Even if I'd had the good fortune to be born a girl he was planning to land me with Armstrong. Possibly as a middle name according to my mother but I'm not sure I believe her. After all, she didn't stand up to him when he decided that I was to be called Armstrong without even a middle name to fall back on.
Anyway, back to the story.
I failed to avoid rolling my eyes and I think I even sighed dramatically when the hulking new boy asked if my name really was Armstrong Dangerous. I managed to get the first two syllables of my standard explanation out before his massive right fist forced all  the air out of my lungs and dropped me to my knees. I sucked air in, wiped the tears from my eyes and looked up into his lard face.
'Loser! My baby sister is more dangerous than you.'
He pushed an open ham hand onto my forehead and applied enough pressure to knock me onto my back. I lay on the grass, winded and humiliated and listened to the laughter. Another day, another set of bruises. Being called Dangerous is no fun when you aren't.


So there he is, my new friend Armstrong Dangerous, laying in the dirt and wishing he was called John Smith. I wonder is there are other adventures I can take him on?

Planning, planning, planning

Over the last week I took part in a 5 day challenge to look at how you approached writing and how you could move on to the next level (whatever that means) with your writing. We had to identify who our reader was - interesting in itself as I think it's something that many of us don't give too much thought to when we're writing. Secondly we had to think about why we are writing our particular novel/story and why it is important to us now - again not something that I had given much thought to. Thirdly we were asked to do some blue sky thinking about where we wanted to be in 3 or 5 years time if our writing really took off and we could accomplish anything. This was particularly valuable as it gave real focus to why writing is important and how we value it. Lastly we did some free writing, focusing on our WIP but not thinking too hard about what we wrote - disengaging the conscious brain and letting the unconscious have a go if you like. For five minutes we just wrote anything that came into our heads without stopping - filling the blank spots with a string of umms if we had to.

Now it was the last exercise that really revealed something to me. As I wrote a whole new idea for a sequel to the novel I have just finished in first draft came to me. I hadn't thought of continuing the story but the idea is so strong that I feel I have to write it. This again opened up a train of thought which was touched on by the last part of the challenge. Our final task was to look at whether we wanted to publish our work and if we did how would we do it, which method would best suit each of us individually. I have always worried that the traditional route isn't for me. I baulk at the idea of getting an agent and pitching ideas to a publisher only to end up disheartened and disappointed. Self publishing isn't an area I'd thought about - it bought to mind sad series of books about spirituality and finding yourself! Not my thing at all I thought.

However, I have been looking into publishing through Amazon and, while I know some people think they are the devil in corporate clothing, I think I may have found the solution for me. To reinforce my sense of commitment I sat down last night and planned out how I can revise, edit and publish my novel by August! And I plan to write the first draft of the sequel this year too. Sounds too good to be true? Maybe. But I have such enthusiasm for it that I need to give it a go. And if August turns out to be too soon then I'll revise my dates and publish it another month. Not forgetting that I still hope to get the podcast up and running this spring!

So, suddenly it all seems possible. I may actually have a novel out there for real people to read later this year. Who would have thought it?