Getting There - a guide to agility

The process of getting published is like an agility class to see how super fit we
would-be novelists really are.

As you may or may not know, an agility course consists of hoops, tunnels, gates, seasaws and tyres that have to be jumped over or through.

Last week, despite being knee deep in rejections for the last novel, I wrote to yet another agent on my list. Without any hopes. I got an email back saying would I please send the first three chapters. A small jump.

I sent the chapters off, laughing a little at his name. Ian Drury. Is he any relation of the Ian of Blockheads fame, I wondered? Son, perhaps? Turned his back on the music business to enter the highly competitive world of publishing. (You can see another novel developing pronto.)

The seasaw tilted as I considered the possibilities, and then I forgot about Ian’s email. I knew what would happen. He would send back a polite “Thanks but No thanks” note. Or nothing at all.

This is the tunnel that in our agility class has a wet pool in the bottom because it’s rained so much.

I’m well used to no replies by now. Not that agents or editors are rude – she says hurriedly. They’re extremely busy. I’ve had jobs like that, when your Inbox is so bursting with emails you can’t think let alone reply to any but the most urgent.

Another long dark tunnel with a twist in. One collie loves the tunnel, but I don’t. But it has to be got through. It’s part of the course.

We had a writing meeting on Sunday and five of us sat round a table and discussed my latest rejection and where I might be going wrong. We came up with a plan for me to rewrite the first three chapters of this last novel. A jump over a succession of smaller jumps, then a leap through the tyre.

Rather than doing it straight away, like I usually do, I thought, no wait. Let this simmer. Think about it. So I sat on it, made myself wait. Run round the field a few times, looking at the competition. Or in Mollie’s case, the sheep in the next field.

Yesterday afternoon I checked my emails to find one from Ian asking me to send him the rest of the manuscript. This was my first proper Big Jump.

I jumped up, ran next door to tell Himself, and immediately rang my closest writing friend. She was out, so I ran round in circles squeaking, like a demented mouse, before sitting down and sending him the rest of the manuscript. Another jump for good measure. Several more for the hell of it.

I have no doubt that Ian will reply at some point – there’s a lot to read, so he won’t be in a hurry. He will explain why he doesn’t think it will sell and therefore why they don’t want it and wish me better luck elsewhere. But his comments might help. I might be able to rewrite it so that someone else might take it.

Or ……… but we won’t go there. That would be tempting fate. Realistically, a clear round is still a long way off. But I’m getting there.

So for all you other Novel Racers and writers out there. We’ll get there – one day. Just keep jumping.

Me and My Girl

The above picture was taken on Saturday at Agility Class Two - Moll running towards her Mum. (I'm the one in the red coat. The other one is Lisa, one of the people who runs the classes.) The photographer couldn’t get too near but you get the gist.

In the papers over the weekend came the news that curvy women are more intelligent and are more likely to give birth to brighter children.

Have you noticed that these sort of pieces are always preceded by “scientists say” – though in a piece like this, it doesn’t say who these scientists are. Mind you, I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t particularly like to be renowned for discovering such a thing. Wouldn’t win you the Nobel Peace Prize, would it?

But I doubt the authenticity of this news as I can think of loads of examples to disprove it.

The first one is my mother who is tiny – she just peeks above five foot on a good day when she’s wearing heels, and no way would you say she’s curvy. But – and here I can boast – she’s a member of Mensa.

She evidently didn’t pass her brain cells on to her children, but that’s through no fault of her own I’m sure. Perhaps her Mensa cells got stuck somewhere in her womb?

As for her offspring – well, I’ve got my mother’s build though I’m six inches taller and my brothers take after their father who was a six foot plus rugger player.

When it comes to children, my nephews and nieces are far from stupid. Sadly, we don’t have any children, but as Himself keeps telling everyone, “Mollie’s very bright, you know.”

Agility Training Part One

This, by the way, is not any of the dogs this morning, as Himself forgot the camera. Not only that, but having told me that he knew EXACTLY where he was going, Himself got lost at the Redruth roundabout. Then he took the wrong turning. When we finally got there, that's when he realised that he’d forgotten the camera.

But we'd started arguing before we even got there, when I said I thought Moll should have a run before the training to run off a bit of her excess energy.

‘You’re not taking her anywhere wet or muddy, Pop,’ said Himself, getting dressed this morning. ‘I want her pristine and brushed when she gets there.’

I looked at him, wondering this husband of mine appeared to have lost any brain cells that he had when I met him (must have been the birthday that killed off the few remaining ones).

‘She’s going to be in a field,’ I said. ‘Outside.’ In case he hadn’t got the message. ‘She’ll be filthy and wet in a minute.’

Himself frowned as he pulled on his Birthday Jumper. ‘I don’t care,’ he said. ‘I want her clean when we get there.’

Sometimes you wonder, don't you?

Anyway, we finally got there without killing each other and split into two groups; in our group was another Jack called Sally, and two collies, both young and very bouncy. The first training we did was on one of those long walkway things and greedy Moll took to it brilliantly – specially the bit of sausage at the bottom, whereas the collies didn’t like the feel of the rough wood on their paws at all.

Next was the tunnel which again Mollie shot down. I was the other end with a ball on a rope and she came galloping towards me with a broad grin. So much for Himself’s gloomy protestations of her hating it.

The next thing was learning basic handling techniques which meant walking with your dog clockwise and anti-clockwise, then to the left and right, ie with the dog on the inside and then outside. The idea is to keep your dog’s interest so they look at you and watch your body language the whole time. It’s a non stop lesson in communication.

And the last exercise was in weaving – another fast technique that they all seemed to enjoy.

I hadn’t realised till we got back in the car how much concentration was needed – for both dogs and owners. Despite being full of treats, Moll is now exhausted and sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

Thinking back on this morning’s activity, it occurred to me that it’s very easy to get stuck in our own relationships – with husbands/partners, with our friends, with work.

I can’t help thinking this sort of thing would be brilliant for us humans and our relationships. Not running through tunnels and weaving, of course, but going back to basics, looking at our nearest and dearests and remembering what attracted us to them in the first place. Remembering the basic art of communication and body language. And most important of all, having FUN in the process.

Just a thought.

Agility and Plumbing Problems

This is Mollie's belated second birthday present. Agility classes start on Saturday week (the day after Himself's birthday, dear of him).

Being very anti-exercise, he was horrified that anyone, even a dog, would want to expend unnecessary energy in this fashion.

"All that running and jumping, Pop. You'll wear her out!"

I pointed out that with a hyperactive dog like her (to say nothing of a hyperactive Mum like me) this is highly desirable. But it took a long time before I could reassure him that I'm sure Moll will absolutely love it. He has yet to be convinced but is coming along as Official Photographer.

Now I must dash. I've been researching adenomyosis until my brain thinks it's going to crash prior to seeing Dr G to discuss my Plumbing Problems. My appointment is late morning so hope to have some good news. Dammit - I'll make sure I have good news!