Finally, Some Writing

Conscious of the fact that the title of this blog is Trials Of A Struggling Writer, I thought today I would just update you all on what is going on in the paper-and-pen world of Jack Hardgraves. I know Wednesday's are usually Music Wednesday, and in fact I had planned to download the new Radiohead album and give you my verdict on it. But we still have no Internet at my house here in Winchester, and I don't think the library would be very pleased with me if I downloaded it here.

You may recall me saying that, during France 2007, I began writing what I hope to be a departure from the Green Ash books: a more grown-up, moody piece about real people and real life. This has been both uplifting and very annoying to attempt, and I admit freely that, as yet, I am no where nearer to finishing it. But late last week one of the main problems I was having in writing the book, working title Maria, was solved in perhaps the simplest of ways.

I'll try and explain. Last year I saw a documentary programme on BBC Three over here in Blighty which deeply affected me. It was about a small group of people who suffer from a mental condition where they feel that they are hideous, despite the fact that they actually look pretty normal. It is often mistaken for vanity, attention seeking, even OCD which it stems from. I had never heard about it before and was enthralled by the stories of these people on the programme. Immediately the seeds were sown for this new story. Although it has featured in a couple of fiction books, this illness affects 1% of the population of Britain alone. It would therefore, I thought, be good to use it as a plot device in order to educate people about it.

But a week or so later I had completely forgotten what the name of the illness was. In frustration I spent the last six months, whenever I had a spare moment, trying to find out more about it and what it actually was. I looked in psychological encyclopedias, medical journals, even dictionaries. But, obviously, not knowing what it was actually called really slowed me down.

And then, last week, a breakthrough. In a last-ditch effort to find information, I went to the BBC Three website. And there, after two or three licks, i found it. The condition is known as Body Dysmorphic Disorder or BDD. There were lots of handy links on the website, a link of which you will find here.

There is of course an argument that the only reason I'm using BDD is as a simple plot device, to get people interested in the book who might not be otherwise, to make it a piece of, if you'll pardon the expression, "grief porn". I swear to you all reading this now - that is not my intention. About 25% of all BDD sufferers attempt suicide because of this illness, because people just don't understand what they're going through. There needs to be more knowledge of this illness, and this seems to me a good place to start.

By the way, this hasn't stopped the Green Ash series. My plan at the moment is to write two Green Ash books, then a "serious" book, and so on and so on. I left my list of literary agents at home whilst away on holiday and the next time I go back is in November. So until then Where Wild Things Grow must rest in its digital status on my hard drive.

Here, then, are my trials, and, as you can no doubt see, I am indeed struggling. I hope now to be treated like Ronsil: I do exactly what I say on the tin.

Laters.