How a passage evolved - from note book to real book:
For no reason other than I found it quite distracting I thought you may like to see how a typical passage in Downwardly Mobile evolved from my rough and hard to read notes via, a quick draft, being published onto our blog, re-edited for the book and then revised for publication. The passage in question concerns our journey from Skye to Inverness.
1 Note book:
I kept my notebook in Mavis and made notes on my phone when out and about. Alison did most of the driving, leaving me free to scribble when I wasn't navigating or fiddling around in the glove compartment for a CD.
As you can see, my handwriting, never my most marketable of skills, tended to be affected by the bumps, twists and turns in the road. I've also made a handy shopping list on this page so now you know what we have for breakfast, although I've been more circumspect about lunch and dinner.
2 Notepad:
I tended to rush the first draft in an attempt to get everything down while it was in my head, a technique that was also useful if I couldn't interpret my handwriting. I'd usually write in the morning while the coffee worked its way into my system. I started using notepad because that's how the notes on my phone imported, but after a while I resorted to Word. (Other word processing apps are available). Note the sloppy punctuation and spelling.
3 Blog entry:
Our blog was conceived as a way to keep family and friends up to date with our travels. It took us a while to settle into a routine and to turn it into something more than just a list of where we'd been and what we had done. Gradually I began to add little bits of background information and research into it. Like everyone else who has used the internet for purposes of research I'd sometimes resort to Wikipedia.
We were also able to introduce photos to the blog to help illustrate our travels.
Thursday 19 May 5/20/2016
Echoes of the past litter Skye. Standing stones and rings of huts, crude shelters built by early inhabitants, so numerous some aren't even mentioned on the map; ruins of crofts, low walls covered in grass that are now used by sheep seeking refuge from the elements. Here and there are skeletons of old machines left where they died, boats rot on the foreshore and in a field the shell of a caravan surrounded by cows. The islanders’ life has always been harsh and unforgiving, even now with good heating, good roads and all the trappings of modern life winters are long, dark and bleak.
We drove out of Skye on a road like a ribbon laid across the landscape. It was raining relentlessly giving a glossy coating to the moors. Sheep grazed seemingly unaffected while their lambs looked cold and huddled for warmth in the ley of rocks or stood forlornly on the sheltered side of their mother. As we drove, ghosts of mountains floated on the horizon behind a veil of soft mist, revealing themselves only as we got close, before we dropped down through the passes to skirt the sea on the run to the bridge and onto mainland Scotland.
We were sad to leave Skye, its charms were plentiful and with a smaller vehicle or more time to walk we'd love to have explored all of its nooks and crannies. But for now we were heading inland to Inverness via Loch Ness. But first we had to pass through a deep Glen alongside The Five Sisters mountain range. These all comfortably exceed 3000 ft. and form a steep sided pass alongside the river Shiel, which snakes through the high glen seemingly in no hurry to leave. On the lower slopes intensely managed pine forests sat behind fences, as if penned in to prevent them from escaping. Where the woodland stopped blankets of last year’s ginger and rust ferns lay wilted and broken as new shoots reached up, unfurling slowly, one frond at a time, in no great rush now, but soon this whole area will be a lush green carpet waving gently in the mountain air. Higher up the snow-capped peaks brooded in halos of dark cloud. Well, it was all quite nice really. Onwards we forged and after lunch in the mountain pass we descended to follow the wide River Moriston to the shores of Loch Ness. Here the rain had passed and little puffs of steam rose from the pines as warmer air moved in. We drove North alongside the Loch. Loch Ness, a mighty body of water, is only the second largest Scottish loch by surface area at 22 square miles, but due to its depth, it is the largest by volume in the British Isles. Its deepest point is 755 ft. which also makes it the second deepest loch in Scotland, after Loch Morar. It contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales combined. It is part of the Great Glen Fault, which runs from Inverness in the north to Fort William in the south. Incidentally that information was from Wikipedia so don't rely on it in a court of law. It may just be an enormous puddle formed by the tears of dying stoats for all I know.
We won't dwell on the rest of the journey north as it continued in much the same vein. Suffice to say it was all very pleasant, the Loch a constant presence to our right with its backdrop of rolling hills until we swept into Inverness and pitched up at a site on the banks of the Ness Canal, where we took an evening stroll past a flight of Locks to the Sea Lock and stunning views across the Beauly Firth.
4 Book copy following revisions:
From blog to book took four complete re-drafts. The first stage was just putting the blog entries into Word format in date order. That was whittled down to the final draft that Alison edited. Some passages changed between revisions and others, like this one, remained much the same until my final draft when quite a bit of material was exorcised.
We drove out of Skye on a road laid like a ribbon draped across the landscape. It was raining relentlessly which gave a glossy coating to the moors. Sheep grazed seemingly unaffected while their lambs looked cold and huddled for warmth in the ley of rocks or stood forlornly on the sheltered side of their mother. Ghosts of mountains floated on the horizon behind a veil of soft mist, revealing themselves only as we drove close. Echoes of the past litter Skye; standing stones and rings where crude shelters once stood, so numerous many aren't even mentioned on the map, ruins of crofts, low walls covered in grass that are now used by animals seeking refuge from the elements. Here and there skeletons of old machines are left where they died, boats rotting on the foreshore and in a field the shell of a caravan surrounded by bored looking cows. The islanders’ life has always been harsh and unforgiving; even now with good heating, good roads and all the trappings of modern life winters are long, dark and bleak. We were sad to leave Skye, its charms were plentiful and with a smaller vehicle or more time to walk we'd love to have explored all of its nooks and crannies. But for now we were heading inland to Inverness via a deep glen alongside The Five Sisters mountain range. On the lower slopes intensely managed pine forests pressed up against taut wire fences, as if they were being prevented from escaping. Where the woodland stopped, blankets of last year’s ginger and rust ferns lay wilted and broken as new shoots reached up, unfurling slowly, one frond at a time, in no great rush now, but soon the whole area would be a lush green carpet waving gently in the mountain air. Higher up, the snow-capped peaks brooded in halos of dark cloud. Eventually we descended to the shores of Loch Ness. Here the rain had passed, and little puffs of steam rose from the pines as warmer air moved in. Loch Ness, a mighty body of water, is only the second largest Scottish loch by surface area, at 22 square miles, but due to its depth it is the largest by volume in the British Isles. Its deepest point is 755 ft. It contains more fresh water than all the lakes in England and Wales combined. It is part of the Great Glen Fault, which runs from Inverness in the north passed Fort William in the south and out via the island of Mull and into Ireland. Incidentally that information was from Wikipedia so don't rely on it in a court of law. It may just be an enormous puddle formed by the tears of dying stoats for all I know. The next day we woke in Inverness...