Today, in 2006, my greatest friend was killed in an air crash at sea. Life does go on, but it kills you a little as it does it, leaving you trying to catch hold of some kind of meaning of life as it disappears over a far, non-existent horizon. I just needed to hear something from the past, something reassuring - though quite what, I couldn't tell you. I wished Les' wife Julie a Merry Christmas on Christmas Day, a sentiment I meant, but couldn't be sure had any meaning to her. They had two sons together, Lewis and Joel. Perhaps these two young fellas made it mean more to Jules than could really be expected at this time. I hope so.
Wandering through youtube in search of some kind of meaning (what a place to look for that!), I came across We Got The Funk. Wow! That was in the heart of our old nightclubbing days. It actually sounds like a Chic tune, so I haven't posted it up here with a Sister Sledge song already up, but please go to youtube and listen to it, by Positive Force. Of course, after listening to it, you'll probably do what I do and enter the labyrinth of songs posted up all over the place, stumbling across all kinds of stuff you had forgotten about. Have fun! Nothing lasts forever - a positive statement only if you believe that 'nothing' exists. 'Time waits for no man' is probably a better saying - a positive urging, if you like, to do something with your life.
Guess I'm only just holding on to this blog - the effort of writing my latest work, my own personal dreamworld, seems to be leaving little room for a blog in my life. I am beginning to wonder if blogs have the meaning they originally held. Are they no longer an end, but now have become a means to help further another, perhaps more important, end. And if they don't have that more important 'end', then it maybe has no useful purpose. Not sure.
Thoughts of a night...
Saturday, 27 December 2008
Friday, 12 December 2008
What if...
Maria's wrestling with the 'what if' question has rung a few bells. I'm at that point right now, sorting out my second chapter whilst simultaneously exploring some different endings to the story itself. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, as I'm looking at both ends of the book at the same time. I can't help it - it just seems to be happening and I can't control it. Maybe there's something in the back of my mind that's telling me the one affects the other. I've got a great ending, but a slightly different one has entered my head. 'What if' a third one wanders along to threaten my sanity even further? I dunno. I'll suss it out soon, I guess. Maybe I don't need to and it's just a diversion, a distraction. I could, of course, be secretly wishing it was all done. Yep, I know the strain. Been through it all before and the brick wall I hit then could be right there at the end of this particular road, too. Always crashing in the same car, sung Bowie, and I'm trying my best not to. Ha! The fear factor... Maybe I could turn it into some kind of X-Factor and have you vote my next move!!!! All five of you lol
The replacing of the song-quote at the beginning has changed the central focus a touch. I'm happy with that, and maybe it's the domino effect, a bit of background re-programming, I'm experiencing. That was a good 'what if' that worked wonderfully, I gotta say! Solvey hasn't read that part yet, and neither has Noel the Ultimate Proofreader, so their reactions aren't known. They will be, though!
Presha...
The replacing of the song-quote at the beginning has changed the central focus a touch. I'm happy with that, and maybe it's the domino effect, a bit of background re-programming, I'm experiencing. That was a good 'what if' that worked wonderfully, I gotta say! Solvey hasn't read that part yet, and neither has Noel the Ultimate Proofreader, so their reactions aren't known. They will be, though!
Presha...
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
King Street in South Shields this very night. It looks a lot more magical in real life than these mobile phone pics can portray, but I thought I'd post them anyway. When I saw this display, I immediately thought of someone from my new story who would have loved to have been with me, staring up at the lights. My problem, if I can call it that, is conveying scenes such as these, and also conveying properly the wonder felt by someone at the very moment she beholds them. Not during, not after, but at the very moment she would first see these lights. This is where my fantasy training would come in: I know I would have to believe it first before I could describe it. I would have to see it for myself. Then I must become the person I am portraying. The reader has to believe, too, that he/she is there, looking up at the lights. Wonder must be universal, it must be contagious, passing from the writer's vision, through the eyes of the person in the story and into the mind's eye of the reader.
Difficult.
But you have to believe you can do it. More than that: you have to know you can do it. This doesn't mean that you will never do it if you do not know if you can. It simply means that you must learn how to do it.
Practice and study.
Practice doesn't always make perfect. Nobody ever achieves perfection - not even me, your resident raving loony perfectionist! But practice helps you achieve a state of mind that allows you to write in a more lucid, more eloquent, way.
Studying your favourite writers always helps. Ask yourself how they would have done it. If they have done something similar, ask yourself how you yourself would have done it instead - what would you have done differently.
Then try it. And keep trying it until you believe you have done it the best way you can. Your only worry after that will be that it is good enough to get you published. Lol! That's worry enough! But at least you will have given yourself a better chance.
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Postscript to 'Cold, is Wisdom'
I've mentioned writer forums a few times as I've gone along, and I did so again in a recent post. Seriously, these days an unpublished writer must expose their work to opinion, and writer forums are the best medium for doing this. It's pretty hair-raising having a bunch of guys you hardly know kicking seven bells out of your masterpiece, I can tell you. But you must do it, and you must give your opinion on the work of others. It helps enormously, and you won't regret it, I promise you.
In time, though, the novelty and hard work wears off and it wears you down. And no matter how good a writer you become, and no matter how good you are at critiquing the work of others, there is a limit. A shelf life applies - and it applies to everyone. You have to watch for this, be aware of this. Never let it go on too long. Your own writing must never suffer, which it will if you stay a part of forums for too long. All forums must recycle their writers and critiquers. If they don't, something is going wrong.
My time in forums was largely productive and happy, and I did get some lovely emails from people who believed they got published after taking on my advice. This was for short story work at Critters, as Critters is/was primarily a short story forum. I don't get emails any more from Bedtime-Story; it's a dead site, and I can't change my email address on the reader contact option. Jeez, I had some marvellous feedback over time, and one Italian guy thought my Christmas story was the 'bees kneeze' as he put it when his grandson had just been born and he was going to save it for when he was old enough to understand it - it still makes me smile to think of it. But it was all practice, and that is what you have to remember: it is all practice, real practice. At some point, you have to stop. I will never exchange my experiences for anything, and I've had some really rocky moments for sure. Forums will never hold the same attraction as they used to, but I'd advise any unpublished writer to find one and put themselves out. There are two such forums on my 'links' list - Critters and Litopia. Join them both. You won't regret it.
In time, though, the novelty and hard work wears off and it wears you down. And no matter how good a writer you become, and no matter how good you are at critiquing the work of others, there is a limit. A shelf life applies - and it applies to everyone. You have to watch for this, be aware of this. Never let it go on too long. Your own writing must never suffer, which it will if you stay a part of forums for too long. All forums must recycle their writers and critiquers. If they don't, something is going wrong.
My time in forums was largely productive and happy, and I did get some lovely emails from people who believed they got published after taking on my advice. This was for short story work at Critters, as Critters is/was primarily a short story forum. I don't get emails any more from Bedtime-Story; it's a dead site, and I can't change my email address on the reader contact option. Jeez, I had some marvellous feedback over time, and one Italian guy thought my Christmas story was the 'bees kneeze' as he put it when his grandson had just been born and he was going to save it for when he was old enough to understand it - it still makes me smile to think of it. But it was all practice, and that is what you have to remember: it is all practice, real practice. At some point, you have to stop. I will never exchange my experiences for anything, and I've had some really rocky moments for sure. Forums will never hold the same attraction as they used to, but I'd advise any unpublished writer to find one and put themselves out. There are two such forums on my 'links' list - Critters and Litopia. Join them both. You won't regret it.
Thursday, 20 November 2008
Great expectations (revisited...)
Hmmm. Every now and then I find myself reading Great Expectations. Dickens' greatest work, in my opinion. The amount of observation and human interaction within the tale is huge. Colossal. I do wonder if this is my prop for my latest work. It must be - I can't think of any reason for doing it.
Of course, I can't write in the same way - I'd be laughed at, for sure, as the moderness I'm trying to create would jar with the ancient-speak of Dickens' time. Funny, but I rarely think of Sword, now, where the ancient-speak, the cod-mediaeval language, was so apparent. I had thought of myself as the new Tolkien, but was writing a mixture of Peter Pan and King Arthur - a heady mix that, perhaps, was always destined for failure! The sense of failure was acute, so maybe it's no wonder I rarely think of it - it hurts too much to keep dipping into it.
Now, writing about Newcastle and some of the happenings I've discovered/created, I've become quite divorced from writing anything other than my version of a modern English tale. Not even Dickens can get me to write in ancient-speak. Except, of course, where it is called for as part of the story's own ancient history. Failure, which is so easily attainable in the publishing world for an unpublished writer, will cut me hard. As tough as I am on myself, I'm pretty soft when it comes to the failure of rejection. I really don't want to place hurdles in front of myself, when I don't need to.
No, I'm actually looking at Dickens as part of my human interaction education. Newcastle, after all, does feel like a Dickens setting. But it's not just Dickens, though - Banks and Koontz have their own charming wizardry when it comes to conversation and perceptive observation. I know what I like, and these three authors are/were at the top of the tree. Great teachers all.
Hopefully, I've been paying attention...
Of course, I can't write in the same way - I'd be laughed at, for sure, as the moderness I'm trying to create would jar with the ancient-speak of Dickens' time. Funny, but I rarely think of Sword, now, where the ancient-speak, the cod-mediaeval language, was so apparent. I had thought of myself as the new Tolkien, but was writing a mixture of Peter Pan and King Arthur - a heady mix that, perhaps, was always destined for failure! The sense of failure was acute, so maybe it's no wonder I rarely think of it - it hurts too much to keep dipping into it.
Now, writing about Newcastle and some of the happenings I've discovered/created, I've become quite divorced from writing anything other than my version of a modern English tale. Not even Dickens can get me to write in ancient-speak. Except, of course, where it is called for as part of the story's own ancient history. Failure, which is so easily attainable in the publishing world for an unpublished writer, will cut me hard. As tough as I am on myself, I'm pretty soft when it comes to the failure of rejection. I really don't want to place hurdles in front of myself, when I don't need to.
No, I'm actually looking at Dickens as part of my human interaction education. Newcastle, after all, does feel like a Dickens setting. But it's not just Dickens, though - Banks and Koontz have their own charming wizardry when it comes to conversation and perceptive observation. I know what I like, and these three authors are/were at the top of the tree. Great teachers all.
Hopefully, I've been paying attention...
Wednesday, 19 November 2008
Cold, is wisdom...
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty' said Keats, and the truest words I have ever heard or read in my so-far unsuccessful writing life.
Thinking about things as I do, always searching for the exact thought, the exact mood and word to illustrate my thoughts, I do sometimes wonder whether I'm doing things right, or whether I'm just doing things my way, which may cause me to do things wrong. I mean, can you stop yourself from doing the wrong thing when everything you do, become or create, is so subjective? In other words, how do you know that you know the truth about yourself, about what you do?
Of course, if you want to be original, or believe in your originality, then perhaps you can be afraid to take advice, or if not afraid then wary. In seeking advice, you may instead become someone else, or a projection of someone else. Like the plague, this must be avoided.
I do believe I'm more wary than afraid - I did wander through writer forums for a while and sought advice, knowledge, that was different from what I knew myself. Quite often, I would challenge what others said or did, in the search for knowledge. Looking back, I guess I didn't actually take much advice, filtering out stuff I disagreed with, or stuff that I just couldn't verify in my head.
Reading as many classics as I did (accidentally, as I didn't know what I was reading at the time and usually went from how they felt, as opposed to their standing in the literary world), I wonder if I only ever read what I wanted to read and was somehow forming an instinct of my own, and not an instinct influenced by other tastes.
For example, as a child, I was given 'Kidnapped' as a Christmas present. I could never get past the first chapter. I would rather have read Peter Pan over and over again, than go through a work like 'Kidnapped', which I must confess remains unread by me to this day.
Instinct.
That word again.
The biggest word in any writer's dictionary. The truest word. If you don't have it, you will write nothing. At least, you will write nothing of note.
Perhaps I will never write anything of note. Because I may not have the right instinct. But I do have one, I can see that. It has caused me to choose what I'm writing now. And to choose carefully who I will allow to review it.
If I'm right about what I'm writing, then I'm more than likely right about who will critique my work. If I am right about who will critique my work, then I'm more than likely right about my writing.
Instinct.
I hope I have it. I hope I have it right.
Thinking about things as I do, always searching for the exact thought, the exact mood and word to illustrate my thoughts, I do sometimes wonder whether I'm doing things right, or whether I'm just doing things my way, which may cause me to do things wrong. I mean, can you stop yourself from doing the wrong thing when everything you do, become or create, is so subjective? In other words, how do you know that you know the truth about yourself, about what you do?
Of course, if you want to be original, or believe in your originality, then perhaps you can be afraid to take advice, or if not afraid then wary. In seeking advice, you may instead become someone else, or a projection of someone else. Like the plague, this must be avoided.
I do believe I'm more wary than afraid - I did wander through writer forums for a while and sought advice, knowledge, that was different from what I knew myself. Quite often, I would challenge what others said or did, in the search for knowledge. Looking back, I guess I didn't actually take much advice, filtering out stuff I disagreed with, or stuff that I just couldn't verify in my head.
Reading as many classics as I did (accidentally, as I didn't know what I was reading at the time and usually went from how they felt, as opposed to their standing in the literary world), I wonder if I only ever read what I wanted to read and was somehow forming an instinct of my own, and not an instinct influenced by other tastes.
For example, as a child, I was given 'Kidnapped' as a Christmas present. I could never get past the first chapter. I would rather have read Peter Pan over and over again, than go through a work like 'Kidnapped', which I must confess remains unread by me to this day.
Instinct.
That word again.
The biggest word in any writer's dictionary. The truest word. If you don't have it, you will write nothing. At least, you will write nothing of note.
Perhaps I will never write anything of note. Because I may not have the right instinct. But I do have one, I can see that. It has caused me to choose what I'm writing now. And to choose carefully who I will allow to review it.
If I'm right about what I'm writing, then I'm more than likely right about who will critique my work. If I am right about who will critique my work, then I'm more than likely right about my writing.
Instinct.
I hope I have it. I hope I have it right.
Sunday, 2 November 2008
I've been tagged!
The fabulous writer, Most Glamorous Harris, has tagged me. How can I resist! It will, after all, lighten up my blog...
This is how it works: Display the award. Link back to the person who gave you this award. Nominate at least 7 other blogs. Put links to those blogs on your blog. Leave a message on the blogs of the people you’ve nominated. You can only answer in one word.
Whaaaat! One word?????? Me? Sheesh! Oh well, 'ere goes....
1. Where is your cell phone? Bedside
2. Where is your significant other? Somewhere
3. Your hair color? Brown
4. Your mother? Dead
5. Your father? Dead
6. Your favourite thing? People
7. Your dream last night? Resonant
8. Your dream/goal? Publication
9. The room you’re in? Bedroom
10. Your hobby? Music
11. Your fear? Ignominity
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? London
13. Where were you last night? South Shields
14. What you’re not? False
15. One of your wish-list items? Shirt
16. Where you grew up? South Shields
17. The last thing you did? Phone
18. What are you wearing? Jeans
19. Your TV? Toshiba
20. Your pet? Cat
21. Your computer? Fujitsu
22. Your mood? Pensive
23. Missing someone? Incredibly
24. Your car? None
25. Something you’re not wearing? Socks
26. Favourite store? Waterstones
27. Your summer? Wet
28. Love someone? Passionately
29. Your favourite color? Blue
30. When is the last time you laughed? Recently
31. Last time you cried? 2006
I tag Rich, Solvey , Sarah , Maryan ,
Sonya, Jen, WordImp
You have to play. There’s no gypsy curse, just a witchly hex!
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Sunday, 5 October 2008
All the world is watching Harry Potter!
Except me... I haven't read any of JKR's books about the boy Harry, and another Harry Potter film is on tv tonight that must go unwatched. Ha! I will watch the X Factor and the Xtra Factor, instead. Great stuff! Nor have I read any of Philip Pullman's, nor even M G Harris (one chapter of Joshua and I took a deep breath and reluctantly closed the book). Shocking, I know - especially concerning Most Glamorous Harris' Joshua Files. I don't dare read them, as I can't allow any influences beyond those that excited my latest work. And I can't watch any of the films before I have read the books. What an austere world I'm creating for myself.
"Let there be light," he says, God-like, to himself.
But I'm gonna have loads of fun when I do sit down to read them, and enjoy the films after that. Can just imagine it: me with a load of books and dvds, a huge bottle or two of bacardi, lots of coke and ice to help it all go down nicely. And a barrel full of curry to keep me going! I'll probably peg out at the end of it all. Maybe I'll do a Samuel Beckett: 'Oh, what a morning'-zonk!
Somebody save me!
Someone?
Anyone?
Huh - no-one!
Hmm....
"Let there be light," he says, God-like, to himself.
But I'm gonna have loads of fun when I do sit down to read them, and enjoy the films after that. Can just imagine it: me with a load of books and dvds, a huge bottle or two of bacardi, lots of coke and ice to help it all go down nicely. And a barrel full of curry to keep me going! I'll probably peg out at the end of it all. Maybe I'll do a Samuel Beckett: 'Oh, what a morning'-zonk!
Somebody save me!
Someone?
Anyone?
Huh - no-one!
Hmm....
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Chasing Shadows
Enough of the music, damn you, Pete! Well, actually, I can never get enough of the music, just I need to begin the writing again. Writing must take centre stage. I'm there with the second chapter - I know where it's to be situated, and who is within it. I just needed to sort out a couple of things in my head. One of these 'things' was the lack of movement, something so apparent I missed the fact that it wasn't there! I felt its absence, though, and solvey confirmed it in his appraisal. A writer needs readers, but readers have to be chosen carefully; Noel The Ultimate Proofreader is one, and Solvey is another. I will call on Rich for his opinion, too, if he could give it and Maria, if the publishing world can spare her for a mo! Like music, you can't get enough of the good stuff! And the beginning is so important - it must be right. But time is everyone's opponent, and maybe this just can't be done. The very reason I'm not reading anyone else's may be the same reason everyone can't read mine! Writing life...
It has taken me quite a while to get in the right mode to revise chapter two, but I feel I'm just about ready to begin it. And once chapter two has been completed, my readers will be allowed to tear me to shreds! Yep, I'm very much aware that I'm not the complete writer I thought I was. Growing up, in a way. Growing better, though, is quite another matter!
But it's fun - I'm enjoying writing this book. There's more freedom in it than there was with Sword. Freedom to kill myself off, if I'm not careful, which is why I was in no rush to write when what was needed was thought.
So: writing very soon.
It has taken me quite a while to get in the right mode to revise chapter two, but I feel I'm just about ready to begin it. And once chapter two has been completed, my readers will be allowed to tear me to shreds! Yep, I'm very much aware that I'm not the complete writer I thought I was. Growing up, in a way. Growing better, though, is quite another matter!
But it's fun - I'm enjoying writing this book. There's more freedom in it than there was with Sword. Freedom to kill myself off, if I'm not careful, which is why I was in no rush to write when what was needed was thought.
So: writing very soon.
Wednesday, 24 September 2008
C'est Chic!
Just caught an advert on tv which carried a guitar riff from the absolute master of disco stomping music - Nile Rodgers. He of Chic and Sister Sledge - and, of course, Bowie's Let's Dance album. The song was Thinking Of You, and God did this bring back memories!
Suddenly I was on a magical mystery tour of youtube, flying through Le Freak, Good Times (my personal favourite), I Want Your Love, He's The Greatest Dancer, Automatic from The Pointer Sisters, Let's Groove from Earth Wind And Fire and I just went on and on, like some kind of demented butterfly flitting from song to song. Was there ever a better bass player than Bernard Edwards? RIP bro!
These were just such joyful tunes from a particularly happy time in my life - it was all parties and laughter, having a good time. Good Times was the phrase, and the song is just a dream from the time itself. (Hey Maria, can you imagine salsa-ing away to this kind of stuff? Le Freak really cuts it.)
Nostalgia got to me tonight, and it was great. Flashes from the past. Memories from the future - as I will always remember these times many years from now.
I've posted up a video of Thinking Of You from youtube. To everyone I've known, who I know, and who perhaps I will get to know, I'm thinking of you. Turn it up and listen!
Suddenly I was on a magical mystery tour of youtube, flying through Le Freak, Good Times (my personal favourite), I Want Your Love, He's The Greatest Dancer, Automatic from The Pointer Sisters, Let's Groove from Earth Wind And Fire and I just went on and on, like some kind of demented butterfly flitting from song to song. Was there ever a better bass player than Bernard Edwards? RIP bro!
These were just such joyful tunes from a particularly happy time in my life - it was all parties and laughter, having a good time. Good Times was the phrase, and the song is just a dream from the time itself. (Hey Maria, can you imagine salsa-ing away to this kind of stuff? Le Freak really cuts it.)
Nostalgia got to me tonight, and it was great. Flashes from the past. Memories from the future - as I will always remember these times many years from now.
I've posted up a video of Thinking Of You from youtube. To everyone I've known, who I know, and who perhaps I will get to know, I'm thinking of you. Turn it up and listen!
Monday, 8 September 2008
Stardust and Dreams
Things happen. They take over your thoughts. They wander through your head, and like moonbeams they flicker before your eyes in the darkness of the night. Images of who I am, who perhaps I want to be, and who I may become. And I found myself listening to a Michael Hedges recording of Baby Toes on youtube. A typically odd title from someone who had so much soulful meaning in his work.
Spacial, beautiful, challenging.
Tonight, the world has changed.
Autumn falling with the rain.
Dreams wishing inside your heart
In a world full of Stardust and Dreams.
Elusive illusions:
I am
And I am nothing.
Elusive illusions,
Burning a hole in the ground
Where I may fall
Go listen to it. It's the one that lasts 3mins 10secs.
A day in the life of a fantasy fiction writer. This one, anyway! :-)
Spacial, beautiful, challenging.
Tonight, the world has changed.
Autumn falling with the rain.
Dreams wishing inside your heart
In a world full of Stardust and Dreams.
Elusive illusions:
I am
And I am nothing.
Elusive illusions,
Burning a hole in the ground
Where I may fall
Go listen to it. It's the one that lasts 3mins 10secs.
A day in the life of a fantasy fiction writer. This one, anyway! :-)
Monday, 1 September 2008
The Answer's Out There
Guess I've been pretty quiet, lately. You can blame my writing for that - though there's nothing to actually 'blame'. I've just had my head in the clouds, dreaming of the future, and trying to unlock that huge door in front of me to see what's there, beyond. I've got enough, now, to write the second chapter again, and I've removed from the opening page of the book the quote from Eleanor Rigby (the song). Putting the little nursery rhyme at the beginning changes the whole complexion of the tale - it is more personal now. A problem this caused me was the very real question of 'who is the story about?' In the end, I have conceded that it is about more than one person, though the true hero is the hero, not the heroine. I get a feeling that the heroine will steal the show - if I'm lucky. I still feel that I can write parts of the other chapters better - I guess I will always feel that way. But it's fun, and I don't feel as serious as when I was writing Sword. I am, perhaps, not as intense a person as I was, but who am I to judge that!! I hope it reflects in this story, anyhow.
Huh, me relaxing as a person is about as real as a chat room. But then again, chat rooms exist, so where does that leave me? Thinking again!
Oh, and I've joined the Michael Hedges facebook group. Take a trip!
Huh, me relaxing as a person is about as real as a chat room. But then again, chat rooms exist, so where does that leave me? Thinking again!
Oh, and I've joined the Michael Hedges facebook group. Take a trip!
Sunday, 17 August 2008
The Times They Are A-changing
Well, I've picked up my bag and bits of things from my desk and left. I met some lovely people, some of whom I hope will be friends forever. Life isn't all about money. And, I guess, so it shouldn't be all about dreams.
The real reason I took the job on was that it was in Newcastle. I rather hoped it would help with inspiration and atmosphere for my book. Sometimes it worked - one thing I got right was the rain, as it rains almost every day in Newcastle. And the weather changes every five minutes. But the summer put paid to the atmosphere, and I do feel it is probably a book that can only be written in the autumn and winter. Autumn and winter are almost here, and I feel I'm beginning to think like some kind of writer again.
Newcastle has such a dark past, frequently related to the monarchy and the government, and surprising you with its effect on national history. And boy, did I get a shock when I entered the graveyard of an ancient church. I had never been there before - only viewing it from the outside. But they've given it a makeover, and one day the gate was open. Something was there that was the very image of what was in my head!
There is a Dickensian feel about the place that appeals to me - jeez, you can be walking along a modern part of Newcastle and suddenly a dark, ancient brick building will loom out of the ground, and you look up at it and wonder. Time doesn't stop - it talks to you. And everything seems so tall and the streets so narrow, you wonder why - what needed to be done so quickly, in such haste, that caused people to do this.
Maybe I can reveal it...
The real reason I took the job on was that it was in Newcastle. I rather hoped it would help with inspiration and atmosphere for my book. Sometimes it worked - one thing I got right was the rain, as it rains almost every day in Newcastle. And the weather changes every five minutes. But the summer put paid to the atmosphere, and I do feel it is probably a book that can only be written in the autumn and winter. Autumn and winter are almost here, and I feel I'm beginning to think like some kind of writer again.
Newcastle has such a dark past, frequently related to the monarchy and the government, and surprising you with its effect on national history. And boy, did I get a shock when I entered the graveyard of an ancient church. I had never been there before - only viewing it from the outside. But they've given it a makeover, and one day the gate was open. Something was there that was the very image of what was in my head!
There is a Dickensian feel about the place that appeals to me - jeez, you can be walking along a modern part of Newcastle and suddenly a dark, ancient brick building will loom out of the ground, and you look up at it and wonder. Time doesn't stop - it talks to you. And everything seems so tall and the streets so narrow, you wonder why - what needed to be done so quickly, in such haste, that caused people to do this.
Maybe I can reveal it...
Sunday, 20 July 2008
Life's A Gas
Now and then, you come across a gem. Nothing too fantastic, just something that makes you smile, or strikes a chord, somehow. On youtube is a duet: Cilla and Marc Bolan, no less, from waaaay back, singing Life's A Gas. Had to be way back, of course, as poor Marc died a long time ago in a car crash. It's a strange combination of talents, but, for me, it worked. It's funny how things can grab you, no matter who or what it happens to be. Leastways, the pixie of Glam Rock was always good entertainment value, like when he fell off the stage in his live TV show whilst doing a duet with David Bowie. Bowie also sang Heroes wearing a denim shirt. Now there's an even more unlikey duet - Bowie and a denim shirt. Lawks!
It's probably a lesson to us all: take a chance. Something will happen. Good or bad, something will come of it, and you can work on it, get something out of it. Some kind of result. You never know.
I'd like to think I do these things. Maybe not always consciously, but I do them. It might even cost me, I don't know. And no, I'm not gonna burble on about 'my latest work'. The time for talk has long gone, as I'm deep in thought about it all. Just not writing it out yet. Things!
It's probably a lesson to us all: take a chance. Something will happen. Good or bad, something will come of it, and you can work on it, get something out of it. Some kind of result. You never know.
I'd like to think I do these things. Maybe not always consciously, but I do them. It might even cost me, I don't know. And no, I'm not gonna burble on about 'my latest work'. The time for talk has long gone, as I'm deep in thought about it all. Just not writing it out yet. Things!
Saturday, 28 June 2008
The name's Bond
A friend of mine - a teacher - has a copy of a James Bond thriller written by someone in the style of Ian Fleming.
Ahem, I know.
He feels it fails miserably, with Bond introduced as 'James Bond' in the first moment of contact with the hero.
"No mystery; no subtlety," Steve moaned at me.
"It's not meant to be subtle," I said. "They've decided to ensure the reader knows who it's about. And look at the type - it's much larger than the thickness of the book warrants. No time for subtlety."
"Hmmm," said Steve. "You're right. Well, I didn't buy it."
He hasn't mentioned it again. And as I'm in my own writer's shell, I don't feel too beholden to ask about it. The fanfare is remarkably quiet, so maybe they (?) are trying to play it down so as not to harm the Bond franchise. I wouldn't know.
In the style of Ian Fleming? Why don't they just make the film and forget about the book? Bond, after all, ceased long ago to be about the writing.
I love the Bond films. I read Dr No, which is so much more beguiling as a book than a film. The famous tarantula scene in the book actually has a kind of Caribbean centipede crawling up the bedclothes. Frightening, nonetheless.
Action and dialogue, with little introspection. A book made for film. Maybe I should try it. Nah - wouldn't be me, I guess.
Go on then, someone: commission me, lol!!
Ahem, I know.
He feels it fails miserably, with Bond introduced as 'James Bond' in the first moment of contact with the hero.
"No mystery; no subtlety," Steve moaned at me.
"It's not meant to be subtle," I said. "They've decided to ensure the reader knows who it's about. And look at the type - it's much larger than the thickness of the book warrants. No time for subtlety."
"Hmmm," said Steve. "You're right. Well, I didn't buy it."
He hasn't mentioned it again. And as I'm in my own writer's shell, I don't feel too beholden to ask about it. The fanfare is remarkably quiet, so maybe they (?) are trying to play it down so as not to harm the Bond franchise. I wouldn't know.
In the style of Ian Fleming? Why don't they just make the film and forget about the book? Bond, after all, ceased long ago to be about the writing.
I love the Bond films. I read Dr No, which is so much more beguiling as a book than a film. The famous tarantula scene in the book actually has a kind of Caribbean centipede crawling up the bedclothes. Frightening, nonetheless.
Action and dialogue, with little introspection. A book made for film. Maybe I should try it. Nah - wouldn't be me, I guess.
Go on then, someone: commission me, lol!!
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
Good Times
On Youtube, there's an album version of the fabulous Chic tune 'Good Times'. I listen to it often. Even though it's an upbeat tune, there's an ever-so-slight wistfulness about it - like Donna Summer's Dinner With Gershwin, for example, or Jacko's Rock With You - that seems to grab me so hard.
It's that 'grab' I've been searching for lately. I still haven't written the new version of chapter two. Nothing sinister: I waited a long time before writing the prologue, which still seems a trifle unfinished compared to chapter one. There's lots of work still to be done, and I'm edging closer to achieving it.
The whole book is my goal. I understand that now - there seems to be no good reason for sending it off half-written. The end of it is a long way away. But who cares? I certainly don't, as I love writing it... when I'm actually writing it.
I'm pretty certain no-one's written what I'm writing. Not that it means too much, I guess, but at least it seems to be different. Gotta hope it works first, otherwise originality will be lost.
It's beginning to hurt, though, knowing I have to write it, to make it all work. That, for me, is a good thing. If I feel no pain, then I feel nothing.
The spirit of Dickens lives!
Living off the wall...
It's that 'grab' I've been searching for lately. I still haven't written the new version of chapter two. Nothing sinister: I waited a long time before writing the prologue, which still seems a trifle unfinished compared to chapter one. There's lots of work still to be done, and I'm edging closer to achieving it.
The whole book is my goal. I understand that now - there seems to be no good reason for sending it off half-written. The end of it is a long way away. But who cares? I certainly don't, as I love writing it... when I'm actually writing it.
I'm pretty certain no-one's written what I'm writing. Not that it means too much, I guess, but at least it seems to be different. Gotta hope it works first, otherwise originality will be lost.
It's beginning to hurt, though, knowing I have to write it, to make it all work. That, for me, is a good thing. If I feel no pain, then I feel nothing.
The spirit of Dickens lives!
Living off the wall...
Sunday, 25 May 2008
In Search Of Inspiration
I've posted up a new video. Bob Dylan never seemed to figure too prominently on my musical horizon. Then I heard Blind Willie McTell. There's a resonance to this song that seems to fit so well with my feelings for my latest work. It's a simple song with a gentle rock to it, and so very haunting. I can listen to it over and over without growing tired of it. There's even a reference to St James' Hotel, which, considering that the story is set in Newcastle, is rather apt.
Dylan always seems to me as someone who has travelled through time. Like he always existed; not strictly human. Like Elvis and Bowie. There are elements of each I'm trying to capture within the hero of my tale. I can do it. But I have to be careful that I do it properly.
Work has got in the way of my revision of chapter two. So has life. Perhaps writers never really exist in the real world. Perhaps we do, just it feels like we don't.
When I listen to Blind Willie McTell, it seems like I'm being told something, though the words are not there in the song: grab your life when you can, I guess. It soon goes, you know. Time passes, and you are left wondering where the hell it has all gone.
But you have this dream. You still have this dream - like most people have dreams. Very few try to realise them. I'm still trying to realise mine. Maybe I never will. Then again, I didn't start until late. No compromise. Gotta get on with it.
A bit of a garbled post, so it's no wonder I've not put pen to paper, lately.
Foolish dreams.
Dylan always seems to me as someone who has travelled through time. Like he always existed; not strictly human. Like Elvis and Bowie. There are elements of each I'm trying to capture within the hero of my tale. I can do it. But I have to be careful that I do it properly.
Work has got in the way of my revision of chapter two. So has life. Perhaps writers never really exist in the real world. Perhaps we do, just it feels like we don't.
When I listen to Blind Willie McTell, it seems like I'm being told something, though the words are not there in the song: grab your life when you can, I guess. It soon goes, you know. Time passes, and you are left wondering where the hell it has all gone.
But you have this dream. You still have this dream - like most people have dreams. Very few try to realise them. I'm still trying to realise mine. Maybe I never will. Then again, I didn't start until late. No compromise. Gotta get on with it.
A bit of a garbled post, so it's no wonder I've not put pen to paper, lately.
Foolish dreams.
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Cooking The Books
Being a single guy - I'll remedy that one fine day, I keep telling myself - I find myself watching the odd cookery programme for a few tips on staying healthy and alive.
My speciality seems to be a pan of soup, with lots of veg. It makes me feel great, and I do sometimes wonder why I don't just make it all the time. I'm no Jamie Oliver when it comes to bashing things around the kitchen, nor am I a Rick Stein in search of fish around the world. Plain and simple food suits me the best, apart from a visit or two to a curry house.
Except, the one chef I really like to watch is Gary Rhodes. A contradiction, I know, as there is nothing plain about his wonderful cooking. But I do know why I like his programmes: his meticulous, in-pursuit-of-perfection style mirrors my own approach to writing. Whether I've written off the cuff or, like my latest work, planned it as far as I could without stifling things, I hum and hah over almost every single word and sentence, looking at paragraph sizes, studying the last few words of one chapter and seeing how they match the beginning of the next, and getting the absolute horrors over unrhythmic and jarring writing, often fighting with myself over the choice between exotic poetry or simple prose.
In short, I just about kill myself doing it.
And this has caused me a dilemma: should I be considering sending my unfinished work off to agents? It's a great idea and one that requires serious thought. However, the reality is that I don't know any agents who would want me to do that, and finding agents who would want me to do that is well-nigh impossible. And I could be closing doors when what I want to do is open them.
A writer: who would want to be one? Hmmm.
So, I've come to a decision. The only way I can complete this book in my present circumstance (i.e. alone) is to write it out until it's finished, or is perhaps a couple of chapters away from being finished.
Of course, this will take me a while - probably at least six months, given the planning I've done.
No idea whether I'm right, but at least it seems to fit in with the scheme of things both in the agent world, and in the publishing world.
Right. Decision made. A literary decision made!
I hope...
My speciality seems to be a pan of soup, with lots of veg. It makes me feel great, and I do sometimes wonder why I don't just make it all the time. I'm no Jamie Oliver when it comes to bashing things around the kitchen, nor am I a Rick Stein in search of fish around the world. Plain and simple food suits me the best, apart from a visit or two to a curry house.
Except, the one chef I really like to watch is Gary Rhodes. A contradiction, I know, as there is nothing plain about his wonderful cooking. But I do know why I like his programmes: his meticulous, in-pursuit-of-perfection style mirrors my own approach to writing. Whether I've written off the cuff or, like my latest work, planned it as far as I could without stifling things, I hum and hah over almost every single word and sentence, looking at paragraph sizes, studying the last few words of one chapter and seeing how they match the beginning of the next, and getting the absolute horrors over unrhythmic and jarring writing, often fighting with myself over the choice between exotic poetry or simple prose.
In short, I just about kill myself doing it.
And this has caused me a dilemma: should I be considering sending my unfinished work off to agents? It's a great idea and one that requires serious thought. However, the reality is that I don't know any agents who would want me to do that, and finding agents who would want me to do that is well-nigh impossible. And I could be closing doors when what I want to do is open them.
A writer: who would want to be one? Hmmm.
So, I've come to a decision. The only way I can complete this book in my present circumstance (i.e. alone) is to write it out until it's finished, or is perhaps a couple of chapters away from being finished.
Of course, this will take me a while - probably at least six months, given the planning I've done.
No idea whether I'm right, but at least it seems to fit in with the scheme of things both in the agent world, and in the publishing world.
Right. Decision made. A literary decision made!
I hope...
Sunday, 6 April 2008
Peter Pan and Oliver Twist
Peter Pan is probably the greatest character in a work of fantasy. To me, he is rivalled only by Oliver Twist in a true literary work. I will always say that Oliver Twist is the greater, because of his reflection of actual history. To create a work that can be enjoyed and appreciated from such a horrific period in so-called 'civilised' society takes some kind of ability. Especially when you consider that the author was a child worker from such times. Dickens did not have the classical background for a writer. From humble beginnings, he managed to scale such heights.
Of course, there is King Arthur. The vagaries of the whole King Arthur Legend, much as I love it, cause me to feel that it is not a work of literary prowess - more a work of great legend. The greatest legend that has ever been, and because of that, the greatest legend that will ever be.
I can't have it that Dickens wasn't the greatest. I also can't have it that such homegrown or foreign inferior writers, whose works register barely a ripple in the consciousnesses of the reading world, shall be mentioned in the same sentence. Nor should they be presented to our children in preference. As further reading, yes. If they want to read them. As preferred reading, without choice, absolutely not.
Of course, there is King Arthur. The vagaries of the whole King Arthur Legend, much as I love it, cause me to feel that it is not a work of literary prowess - more a work of great legend. The greatest legend that has ever been, and because of that, the greatest legend that will ever be.
I can't have it that Dickens wasn't the greatest. I also can't have it that such homegrown or foreign inferior writers, whose works register barely a ripple in the consciousnesses of the reading world, shall be mentioned in the same sentence. Nor should they be presented to our children in preference. As further reading, yes. If they want to read them. As preferred reading, without choice, absolutely not.
Charles Dickens vs The World
Every now and then, a thought would enter my head: why are so many people championing the non-English writer? Just a feeling I would get when, once again, I'd come across someone's list of 'bests'. Annoying.
Today, I came across this in the online version of the Daily Express:
http://www.sundayexpress.co.uk/posts/view/40373/Why-do-schools-ignore-Charles-Dickens
(That wasn't me commenting on the piece at the end - though solvey probably won't believe me as he believes I've been sending him some rather artful stuff in his email! My protestations have fallen on deaf ears.)
Dickens' writing is some of the most powerful and human ever written. His depiction of the lives of his fellow countrymen is so perceptive and graphic that the reader is transported into the past with barely an effort beyond the simple reading of his words. He is, without doubt, the greatest writer ever of the written word as presented in the form of a novel, either short or full length.
I don't get it, myself, why there is this almost-shunning of his work. Why?
I've had a think. I can come up with two reasons: one, it isn't perceived as cool to place him above foreign writers, who don't even come close; and two, Dickens is an eloquent reminder of how this country - in the form of government at the very least - has mistreated its overwhelmingly working class population since the year dot. The Government still allows its people to be mistreated - the paltry wages people are paid in almost all areas of any working environment is one tiny example. Dickens saw this. He and his family had, of course, been a victim of this mistreatment.
Shakespeare spoke of mighty rulers and mighty falls, tragedies, noble enactments. All great writing and I love it, too. I am not surprised how he is regarded as the greatest - unchallenged, as he is so much more acceptable to the powers-that-be than a writer who told it how it really was.
There isn't a single character in the history of literature in the whole of the entire world who can better Oliver Twist. Even though he was in a work of fiction, Oliver Twist was a reflection of reality. And he was lucky, would you believe! You only have to read about chimney sweeps and the use of what became known as Climbing Boys, starting as young as six, who became alcoholics and died of cancer by the time they were the age of about twelve - ideal for their employers, as they would have then been too big to climb up the chimneys! You may wish to quote me David Copperfield and Ebeneezer Scrooge. I hope you do! They are from the same author, in case you don't actually know this. And if you don't, then I hope you go off immediately to find about them. You will be rewarded. Your soul will soak it all in like no writer you have ever read, or will ever read. Of course, you will be faced with a work of great length - although A Christmas Carol is not too long a piece if you need a good starting point.
Now then, you might quote me Peter Pan. Hmmm.
Today, I came across this in the online version of the Daily Express:
http://www.sundayexpress.co.uk/posts/view/40373/Why-do-schools-ignore-Charles-Dickens
(That wasn't me commenting on the piece at the end - though solvey probably won't believe me as he believes I've been sending him some rather artful stuff in his email! My protestations have fallen on deaf ears.)
Dickens' writing is some of the most powerful and human ever written. His depiction of the lives of his fellow countrymen is so perceptive and graphic that the reader is transported into the past with barely an effort beyond the simple reading of his words. He is, without doubt, the greatest writer ever of the written word as presented in the form of a novel, either short or full length.
I don't get it, myself, why there is this almost-shunning of his work. Why?
I've had a think. I can come up with two reasons: one, it isn't perceived as cool to place him above foreign writers, who don't even come close; and two, Dickens is an eloquent reminder of how this country - in the form of government at the very least - has mistreated its overwhelmingly working class population since the year dot. The Government still allows its people to be mistreated - the paltry wages people are paid in almost all areas of any working environment is one tiny example. Dickens saw this. He and his family had, of course, been a victim of this mistreatment.
Shakespeare spoke of mighty rulers and mighty falls, tragedies, noble enactments. All great writing and I love it, too. I am not surprised how he is regarded as the greatest - unchallenged, as he is so much more acceptable to the powers-that-be than a writer who told it how it really was.
There isn't a single character in the history of literature in the whole of the entire world who can better Oliver Twist. Even though he was in a work of fiction, Oliver Twist was a reflection of reality. And he was lucky, would you believe! You only have to read about chimney sweeps and the use of what became known as Climbing Boys, starting as young as six, who became alcoholics and died of cancer by the time they were the age of about twelve - ideal for their employers, as they would have then been too big to climb up the chimneys! You may wish to quote me David Copperfield and Ebeneezer Scrooge. I hope you do! They are from the same author, in case you don't actually know this. And if you don't, then I hope you go off immediately to find about them. You will be rewarded. Your soul will soak it all in like no writer you have ever read, or will ever read. Of course, you will be faced with a work of great length - although A Christmas Carol is not too long a piece if you need a good starting point.
Now then, you might quote me Peter Pan. Hmmm.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Most Haunted
The story of my life, at the moment!
The Most Haunted team are in Turin as I type. I love the programme, even though not a lot ever happens apart from the marvellous Yvette Fielding's shrieking. I feel the atmosphere and history has resonance with my latest work, at times.
Tonight, for a minute or so, my TV wouldn't do as it was told - a happening reported by many viewers during the programme. But that was just about it. And it happened here, not there. Shucks!
The programme needs Derek Acorah. He seems authentic, and he and Yvette work well together.
I'll keep watching, though. Just in case something happens. Could be a long wait - if this is really a work of fiction, then the writer is an absolute master of suspense...
The Most Haunted team are in Turin as I type. I love the programme, even though not a lot ever happens apart from the marvellous Yvette Fielding's shrieking. I feel the atmosphere and history has resonance with my latest work, at times.
Tonight, for a minute or so, my TV wouldn't do as it was told - a happening reported by many viewers during the programme. But that was just about it. And it happened here, not there. Shucks!
The programme needs Derek Acorah. He seems authentic, and he and Yvette work well together.
I'll keep watching, though. Just in case something happens. Could be a long wait - if this is really a work of fiction, then the writer is an absolute master of suspense...
Chapter Two
Of course, it had to happen: Chapter Two has been scrapped in its present form.
A wander round Newcastle assisted with a new idea or two, as well as the decision itself. I haven't cracked it - not by any means, but my initial thoughts seem promising.
You know, I thought I knew Newcastle (the scene of my latest work). The place surprised me. I also thought I knew where I was going - perhaps I do, just I still haven't realised it. Important time has elapsed and I've made a mistake; but hopefully I'm in the middle of rectifying it.
Funny, but I'd been carrying an idea that needed a way of introducing into the tale. That walk around Newcastle seems to have provided this way.
I need to go back to the train of thought that brought me the Prologue and Chapter One. They match Chapter Three and the other pieces I've so far written. But not the Chapter Two I came up with.
A wander round Newcastle assisted with a new idea or two, as well as the decision itself. I haven't cracked it - not by any means, but my initial thoughts seem promising.
You know, I thought I knew Newcastle (the scene of my latest work). The place surprised me. I also thought I knew where I was going - perhaps I do, just I still haven't realised it. Important time has elapsed and I've made a mistake; but hopefully I'm in the middle of rectifying it.
Funny, but I'd been carrying an idea that needed a way of introducing into the tale. That walk around Newcastle seems to have provided this way.
I need to go back to the train of thought that brought me the Prologue and Chapter One. They match Chapter Three and the other pieces I've so far written. But not the Chapter Two I came up with.
Friday, 21 March 2008
Critters and Litopia
I have to resist the temptation: Critters has had a makeover. Not only that, but they have two discussion groups - one, a writing only group and, two, an anything goes group.
I can't do it. I just can't. Too much to do.
No reason why you shouldn't go there, though - even if it's only for a quick look. You never know...
As I see it, if you could take the best out of Critters and the best out of Litopia and put them together, you'd just about have the perfect writers website. Andrew Burt and Peter Cox should think about it.
Oh heck, what do I know? Just write, Es.
I can't do it. I just can't. Too much to do.
No reason why you shouldn't go there, though - even if it's only for a quick look. You never know...
As I see it, if you could take the best out of Critters and the best out of Litopia and put them together, you'd just about have the perfect writers website. Andrew Burt and Peter Cox should think about it.
Oh heck, what do I know? Just write, Es.
Today
I'm not sure what today will bring. I know I have to revise my beginning. And the Wizard Of Oz is on TCM at three. Hmmm. I'm going to do what I feel like doing, and see where it leads. I hope that it allows me to think freely and come up with whatever changes are necessary. Some of the writing is good - I won't discard everything. Maybe I won't discard most of it. I just don't know right now. Once I've read it over, I'm going to think, and to read my notes.
Not sure why I feel like this about chapter two. We'll see.
Not sure why I feel like this about chapter two. We'll see.
Saturday, 15 March 2008
A walk in the park
The South Marine Park, to be more accurate. Sometimes I just have to go for a walk down the sea front, invariably wandering through the South Marine Park first, then along the pier for a while and back through the North Marine Park. As it was raining today, that's what I did. (I like to walk in the rain, as there's nobody else there.) While walking, I spoke to Noel the Ultimate Proofreader on the phone, and discussed a million things such as reading, writing, football, horse racing, my new job and fish and chips in Berwick. The fish and chip supper usually comes after a trip to Lindisfarne. We've decided that we must get to Lindisfarne soon, if only for the fish and chips.
I, personally, need to feel Lindisfarne's icy wind tearing at me before I begin writing again, blowing away the mental cobwebs inside my head. The chances are, though, that we won't go there for at least another month. I will have begun writing again long before then. Not that I ever stop writing - most of it swirls around inside my mind. Just the physical act of writing will begin again soon.
Noel asked me not to be too hard on myself. Ha! I wouldn't be me if I didn't blast myself about something. He's right, of course. Publish or be damned, that seems to be my motto. At the moment, I'm damned. I love the story I'm currently writing. So maybe I shouldn't feel damned at all. I'm fortunate. No doubt about it. My fear is that it never sees the light of day. I will write it all, eventually. One day, the first book will be finished. I know how the story ends, so my writing will be geared to reaching that conclusion. The ending of book one has unanswered questions which lead into book two. Book three is there. I've almost got it.
Soon!
Monday, 3 March 2008
The Art of Zen Buddhism
Now and again I find myself watching a gardening programme. Half-watching, mostly, as I'm not a gardener, and I don't have a garden. Unless it's Monty Don: the David Attenborough of the gardening world. I'm not joking - this is a seriously dedicated and knowledgeable guy. I didn't take too much notice of him, at first, but he seemed to crop up everywhere, until eventually he grew on me. Some of the social projects he has been involved in deserve maximum respect. He comes across as an ok kind of guy. The real thing.
Last night, Monty was in Kyoto, looking at representations of Zen Buddhism in the garden. I know nothing about any of it, but I watched out of curiosity. The best bit was inside some kind of shed, where a stone nestled upon a gravel bed, with rings shaped into the gravel as if emanating from the centre of the stone - like a drop of water falling into water. Or maybe a stone falling into water. Apparently, and this may only have been Monty's interpretation, this piece of still life was meant to capture the idea that even the tiniest action brought about some kind of reaction.
This got me thinking. The idea is connected to movement: action and reaction. The piece of art was still life, in the sense that it just seemed to be a still life of itself, and not connected to movement. I know it's a matter of interpretation, but I found myself wondering why didn't they use water, with drops of water falling into it? Or stones falling into it. I've a feeling it would have been quite a soothing experience if water had been used - more musical, perhaps, and spiritually more quiet than the still life, if not more quiet physically. Reaction, to the action of sound and movement. Close your eyes and you can still picture it and hear it.
Nothing wrong about exploration, or discovery. Nothing at all. But when it falls as flat as that? Hmmm...
Last night, Monty was in Kyoto, looking at representations of Zen Buddhism in the garden. I know nothing about any of it, but I watched out of curiosity. The best bit was inside some kind of shed, where a stone nestled upon a gravel bed, with rings shaped into the gravel as if emanating from the centre of the stone - like a drop of water falling into water. Or maybe a stone falling into water. Apparently, and this may only have been Monty's interpretation, this piece of still life was meant to capture the idea that even the tiniest action brought about some kind of reaction.
This got me thinking. The idea is connected to movement: action and reaction. The piece of art was still life, in the sense that it just seemed to be a still life of itself, and not connected to movement. I know it's a matter of interpretation, but I found myself wondering why didn't they use water, with drops of water falling into it? Or stones falling into it. I've a feeling it would have been quite a soothing experience if water had been used - more musical, perhaps, and spiritually more quiet than the still life, if not more quiet physically. Reaction, to the action of sound and movement. Close your eyes and you can still picture it and hear it.
Nothing wrong about exploration, or discovery. Nothing at all. But when it falls as flat as that? Hmmm...
Sunday, 2 March 2008
The Demon Drink!
Friday night was a good night. Not a great one - there weren't enough of us out to make it that - but I enjoyed it very much. Boy did I suffer for it on Saturday. This has been a bit of a lost weekend, with my mind drifting in and out of a million things. Maybe I needed it mentally, but physically I just can't take too much alcohol these days. And then there was the obligatory curry to follow! I must have drunk gallons of water between then and now.
Submission time awaits: having got the latest Writers' and Artists', I'm about to embark on a journey that might drive me to more of the Demon Drink. Only, I doubt I'd live long enough to see the end of the submission process.
Guess I should just stick to water, and fruit juice. A healthy attitude towards a potentially unhealthy situation!!
Oh, and I've stuck my pic up, having been asked a couple of times for it. Ah, the wonders of mobile phone technology. I'm not one for Facebook 'n' stuff, so it's on here instead.
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Make mine a treble
Expectations, dreams, hopes - they can lift you up on some kind of high. And then, for whatever reason, it just doesn't happen. Things just don't work out. What then? What do you do? What on earth do you do?
I feel like that right now. I haven't even been rejected by anyone. I'm only at the beginning of the submission stage, yet it feels like I'm at the end of it.
Sometimes you look out of the window at night, at the lights and the darkness that is the sky, and you wonder if this is how your life will be defined. Ha! Here lies someone who tried!! Not: here lies someone who was successful, or here lies someone who did something worth remembering.
I really do believe I've written something I would've been happy to buy for myself. More than anything else I've written. Perhaps that's why I feel so grim about it all.
Tomorrow, I go to Newcastle - to buy some clothes, to buy MG's Invisible City, the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook, too, and to visit Noel the Ultimate Proofreader. Hoping my mood will have lifted by then.
Rejections are the most awful things: you have to send off to quite a few agents, so if you are rejected, it turns into some kind of snowstorm savage enough to cut you in two.
Ultimately, you do it to yourself; you only have yourself to blame, in the final analysis. Of course, we can all get published: we can either pay for it, or self-publish. But let's not go there. It's not an option - at least, it's not my option.
Snowstorms in February. In my head.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
To the future...
Actually, it's the past that deserves a toast. I really can't remember how much work I've done in order to have come up with this story. I seem to have been working on it for at least a year, and it has probably been longer than that. I've no idea, either, whether it is any good, or publishable, or even readable, though I do have two opinions from Solvey and Noel the Ultimate Proofreader. They both give me hope!
I guess I probably haven't been working on it half as much as I should have done, nor put as much thought into it as I believe I have done. I've simply done what I've done, for better or for worse.
I remember describing my story in this blog as 'off the wall'. It still stands. Both Noel and solvey have the beginning of it. They may think so, themselves, but haven't said it. I have notes and further chapters. There is so much of it still to write.
But now is the time I have to seriously think of, and come up with, a synopsis and proposal. Then I have to find agents to throw them at!
I don't expect to be published; the chances are I'll just get rejection slips. I've actually had some good replies in the past with other works, but a no is a no, in reality. And if the reports of agent work-overload are true, then perhaps all I have to look forward to are rejection slips.
But off I go in search of an agent. It will be a lot more fun than I've painted in this post, just the fear-factor is kicking in.
Wish me luck!
I guess I probably haven't been working on it half as much as I should have done, nor put as much thought into it as I believe I have done. I've simply done what I've done, for better or for worse.
I remember describing my story in this blog as 'off the wall'. It still stands. Both Noel and solvey have the beginning of it. They may think so, themselves, but haven't said it. I have notes and further chapters. There is so much of it still to write.
But now is the time I have to seriously think of, and come up with, a synopsis and proposal. Then I have to find agents to throw them at!
I don't expect to be published; the chances are I'll just get rejection slips. I've actually had some good replies in the past with other works, but a no is a no, in reality. And if the reports of agent work-overload are true, then perhaps all I have to look forward to are rejection slips.
But off I go in search of an agent. It will be a lot more fun than I've painted in this post, just the fear-factor is kicking in.
Wish me luck!
Monday, 11 February 2008
The Man Who Fell To Earth
The scene in the above-named movie that struck me the most was where my superhero of all time, David Bowie, was sitting in front of a bank of TV screens, watching everything on all of the channels.
That's how I felt last night.
The thought had entered my head a few times, too. Blow me, but there it was: The Man Who Fell To Earth, on TV. Except, it was almost over. A good job, too - I had work to do!
Amazing, really, but evenings often see me with the TV on any one of a hundred channels, my laptop buzzing away in front of me, my notes on my latest work to hand, a few texts flying back and forth on my mobile, and thoughts of the future wandering through my head.
Last night was no exception to that, except that I was in the middle of a much-needed 'sort' of the beginning of my latest work. I knew I needed to be more clear in my mind as to what was going to happen next, so I set about writing some more notes as to the more immediate course of events. Time flew by, and I noticed The Red Carpet was on one of the channels, showing footage from the BAFTAs and the Grammys, and I watched some of it. At about 5 am, I called a halt to everything. I am a whole lot clearer as to the next chapters up until about chapter 12. I did get a feeling that things were happening too quickly in the story, and I had a feeling I wasn't leaving room for the flashbacks, and the introduction of certain people needed to be handled properly. But of course, these were notes, and the ideas held within them, once expanded, should cause the 'quickness' feeling to disappear. I'm writing more economically in this modern fantasy than I would in sword fantasy, so I must remember not to worry too much about things like that. I'm using a different style, after all.
5 am and I didn't feel at all tired. But I knew I'd better get some rest. You don't know when it's going to catch up with you. Or how.
I will write again tonight. It's fun, though full of uncertainty. Not uncertainty about the story - it is there in my notes, at the very least, and is also there in conversation, and the part that both Noel and Solvey have got. It's the uncertainty that I should do it justice that gets to me. It's not a short story (when I write down things I have yet to introduce it seems to stretch into infinity), and there is more than one book. I've been patient enough to allow it to evolve to this point. Impatience will see it fail.
If that happens, then I will fall to earth.
That's how I felt last night.
The thought had entered my head a few times, too. Blow me, but there it was: The Man Who Fell To Earth, on TV. Except, it was almost over. A good job, too - I had work to do!
Amazing, really, but evenings often see me with the TV on any one of a hundred channels, my laptop buzzing away in front of me, my notes on my latest work to hand, a few texts flying back and forth on my mobile, and thoughts of the future wandering through my head.
Last night was no exception to that, except that I was in the middle of a much-needed 'sort' of the beginning of my latest work. I knew I needed to be more clear in my mind as to what was going to happen next, so I set about writing some more notes as to the more immediate course of events. Time flew by, and I noticed The Red Carpet was on one of the channels, showing footage from the BAFTAs and the Grammys, and I watched some of it. At about 5 am, I called a halt to everything. I am a whole lot clearer as to the next chapters up until about chapter 12. I did get a feeling that things were happening too quickly in the story, and I had a feeling I wasn't leaving room for the flashbacks, and the introduction of certain people needed to be handled properly. But of course, these were notes, and the ideas held within them, once expanded, should cause the 'quickness' feeling to disappear. I'm writing more economically in this modern fantasy than I would in sword fantasy, so I must remember not to worry too much about things like that. I'm using a different style, after all.
5 am and I didn't feel at all tired. But I knew I'd better get some rest. You don't know when it's going to catch up with you. Or how.
I will write again tonight. It's fun, though full of uncertainty. Not uncertainty about the story - it is there in my notes, at the very least, and is also there in conversation, and the part that both Noel and Solvey have got. It's the uncertainty that I should do it justice that gets to me. It's not a short story (when I write down things I have yet to introduce it seems to stretch into infinity), and there is more than one book. I've been patient enough to allow it to evolve to this point. Impatience will see it fail.
If that happens, then I will fall to earth.
Friday, 8 February 2008
Errol Flynn
The name itself has a touch of class about it, a certain ring. Like Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, for example.
I get to see Errol Flynn later today in The Sea Hawk. Such a fine actor, and I guess the ladies of his day flocked to the cinemas just to see him up there.
For me, Errol was the greatest of male Hollywood stars. Not many male leads could hope to follow such an act, though some have done so. If you have an actor in the mould of Errol Flynn, then you have a great one.
I get to see Errol Flynn later today in The Sea Hawk. Such a fine actor, and I guess the ladies of his day flocked to the cinemas just to see him up there.
For me, Errol was the greatest of male Hollywood stars. Not many male leads could hope to follow such an act, though some have done so. If you have an actor in the mould of Errol Flynn, then you have a great one.
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
Munich Disaster Remembrance
I wasn't born when the plane crashed at Munich. My mother used to say that I was 'born with it', though. She was right.
Such a wonderful evening of remembrance for all who died, or were injured or affected by the disaster. Some of the things I saw or heard were very moving and I was glad I stumbled upon it on one of the channels. So I stayed there, entranced, watching it all. There was even a Caribbean-style song about Manchester United! A number one, if ever I've heard one.
A great night in front of the box. A great night. And a sad one, too. I'll not forget it.
Such a wonderful evening of remembrance for all who died, or were injured or affected by the disaster. Some of the things I saw or heard were very moving and I was glad I stumbled upon it on one of the channels. So I stayed there, entranced, watching it all. There was even a Caribbean-style song about Manchester United! A number one, if ever I've heard one.
A great night in front of the box. A great night. And a sad one, too. I'll not forget it.
Sunday, 3 February 2008
The Fourth Protocol - ahem, sorry - Chapter...
I had already written up part of a scene, as I have done others. This one in particular, I believe, is part of the true fourth chapter and the movement into the main narrative of the tale. Which it was, originally - I just put in another chapter, which has now been placed further along the tale. What I have to do is match the beginning of the chapter with this part. I've typed them up, and now begins the task of weaving them into one. Lots of thinking. I have also written some other scenes and notes to go along with them, and after them, so I have plenty to work on right now. That is my immediate goal.
At some point soon, however, I'm going to have to work on the synopsis and proposal. I've studied these areas as much as anyone can, but I'm only moderate at them. One of those things, I suppose. Noel the Ultimate Proofreader and Solvey, no doubt, will come up with better than me there. Boy, I hope they do!!! Should be fun!
At some point soon, however, I'm going to have to work on the synopsis and proposal. I've studied these areas as much as anyone can, but I'm only moderate at them. One of those things, I suppose. Noel the Ultimate Proofreader and Solvey, no doubt, will come up with better than me there. Boy, I hope they do!!! Should be fun!
Friday, 1 February 2008
While the iron's hot...
I was logged in after talking to solvey (he of the maggot farm blog here), so I thought: 'Why not?'
Solvey has just revised the prologue and first three chapters of my latest work.
We had a great conversation, not just about that, but it revolved around it. What surprised me was how much we agreed on what was wrong: very little, in fact, in both our eyes and more or less the same points gave us problems. But only one or two points - a point of order concerning one sentence, and a dip in the narrative that could have been lifted by more of a show, and a bit less of the tell.
Of course, there may be more to come when solvey reads it over some more. But he liked it, and said so without any prompting - and the absence of any 'at first glance' crit-problems gives me great cause to hope I've got it right. First impressions are usually the best ones - solvey's more than most. He wasn't lead reviewer at litopia for nothing. A good first pass by solvey is as good as it gets.
I'm not out of the woods, though: Noel the Ultimate Proofreader has his copy, too.
Two reviews by two professionals. See, I do take advice: I'm not writing it on my own, after all!
Only a few chapters more and I'll be sending it off. Not quite the end of January, but setting deadlines is a must. I got this far doing it.
Another month should see at least two chapters. At that point we will talk about proposals - even if it's to say 'Not yet.'
But I do feel that I'm in there pitching for real now.
Solvey has just revised the prologue and first three chapters of my latest work.
We had a great conversation, not just about that, but it revolved around it. What surprised me was how much we agreed on what was wrong: very little, in fact, in both our eyes and more or less the same points gave us problems. But only one or two points - a point of order concerning one sentence, and a dip in the narrative that could have been lifted by more of a show, and a bit less of the tell.
Of course, there may be more to come when solvey reads it over some more. But he liked it, and said so without any prompting - and the absence of any 'at first glance' crit-problems gives me great cause to hope I've got it right. First impressions are usually the best ones - solvey's more than most. He wasn't lead reviewer at litopia for nothing. A good first pass by solvey is as good as it gets.
I'm not out of the woods, though: Noel the Ultimate Proofreader has his copy, too.
Two reviews by two professionals. See, I do take advice: I'm not writing it on my own, after all!
Only a few chapters more and I'll be sending it off. Not quite the end of January, but setting deadlines is a must. I got this far doing it.
Another month should see at least two chapters. At that point we will talk about proposals - even if it's to say 'Not yet.'
But I do feel that I'm in there pitching for real now.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Blogged out!
Actually, I've blogged back in. And a belated Happy New Year to everyone.
I did believe for a while that I was heading in the right direction with my latest work. However, just as I was about to send work-in-progress copies to Noel The Ultimate Proofreader and to Solvey for their opinions, I realised that the direction I was taking was not the best way to go. Reintroducing someone from the prologue this early via the fourth chapter was actually going to detract from the reader's bonding with the hero of the tale. Three chapters with him was not enough, and I was shifting away from some expected, imminent action at too early a point. This is not a short story, and I shouldn't be making shortcuts to other people in the tale, however important they are to it.
The chapter I'd written feels good, and I will hopefully add more to it later, but it's too early to introduce it.
The hero's journey must take precedence for now.
And I feel better now, too.
I did believe for a while that I was heading in the right direction with my latest work. However, just as I was about to send work-in-progress copies to Noel The Ultimate Proofreader and to Solvey for their opinions, I realised that the direction I was taking was not the best way to go. Reintroducing someone from the prologue this early via the fourth chapter was actually going to detract from the reader's bonding with the hero of the tale. Three chapters with him was not enough, and I was shifting away from some expected, imminent action at too early a point. This is not a short story, and I shouldn't be making shortcuts to other people in the tale, however important they are to it.
The chapter I'd written feels good, and I will hopefully add more to it later, but it's too early to introduce it.
The hero's journey must take precedence for now.
And I feel better now, too.
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