Off I went again for one of my now-legendary strolls along the sea front. I was a bit early this time, though, and it was too light and a fair number of people were around. Not so peaceful, this time.
But still, it was quiet enough and I took the opportunity to give Noel a ring and enquire after his trip down to Essex with his lovely wife Chris.
We also got talking about my latest work, which was good as it allowed me, as always, to expound on life as we know it - or at least, as I feel it should be!
Returning home after a quick visit to the supermarket (Jaffa cakes for when I'm writing), I set about looking at how far I'd actully got with everything. I soon discovered I'd written a whole set of notes far in advance of how I viewed them to be. It stuck out like sore thumb, too, as to what I needed to do next: look at the story. Not the chapters I know I have to do, nor the flashbacks - of which I must only allow to be a few. But the story. What are the events that create the story? What is the focal point of the story?
I've written scenes, and I have important people in them. I've looked at history and created links. In the past two weeks I've looked, but at four in the morning called it a day too many times while failing to address the true question: what is the story-drive?
I must crystallize the 'why'!
I'm glad I haven't written very much lately. The probability is that I didn't write very much as I didn't know where I was supposed to be going at this point in time.
I have managed to write a small flashback, something important, linked to history - true history. It's great and just what I wanted to write, so I have kept that focus in me.
Now is the time to write the links, the story, the movement.
That will be me on Friday night.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
I've just realised something!
In the early hours of this morning I realised something: that my head is full of thoughts. Nothing strange about that. Except, it is for me!
You know, in all my previous jobs I always seemed to carry the work around with me. Even when I wasn't physically carrying something with me - notes, disks - I was always mulling something over in my head.
These days, I might have the odd thought about work, but mostly I do not.
Hmmm. Writing should be easier, then.
Not quite... I think the world is beginning to creep into my head, to find more room inside my head.
I seem to be finding more space to think about the world, about life going on around me. And whereas I made an effort in the past to find time to write in my spare time after work, these days I seem to need to fight to get enough space to even think about writing, now that I have more spare time after work. (Come again, Pete?)
It feels rather odd. More time to think means less time to write. I gotta change that!
You know, in all my previous jobs I always seemed to carry the work around with me. Even when I wasn't physically carrying something with me - notes, disks - I was always mulling something over in my head.
These days, I might have the odd thought about work, but mostly I do not.
Hmmm. Writing should be easier, then.
Not quite... I think the world is beginning to creep into my head, to find more room inside my head.
I seem to be finding more space to think about the world, about life going on around me. And whereas I made an effort in the past to find time to write in my spare time after work, these days I seem to need to fight to get enough space to even think about writing, now that I have more spare time after work. (Come again, Pete?)
It feels rather odd. More time to think means less time to write. I gotta change that!
Wednesday, 7 July 2010
A biscuit before bedtime!
That's been me, lately. Chocolate ones. Some kind of comfort food as I ponder my next literary move. Yet my poetic leanings seem to be taking a back seat as I write a story that is as serious as it is fantasy-laden. Fantasy-laden? Who says so? I do, so it is! Just, it's got roots in real history - English history. So I can't wax lyrical simply because the mood takes me.
Last night, I wrote two pages of a flashback. It's part of a chapter and introduces the reader to another view of the past. Our past, as well as the story's. Roots! The idea had been there for a while, but it began to niggle at me more and more until I just had to write out the whole idea. That's how I planned to write this book: no writing until I was bursting at the seams for it to come out of me. So far, so good. Except I tend to be writing what I feel I should write, as opposed to writing in chronological order. Hence the choccy biccies. I need them to support my nervous system.
I'm off in two weeks' time, and during those two weeks I'll be writing more of the story movement than I've allowed myself. All of the research I've done was geared to writing a beginning, and anything I've found that was a few steps ahead was left, with a view to picking up these future threads later. There are things I haven't touched yet which will be integral parts of the story when the story comes to them.
One particular idea I had, which caused me to talk to a certain type of people across the internet, seems to have become redundant. Although they appear in the story, the idea seems to have lost its appeal. I will need to revisit the whole idea and see if there is still room for it. It still seems valid, but I must make it clear in my head how valid the reason is before carrying on with it. If I rediscover why I picked up on it, then all the better it will be. How I approach it is the key.
It's going to be a tough two weeks. Six biccies left. That's my mother's birth date. Hmmm. Five is my lucky number. I'll leave them in the packet for now, as both numbers are there. My double chin awaits...
Last night, I wrote two pages of a flashback. It's part of a chapter and introduces the reader to another view of the past. Our past, as well as the story's. Roots! The idea had been there for a while, but it began to niggle at me more and more until I just had to write out the whole idea. That's how I planned to write this book: no writing until I was bursting at the seams for it to come out of me. So far, so good. Except I tend to be writing what I feel I should write, as opposed to writing in chronological order. Hence the choccy biccies. I need them to support my nervous system.
I'm off in two weeks' time, and during those two weeks I'll be writing more of the story movement than I've allowed myself. All of the research I've done was geared to writing a beginning, and anything I've found that was a few steps ahead was left, with a view to picking up these future threads later. There are things I haven't touched yet which will be integral parts of the story when the story comes to them.
One particular idea I had, which caused me to talk to a certain type of people across the internet, seems to have become redundant. Although they appear in the story, the idea seems to have lost its appeal. I will need to revisit the whole idea and see if there is still room for it. It still seems valid, but I must make it clear in my head how valid the reason is before carrying on with it. If I rediscover why I picked up on it, then all the better it will be. How I approach it is the key.
It's going to be a tough two weeks. Six biccies left. That's my mother's birth date. Hmmm. Five is my lucky number. I'll leave them in the packet for now, as both numbers are there. My double chin awaits...
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