Sombre realisations...

It has been a difficult process, picking up the threads of a broken stream of thought. This illness got the better of me and I kind of lost my way. But the thoughts never left me - rather, they haunted my mind like the soul of an ancient ghost trying to find the life it used to inhabit. So I am at a strange place, forcing myself to look at words I can't remember writing. This patchwork quilt I created long ago.
I realise now that I must write and forget that I may not finish the tale. It's the only way to exist... for me, anyway...
Life beneath the pen!

Way back

Sometimes I wish I had written this in first person. I probably would have finished it five years ago...

Do the pieces still fit...

Having written little in the last year, and finding no great urge to do so during that time, it is with some vague trepidation that I am now attempting to pick up the pieces left strewn about the last few pages. Officially, I am about halfway in, though there are copious notes, and some chapters I've moved, which persuade me I'm more like two-thirds in. Not far to go, it seems, but the next few months are crucial. If I get the rest wrong, I've got no chance of finding an agent. So I must spend less time on the internet arguing the toss about immigration and religion with the mentally challenged than I have done. It's been illuminating, though my beliefs about the world, especially in regard to religion, have been reinforced. I've put some thoughts into the story as part of the narration. That is all I will say on that.
My recent idea about publication was a rather silly one: try to find an agent who would be interested at the stage I was at. A good job I stopped myself, as I think a few doors would have closed before I had finished this first book. It's taken years to get this far. So don't go there, Pete - finish the tale first.
Healthwise, I don't know. I've never been there before, so it's all about the road. Gotta keep looking at the signs so I don't take a wrong turning ;-)
And keep writing... :-)

Retracing my steps

It's been a while since I posted anything on my blog. That's because it was meant as a record of my writing progress. There has been little progress in terms of getting things down on paper, though plenty enough going on in my head... future books, a movie ;-) It has taken a few years to get to this point and I just didn't have it in me to do very much. No need to spoil it by being impatient. This has changed now. I'm a lot better, though it doesn't really feel it, and  what exactly it all means I couldn't be too sure. I'm having writeable thoughts, which is an up-turn at the very least.
I had left a chapter open and unfinished. I couldn't write very well at the time - if I ever did! I've been looking at it and retracing some steps. The exposition and the narrative are difficult to match. Writing them up has been a task - as my good mate Dave Pimm keeps telling me, narrative must be relentless. Exposition can kill you off, so this particular chapter will take quite a bit of retouching. Movement, interaction, explanation... oh, to be a reader. Life would be so much more simple.
This is well past the bridge from the beginning to the story itself. They are all part of the same piece, but you must know what is what, and the effect thereof. There, I'm beginning to sound like a lawyer...See, I can do anything!
Been looking at agents. I will need to have the whole story written up. Then a small army of readers to slap me about a bit. A few months... Getting on with it :-)

Frankenstein

What on earth possessed Mary Shelley to give her most famous story a sub-title. And a pretentious one, at that? Can you get a better name or title than Frankenstein? Good job it didn't ruin the story - possibly an afterthought title-wise...
There is no Prometheus in my tale, though there is a creature. The story hinges on it - something monstrous for the audience to hate, revile. And hopefully to wonder about. I can't compete with a name like Frankenstein, but then again, Shelley's monster wasn't called that. Wonder what else was missed? No great correction from the author. It possibly helped to leave things as they were.
Names are important. I've changed a few and changed them back. It's an ongoing process to be aware of.
I'm getting on with it. It's taking a while. Prolific I ain't. But you get few chances to do something of substance. I'm not writing a shopping list, but hopefully it will end up on most readers' wish list. Ya neva know!! Time to look at this year's christmas countdown...

Creating a pivot point

My enjoyment of exposition may destroy me. However, handling moments of explanation correctly will probably stave off the inevitable execution of my writing life. This latest chapter I'm looking at is a minefield in terms of how much to relate, and the manner in which it is related. It's good that I have reasons for things - actions, events, happenings - but such explanations can have a soporific slowdown effect that can kill any story if not enough control is employed. I'm aware of it, so believe I can take care of it. This particular chapter needs handling with that kind of care and what is mighty important is the bit I leave out. Too much information and the narrative will falter; too little information and the reader may create his own version. A dangerous situation: for who is the writer? We may well ask.  This particular chapter provides an opportunity to explain something important. It must not become an explanation as to why the story fails at this point. Words better not fail me...

A gift before bedtime

I no longer fear falling asleep. I now feel, with about 95% certainty, that I won't wake around 4 a.m. and be unable to breathe. This inability to breathe was not a feeling, though - it was a reality. Several times since my hospital visit, I thought I was off there again. When you can't breathe you believe you are about to die. That you will get worse and you will choke to death, pass out or not even have that luxury. But that you will choke and that you will soon die. It isn't a panic attack, and yes I've read up on that. This did not only happen at night, but that's usually when it manifested itself. This was in keeping with the usual tales of horror I uncovered across the net during my research into my own personal ailment. The hospital didn't know why it happened and my doctor didn't know either. And nobody else's doctor or hospital can come up with a reason for it, either.
The reason for that is simple: they only know what they've been taught, and they don't dare come up with an alternative treatment to drugs n stuff, otherwise they'll lose their jobs.
The number one reason for entry to emergency care is being unable to breathe properly. The greatest health problem, in the western world at least, is diabetes. The most money spent on drugs in the NHS is for diabetes (respiratory).
Go figure, or, viewed another way: Pharmacy is big business and I was yet another customer on the diabetes/respiratory pay cheque.
I began to look for an answer on the internet. To cut a long and painful story short, I read between the lines and came up with a short list of probable causes, any one of which, or combinations of which, could have been the answer. At the moment, I've settled on a certain diet and sleep regime that seems to work well for me. And it has been that simple. Not drugs, not inhalers - life itself needed to change. Yes, I'll keep taking the drugs as prescribed, but if it becomes apparent that they are the problem, or part of the problem, I will stop.
As things stand, the shadow over me is lifting and the weight of my non-life expectancy with it. As bad as it got, the worst of it for me was that I couldn't write. Oh, I tried to write, but I was dreadful. However good or bad I actually am, I was a pretty poor excuse for a writer in the past 6 months or so.
I've no idea if I'm over the hump in the road. I may not ever get past this first book. But I'm still around... life isn't so bad, at least right now :-)

The muse returns

It's taken a while to feel like writing again. Actually, I believe the muse was always there, just it couldn't find its way to the head of the queue. Even missed my Auntie Pauline's funeral. Rest In Peace, little lady. If there's anything beyond, we'll listen to Elvis once in a while... xxx
My story timeline did its job, though. A bit of thought made me realise I'd kind of missed a step or two within a step or two - but that's why I created this timeline: it allowed me to think around things, as opposed to trying to think of things. I would have written stuff last night, but the England match got in the way :-)
The furore surrounding Rooney's inclusion in the team has got worse - they're even arguing about it on the tv panel during the discussions. Scholesy has put a thought into everyone's heads. Dead right, too! Rooney created Sturridge's goal, but missed two great chances to score himself. I think Hodgson fell into the trap of trying to include someone who doesn't fit into his plans. Of course, you need more than one plan, but sticking Rooney on the left, where he doesn't want to be, can't work if he won't do it. We've seen him cover and run and tackle then start up attacks and score for Man U. Not here, though. Hmmm. Why did he seem incapable of doing something we've seen him do so many times for his club? Because he didn't want to? I'm a great fan of Rooney's, but Sturridge puts the ball in the net. It's why Michael Owen was preferred to Andy Cole (and anyone else) for England. But Gerrard is no Pirlo - we need more in midfield than Gerrard can offer. Sterling's potential is plain to see, but nothing is being produced outside of it just yet. A bit of mayhem, but the Italians worked at it and that's all it was last night. Thought, application, work. Something's gotta give, selection-wise.
On the diabetes/breathlessness thing - a bit better...

Who wants to live forever?

Friday saw me admitted to hospital at about 6 a.m. unable to breathe... you think you're going to die and the great literary plan is all but over. Funny that I had to write my name on paper so they could check my medical records (I could barely speak and kept choking) - writing unto my final breath lol  Gasping for breath and collapsing like a rag doll with tears rolling down my face was an indignity I never imagined to experience. Survival was nothing to do with me, but made possible through some sterling work by a nurse on her own during a night of emergencies. Thank you, Nurse Rachael. I will marry you if I ever live through this book ;-)
Internet research tells you that the number one reason for entry into emergency care in a hospital is being unable to breathe. It also tells you how great a problem is diabetes. So, it's either a side effect of the drugs, or of the condition itself. But no-one actually states that, so I'm surmising... a bit...
I'm off this week, hoping to write more than just my name as a final epitaph... still expecting to finish it by October... if I'm not around by then, will I become a ghost-writer? ;-)

A better perspective

Both Dave Pimm and Noel The Ultimate Proofreader have been invaluable in my revision of the beginning. Sorry for banging on about it, but I knew that, unless the beginning felt right, I would find the rest of the story difficult to write. I've got other projects that can keep me occupied well into a ripe old age, but nothing as big as this - on the immediate horizon, that is. It's just me. My thought processes. Or maybe not...
Without revealing private conversations, Dave believed I was overpowering the reader at too early a stage with the hero's thoughts, life, mood and stuff. Noel stated quite clearly that I needed a beginning that took over the reader's outlook, or perspective, of the story from the outset.
These two pieces of advice could be construed as meaning the same thing. Not so. At least, in the context of this story it is not so.
Noel believed that I had to hold the attention of the reader from the first line. Produce something dramatic. Create something deep.
Dave believed the same, but that I was digging too deep within that idea.
Taking these, and my own idea of the kind of beginning I had to write for myself, I've arrived at something I feel quite happy about.
Given that I've written lots more stuff about it all, together with a timeline of events, the future of this dark story seems bright.
The pieces are beginning to fit...

Back to the beginning

We'd all like to start any project with a great beginning that worked first time. I've never been that lucky - or should it be: I've never been that good! Still, once you get there, or believe you have got there, it doesn't matter. Hopefully, you've learned from it and can then build on it. We'll see.
I was always rather disturbed that I couldn't get the opening lines right. I always envisaged a poem and other things, leading up to the beginning itself. It's important to have a vision. You must have one. At least, I think so. It's there now. I feel better about how things look, how things feel. Of course, it can be improved, polished. It's important to keep looking, refining.The prologue needs a slight makeover, but it must remain. You have to be you, and you have to ensure that the writing reflects that.
One thing I don't have to worry about is where the next chapter is coming from. The timeline I established ensures I only need to check where I should be, and where I should be going, to know what to do next. I don't have to follow that course if I don't want to - choosing the next chapter to write may be my personal choice at that time - but it helps enormously to have a course of events at hand. A form of security. I'll never write a chapter in a day, and I may never write anything of note, but I will have written it in the way I wanted. Important, that.
Incidentally, and I won't go into much detail, but in a discussion with a friend concerning Game Of Thrones (I've not read a thing of it, nor watched a minute of the series, and was told it had dragons and knights and violence and intrigue), I made a prediction: that it was American-written, American-produced, and the writer was no longer writing for himself but for the series. It couldn't have been written by a British writer, nor handled by a British concern. This all started during a discussion about King Arthur - my beef here being that why would anyone be fighting Vikings and Saxons in Glastonbury. A legend is a legend, but the surrounding facts and circumstances needed to be real enough to suspend disbelief. Arthur is a Northerner. Far north, and east. Any story based in the south was pure fantasy ;-) I was proven right about Game Of Thrones, which shocked my friend, who loves it and watches it religiously. I'm sure it's good. Wouldn't argue otherwise. I was rather pleased, though, to realise I knew more about the UK literary and fantasy industry than I thought. Hopefully, my judgment as to what to write about next - coloured by my experience with previous fantasy submissions to agents and publishers - has sent me in the right direction with regard to my own influences. Still, have a look for youself at the circumstances surrounding Game Of Thrones, then look at your British fantasy writers. What on earth happened here????? An argument for another day...
Getting back to my beginning... I'm over that rather large and awkward hump in the road. There are a few more to come, but I'm optimistic. Like most writers :-)
My optimism drew me to having a look at agents. The submission process has changed - Ha! quite a lot of literary agents insist on email submissions - or else! It used to be the opposite. I've withdrawn from that look. When it has been written, then I'll send. The list of agents may have changed by then, even in a few months.
So, on I go. No promises - there can't be - just that I'll write it.
:-)

Five weeks in a balloon - erm, cocoon...

I return to work tomorrow after quite a few weeks off. I'd like to say I've been recuperating, but it hasn't been like that. Discovering that I'd got type 2 diabetes and a hereditary form of it to boot, with the consequent 'high everything else', meant that all those years of trying to live healthily was really a waste of time. Well, maybe not, but it seems like it. It was a blow to the brain. Mr Hypochondriac had something to worry about for once! Anyway, I go back to work every bit as tired as I was when I left it. Jeez, I slept for England these past weeks - and was doing so long before that, too. Still, my kidney function seems to have improved and I don't drink gallons any more.
All that meant I couldn't write too much, didn't dare try to write, really, and went a fair way to explaining why I went long periods without writing anything at all. In the end, I was rather glad I had left things well alone. Tonight, I picked up where I left off and had a good look at where I'd got.
It was patently clear that the shape I was looking for was barely there. I liked what I'd done, but I'd broken things up a bit. Large parts of the jigsaw were still in the box. So I got them all out and pieced a few together - and looked at the rest of it. Even though I know I'm going to add more to the prologue, I put it back where it should be. Then I put in the opening poem, and some other stuff I'd done for the beginning. The picture became a whole lot clearer again.
I don't feel that the rest of the first book will take too long, now - I've written quite a lot of it already.
Just gotta keep taking the tablets... ;-)