Isn't it amazing how we constantly learn by the processes which we undertake? That might sound like a fairly obvious statement, however it's not until you really get into the nitty gritty of something that you begin to understand what it really takes to make it successful. It goes without saying that hard work is the bedrock of completing anything of note, however having the flexibility to adapt and evolve throughout a project is something that I had not fully appreciated, or should I more specifically say, I hadn't fully appreciated the evolution that I would need to undertake with such a large project as this. I shall come back to patience momentarily.
I recall setting about writing my (as yet untitled) debut fantasy novel in March of 2016, filled with the kind of enthusiastic gusto with which I begin to approach most things. I set out my first blog post and enthused wildly about keeping people up to date with my progress. Of course, this was well intentioned, however as I now realise, it was also somewhat naïve.
I had my story fixed in my mind, the characters were partially formed and I really liked the direction in which I wanted to develop my own fantasy world. The idea for the novel had come to me during a fun filled walk one New Years Day around Loch Muick. Originally it was going to be a children's story, but then my imagination subconsciously grabbed hold of it and, before I knew it, there was an entirely new world of possibilities that opened up and began to develop into a rather complex and in depth piece of writing.
I guess that this is where the evolution really began, not to mention the hard work. Most of my previous writing had been poetry, a genre with which I am still very much in love. There were, of course, the obligatory five attempts at starting a novel previously, all of which had fallen short somewhere between 5,000 and 40,000 words and still linger to this day in a dusty folder somewhere on my laptop. You see, as a poet, the writing of a story is far more instantaneous. For example, I could write a killer poem in no more than a few hours, its rich, descriptive language could tell a story in a mere few stanzas that would engage readers and leave them with a musing sense of satisfaction that they, not the writer, could fill the gaps in the story with their own imagination.
This is where, in my case, evolution first met my nemesis, patience. It very quickly became apparent to me that to write a novel, especially a fantasy novel that could be up to as many as 120,000 words, was not a one day project. I mused long and hard as to my resilience for such a significant piece of work, before reaching the conclusion that I would never be able to forgive myself were I to abandon my ambition in place of the safe refuge which poetry afforded me.
Out of my comfort zone, I pressed ahead and "just wrote". I had researched first drafts and took a small amount of comfort from most writers views that the first step was to get the story onto paper, no matter the quality. I simply allowed my fingers to type, trying to keep up with the speed of my imagination which would always seem to be several paragraphs ahead of my typing capability. There were, of course, gaps of time where I needed to step back and allow my mind to empty, before coming back to my keyboard refreshed and armed with ideas and coffee.
It felt as though I had climbed a mountain and was stood atop its summit on the day that I typed "The End" on my first draft. I celebrated and self congratulated, giving myself too many pats on the back, believing that this was by far my greatest writing achievement to date. I promised myself a week off so that I could clear my head before planning to attack a first edit of the entire manuscript.
I don't recall if I took the full week off or not, however what I do recall is the utter horror with which I was struck when I first began to read through my cherished manuscript. This, as it turned out, was to be my second meeting with evolution.
I was no further into reading than a couple of paragraphs, when my enthusiastic back slapping was firmly cut off at the knees. I could barely believe what I was reading, nor could I believe that I had written it. I felt as though it had been written by a child, so poor was the choice of language and the flow of words. It was as though my mind had dumped thousands of words onto a page, with good intention, yet had forgotten to give any credence to order or sense.
My journey through a first edit was a painful lesson to me in terms of the process of writing a novel. Not only were the words themselves of childlike intellect, but also the story was pitted with mistakes, holes and inaccuracies. It soon became apparent that my subconscious mind had changed the story line as I had been writing, whilst forgetting to let my conscious mind know about these changes.
I have to say that I felt somewhat exhausted by the time I had finished the first edit, albeit that I believed I had a much stronger story, written in a much more adult fashion. There was no back slapping or other self congratulatory celebration when I had finished, instead there was merely a sense of profound relief that I felt I had put right some the wrongs with my first effort.
However, this was to prove not entirely accurate. You see, what I hadn't realised on any level, is that a writing style takes time, patience, hard work and practice to evolve fully. I was learning "on the hoof" and not paying heed to the basic disciplines of writing a novel. When I set about my second edit, it became apparent that, whilst my story was far more robust and my language much improved, there was a distinct swing in the style of my writing throughout the manuscript.
This may seem strange, as many people believe that we write in the same way in which we think, but this is not entirely true. I had set out, with my poetic background, to write in a style that was rich and dark, full of imagery and descriptive language that would draw in a reader and make them feel as though they were bathing in a pool of the finest dark chocolate with each word that they read. Whilst I had achieved this in patches, that was all that I had achieved. Still present were far too many deviations form a consistent style of writing, with my language still spilling out unchecked at various points.
This was where patience really came to the fore. At first I was filled with self derision and castigation, chiding myself for my inability to present a well written, coherent story, even on the second attempt. It took me several months of thought, and practice, to forgive myself for such writing heresy and reach a point where I felt comfortable to return for a third edit.
I never gave up, not once thinking that I would put my novel into a dusty folder bearing a big red stamp reading "FAILED". Yet, at the same time, I did not know when I would have the reserves of mental resolve to return to it. As it turned out, it was no more than a couple of months, which on reflection were perhaps what I had needed all those months ago when I vigorously began my first edit.
I have now fully edited the Prologue and first three chapters, reading and re-reading them on numerous occasions. I can now proudly put my hand on my heart and feel satisfied that, barring a few minor changes, they tell my story exactly as I wish it to be told, in a style that is rich, consistent and coherent. In other words, I feel that I have learned to become a writer, not just a poet.
Is this the end of my hard work, evolution and patience? I sincerely hope not. I have learned that I must constantly evolve to improve my writing, whilst also recognising that there has to be a line drawn in the sand at some point, otherwise I would spend the rest of my life rewriting the same story over and over again.
What's next? I am now armed with my copy of the 2017 Writers & Artists Yearbook and am tentatively starting to research agents, in the hope that one of them will like both my novel and be a strong fit with me as an individual and my ambitions as an author. In other words, someone who really buys into me, my novel and my ideas for the next one, and the next one, and....
I shall not promise that I will be back here imminently blogging about my progress, for to do so would not be entirely fair to you or I. So, for now, its back to my third edit with a realistic smile and an optimistic determination to one day see my work on a bookshelf.
Sunday, 21 May 2017
Monday, 17 October 2016
More coffee please....
It's Monday morning and I'm quite gripped by the week ahead, or at least the prospect of the what the week ahead might bring. Although...although...my mind is also drifting somewhat, however a little more about that later on.
What's whipped me up into such excitement? Firstly, there is the continuing nail biting, nerve jangling wait for feedback from the agent about my children's book. I was reading it again at the weekend and it made me smile. Not the prospect of trying to get it published, although it goes without saying that I would probably internally combust with pride and excitement if it ever gets that far. No, it made me smile because I think it's a delightful little tale that will make other people smile when they read it. I haven't tested it on any poor, unsuspecting youngsters....yet....so it's just my own childish mind that connects fully with the story.
However, that is now out of my hands, which means that my second buzz of excitement is the continuing evolution of my first full novel. I'm determined that this will be the breakthrough week where the manuscript is fully formed to first draft stage, as I currently sit at about 85,000 words and will end up around 100,000 ish after the three remaining chapters are completed, I'm almost there.
Now, this might not sound all that impressive, but to me it really, really is. No doubt this will resonate with quite a few folk out there, the fact that I have lying idle in my folders something along the lines of 7 stories that I have started over the years, with the furthest point reached being around 45,000 words. That might sound wasteful, but it's all part of learning to write such a mammoth project as a full novel. You see, it doesn't just happen. Sure, there are days when the words flow onto the page as if they had already been written, yet there are other days, soul destroying, brain aching days when barely a word will spill out. Reaching the milestone of a first full draft means that, for the first time, an entire story made up of my own imagination will be sitting in cyber space waiting to be given some more love and attention. Which, fortuitously for this slightly babbling blog post, leads me seamlessly onto why my mind is drifting.
Because I have already fully mapped out the last three chapters and the finishing line is in sight this week, my mind has already started to turn itself towards the rather daunting task of editing. This is the second element of hard, hard graft that it takes to write a novel. If you think about your school essay being 2,000 words, or a masters thesis being 10,000 words, you start to get an idea of the scale that comes with writing a fantasy novel.
In my first few attempts I was rubbish, and I mean monumentally rubbish, at holding my concentration, hence the number of unfinished manuscripts. I tended to have an idea, begin furiously yet aimlessly writing, then when I couldn't think of the next stage of the actual story line I would go back and edit what I had already written. At the time I would justify to myself that this was a very productive way to approach the project and would inevitably save plenty of time in the long run.
Except, that wasn't the case at all. What it actually served to do was to stifle my creativity and thought processes. There's absolutely no point having 10,000 perfectly written words, if you then hit a brick wall. All you've actually done is waste a lot of time, energy and creative resource on something that you have no idea how to finish, therefore you end up putting it away in a dark cupboard feeling rather frustrated.
Where has all of this led me? Quite simply it's led me to a different writing process courtesy of time served mistakes. This time I have fully formed my story from beginning to end, with a follow on story and a prequel, should I desire to write them. The issue with this writing process is that when I come to editing, there will be a very large piece of work that needs to be done, but somehow this just seems to be the right way around....for me.
Let me explain a little further what I think are the four challenges that I'm going to face editing, and which are already starting to consume my waking thoughts.
Firstly, there is the actual story itself. It evolved you see, I didn't realise that it would, but it did! I first had the idea for my story on New Year's Day when walking around Loch Muick. The Cairngorms had been blighted by some quite astonishingly bad weather for months and months, and had suffered significant floods and damage, not least in Ballater where the felled trees and swept away caravans can still be found loitering in the fields alongside the River Dee.
On that walk I encountered three stunningly beautiful Red Deer Stags, landslides, floods, a dangerous traverse and a few more things that captured a child like mind such as mine. By the end of the three hour walk there was great excitement for the children's book I would write, which would be a great adventure of biblical proportions. I headed home and formed my ideas and notes and then, a month or so later, began to write.
I still couldn't tell you exactly how or at which point it happened, but it did. What happened? It evolved. The first few chapters were written in a style and storyline that were aimed at the early to mid teens age bracket. Then, without warning, it grew darker, older, more sinister, more complex and, before I knew it, the story was a great fantasy adventure of magic, mythical creatures and great battles. Ergo my first editing task will be to pull the story into a completed shape, so that the first third of the book is fully aligned to the second two thirds.
Secondly comes the characters themselves. I know who they are, because I have invented them. But do my readers know who the characters are? I doubt it, because in my view I don't form them well enough from the outset, and rely on the story and the adventures to reveal the characters detail. I don't think a reader will get to know them well enough, soon enough, to connect to them. There has to be an empathy from very early on to carry a reader through the story in a way that they are utterly engaged and mesmerised.
Thirdly, and this is possibly at a more detailed level, I need to be sneaky. Maybe, just maybe, even a little devious. Because my writing style can be quite intense, which is just my style so I'm not particularly being critical of myself, I often reveal parts of the story that intensify the moment, yet detract from the suspense of being a little more coy and gripping my readers for the longer term. In other words, I'm spoon feeding anyone who reads the story instead of respecting either them as a reader and their inner purpose of reading. I don't know about you, but when I read a book, I want to allow my own imagination to run free quite a bit. That doesn't mean that I don't want a book to have a structure and form that takes me from beginning to end, it simply means that in between those two points I want my mind to be able to wander and play with possibilities, only being brought back to the truth in small steps.
Finally, yes finally, there are words. Quite an obvious statement I would agree. But still, not something to be underestimated. I need to make sure that I haven't used to many, or too few, to adequately describe my scenes, my characters, or the chunks of story where I zoom in, or out, of detail with the passage of time. This is probably where we get to the real style of a writer. As a die hard poet I'm hoping that my imagery converts into this form of writing and offers people a rich and rewarding sense of who my characters are and what they are experiencing. I guess only time, and plenty of feedback, will tell on that subject.
That was quite a babbling ramble, wasn't it? Thank you for your patience, it's been much appreciated. You possibly haven't connected that this little titbit has been very therapeutic for me and has enabled me to create a clear passage of what I need to tackle to bring the next stages of my book to life. After all, if somebody is ultimately going to pay hard earned money to buy and read my work, I have a duty to make it as joyous an experience for them as I can possibly make it.
15,000 more words to go, so I had better pick up my britches and shall see you on the other side. Now, more coffee please, it's going to be a very long week....
What's whipped me up into such excitement? Firstly, there is the continuing nail biting, nerve jangling wait for feedback from the agent about my children's book. I was reading it again at the weekend and it made me smile. Not the prospect of trying to get it published, although it goes without saying that I would probably internally combust with pride and excitement if it ever gets that far. No, it made me smile because I think it's a delightful little tale that will make other people smile when they read it. I haven't tested it on any poor, unsuspecting youngsters....yet....so it's just my own childish mind that connects fully with the story.
However, that is now out of my hands, which means that my second buzz of excitement is the continuing evolution of my first full novel. I'm determined that this will be the breakthrough week where the manuscript is fully formed to first draft stage, as I currently sit at about 85,000 words and will end up around 100,000 ish after the three remaining chapters are completed, I'm almost there.
Now, this might not sound all that impressive, but to me it really, really is. No doubt this will resonate with quite a few folk out there, the fact that I have lying idle in my folders something along the lines of 7 stories that I have started over the years, with the furthest point reached being around 45,000 words. That might sound wasteful, but it's all part of learning to write such a mammoth project as a full novel. You see, it doesn't just happen. Sure, there are days when the words flow onto the page as if they had already been written, yet there are other days, soul destroying, brain aching days when barely a word will spill out. Reaching the milestone of a first full draft means that, for the first time, an entire story made up of my own imagination will be sitting in cyber space waiting to be given some more love and attention. Which, fortuitously for this slightly babbling blog post, leads me seamlessly onto why my mind is drifting.
Because I have already fully mapped out the last three chapters and the finishing line is in sight this week, my mind has already started to turn itself towards the rather daunting task of editing. This is the second element of hard, hard graft that it takes to write a novel. If you think about your school essay being 2,000 words, or a masters thesis being 10,000 words, you start to get an idea of the scale that comes with writing a fantasy novel.
In my first few attempts I was rubbish, and I mean monumentally rubbish, at holding my concentration, hence the number of unfinished manuscripts. I tended to have an idea, begin furiously yet aimlessly writing, then when I couldn't think of the next stage of the actual story line I would go back and edit what I had already written. At the time I would justify to myself that this was a very productive way to approach the project and would inevitably save plenty of time in the long run.
Except, that wasn't the case at all. What it actually served to do was to stifle my creativity and thought processes. There's absolutely no point having 10,000 perfectly written words, if you then hit a brick wall. All you've actually done is waste a lot of time, energy and creative resource on something that you have no idea how to finish, therefore you end up putting it away in a dark cupboard feeling rather frustrated.
Where has all of this led me? Quite simply it's led me to a different writing process courtesy of time served mistakes. This time I have fully formed my story from beginning to end, with a follow on story and a prequel, should I desire to write them. The issue with this writing process is that when I come to editing, there will be a very large piece of work that needs to be done, but somehow this just seems to be the right way around....for me.
Let me explain a little further what I think are the four challenges that I'm going to face editing, and which are already starting to consume my waking thoughts.
Firstly, there is the actual story itself. It evolved you see, I didn't realise that it would, but it did! I first had the idea for my story on New Year's Day when walking around Loch Muick. The Cairngorms had been blighted by some quite astonishingly bad weather for months and months, and had suffered significant floods and damage, not least in Ballater where the felled trees and swept away caravans can still be found loitering in the fields alongside the River Dee.
On that walk I encountered three stunningly beautiful Red Deer Stags, landslides, floods, a dangerous traverse and a few more things that captured a child like mind such as mine. By the end of the three hour walk there was great excitement for the children's book I would write, which would be a great adventure of biblical proportions. I headed home and formed my ideas and notes and then, a month or so later, began to write.
I still couldn't tell you exactly how or at which point it happened, but it did. What happened? It evolved. The first few chapters were written in a style and storyline that were aimed at the early to mid teens age bracket. Then, without warning, it grew darker, older, more sinister, more complex and, before I knew it, the story was a great fantasy adventure of magic, mythical creatures and great battles. Ergo my first editing task will be to pull the story into a completed shape, so that the first third of the book is fully aligned to the second two thirds.
Secondly comes the characters themselves. I know who they are, because I have invented them. But do my readers know who the characters are? I doubt it, because in my view I don't form them well enough from the outset, and rely on the story and the adventures to reveal the characters detail. I don't think a reader will get to know them well enough, soon enough, to connect to them. There has to be an empathy from very early on to carry a reader through the story in a way that they are utterly engaged and mesmerised.
Thirdly, and this is possibly at a more detailed level, I need to be sneaky. Maybe, just maybe, even a little devious. Because my writing style can be quite intense, which is just my style so I'm not particularly being critical of myself, I often reveal parts of the story that intensify the moment, yet detract from the suspense of being a little more coy and gripping my readers for the longer term. In other words, I'm spoon feeding anyone who reads the story instead of respecting either them as a reader and their inner purpose of reading. I don't know about you, but when I read a book, I want to allow my own imagination to run free quite a bit. That doesn't mean that I don't want a book to have a structure and form that takes me from beginning to end, it simply means that in between those two points I want my mind to be able to wander and play with possibilities, only being brought back to the truth in small steps.
Finally, yes finally, there are words. Quite an obvious statement I would agree. But still, not something to be underestimated. I need to make sure that I haven't used to many, or too few, to adequately describe my scenes, my characters, or the chunks of story where I zoom in, or out, of detail with the passage of time. This is probably where we get to the real style of a writer. As a die hard poet I'm hoping that my imagery converts into this form of writing and offers people a rich and rewarding sense of who my characters are and what they are experiencing. I guess only time, and plenty of feedback, will tell on that subject.
That was quite a babbling ramble, wasn't it? Thank you for your patience, it's been much appreciated. You possibly haven't connected that this little titbit has been very therapeutic for me and has enabled me to create a clear passage of what I need to tackle to bring the next stages of my book to life. After all, if somebody is ultimately going to pay hard earned money to buy and read my work, I have a duty to make it as joyous an experience for them as I can possibly make it.
15,000 more words to go, so I had better pick up my britches and shall see you on the other side. Now, more coffee please, it's going to be a very long week....
Tuesday, 11 October 2016
Gosh, darn all that pesky real life stuff....
Why, oh why, oh why does all that pesky real life stuff have to get in the way of the more important things in life? The past few months have been quite an interesting experience, not to mention a great lesson to me with regard to my writing.
What did it show me? Well, I guess the first thing was how events that happen outside of my own fantastical world of writing about mystical creatures and far off lands, is affected by the things that make real life tick. You know the ones; work, an income, a home and all of the other little bits and bats that mean you get to wake up each morning, have a steaming mug of coffee and then bumble through the day with as little thought as you can get away with.
So, the unexpected end of my assignment in the Cairngorms, followed by a snap decision to relocate back to my beloved Yorkshire, have meant that my creative juices decided to put themselves into "dormant mode" whilst my quite inept practical self rose up and tried to move 400 miles back down the road. It's almost hilarious how easy it is to set aside something that has dominated your life for as long as writing has dominated mine. In fact, until a week ago I had almost forgotten that I have ever picked up a keyboard. Oh how I miss the days of a quill and ink well!
Then, without warning, up pops the bright idea and all of a sudden the obsession returns once more. It was a little like receiving an electric shock, or somebody jabbing a pin into your bum. All of a sudden my thirst to write was painfully acute, and not just there in a "hi I'm here" kind of way, but instead it was burning to let out all of the things that must have been subconsciously building inside me, even though my inept practical self was serenely oblivious to the fact that anything was happening inside my tiny, one dimensional mind.
My first thought was to return to my novel. It's about 80% written in first draft and needs only a couple more weeks to have that elusive, first full manuscript of a novel sitting proudly waiting to be edited to death, But, you see, there's been this bit of grit in my shoe for quite some time now. I started a children's book some years ago that was, and still is, something that I really wanted to finish. The idea had come to me in a flash one day whilst on a bus to Harrogate for a couple of beers with friends. The journey had been quite boring, so my inner child like mind wandered off into yet another fantasy, as so often it does. By the time I had reached my destination, the entire series of seven books was there in plain sight, even the characters were fully formed.
It had taken me only a matter of days to write the first draft, a rhyming, fun children's story that included morals, creatures, a land of fantasy and quite a bit more. But, being the perfectionist that I suppose most writers are, I then toiled with it on and off for what seemed an eternity, before eventually putting it down two years ago and frustratingly giving up on it.
Eureka! Well, perhaps not quite Eureka, more an inner determination after a very long, stern talk to myself, that if I can't raise myself to finish a children's story, then I have no chance of ever getting my first novel over the line.
One day. That was it. Within just one day of steely, grit filled determination it was finished. And not just a draft finish. For the first time I had actually got it to the point where there wasn't a single word, phrase, rhyme or character that I would change. What a relief it was, it felt like I finally had the chance to say to my chiding self "I told you so".
After quite a bit of research I eventually settled on an agent who looks open minded, supportive and genuine, and have now packaged it up and sent it across with at least all of my fingers, toes, knees and eyes crossed. If I've missed anything then please let me know! So now I shall wait, that long, agonising wait to see if they think I might be worthy of being rep'd.
The thing is though, that I am happy with it. I wouldn't change anything, meaning that hope aside, I have taken off my shoe, given it a good shake and got that piece of grit out once and for all. Perhaps more importantly, or not, I can now move on with getting my manuscript finished for my novel. I'm reluctant to say that it'll be done in a couple of weeks in a first draft form, only because I know from the past few months that maybe a meteor will strike my house and I'll have to move again, or the milkman will forget to deliver one day, leaving me devoid of the life blood that is coffee.
Whatever happens in the next few weeks and months I can only look ahead. That means I have the excitement of my children's book and the endless day dreaming possibilities if the agent were to miraculously say yes, and I also have the obsessive desire to get my novel finished.
Oh, and then there's all that real life stuff. I suppose I should think about getting a job some day soon, but perhaps I'll just stay in my fantastical world for just a little while longer.
What did it show me? Well, I guess the first thing was how events that happen outside of my own fantastical world of writing about mystical creatures and far off lands, is affected by the things that make real life tick. You know the ones; work, an income, a home and all of the other little bits and bats that mean you get to wake up each morning, have a steaming mug of coffee and then bumble through the day with as little thought as you can get away with.
So, the unexpected end of my assignment in the Cairngorms, followed by a snap decision to relocate back to my beloved Yorkshire, have meant that my creative juices decided to put themselves into "dormant mode" whilst my quite inept practical self rose up and tried to move 400 miles back down the road. It's almost hilarious how easy it is to set aside something that has dominated your life for as long as writing has dominated mine. In fact, until a week ago I had almost forgotten that I have ever picked up a keyboard. Oh how I miss the days of a quill and ink well!
Then, without warning, up pops the bright idea and all of a sudden the obsession returns once more. It was a little like receiving an electric shock, or somebody jabbing a pin into your bum. All of a sudden my thirst to write was painfully acute, and not just there in a "hi I'm here" kind of way, but instead it was burning to let out all of the things that must have been subconsciously building inside me, even though my inept practical self was serenely oblivious to the fact that anything was happening inside my tiny, one dimensional mind.
My first thought was to return to my novel. It's about 80% written in first draft and needs only a couple more weeks to have that elusive, first full manuscript of a novel sitting proudly waiting to be edited to death, But, you see, there's been this bit of grit in my shoe for quite some time now. I started a children's book some years ago that was, and still is, something that I really wanted to finish. The idea had come to me in a flash one day whilst on a bus to Harrogate for a couple of beers with friends. The journey had been quite boring, so my inner child like mind wandered off into yet another fantasy, as so often it does. By the time I had reached my destination, the entire series of seven books was there in plain sight, even the characters were fully formed.
It had taken me only a matter of days to write the first draft, a rhyming, fun children's story that included morals, creatures, a land of fantasy and quite a bit more. But, being the perfectionist that I suppose most writers are, I then toiled with it on and off for what seemed an eternity, before eventually putting it down two years ago and frustratingly giving up on it.
Eureka! Well, perhaps not quite Eureka, more an inner determination after a very long, stern talk to myself, that if I can't raise myself to finish a children's story, then I have no chance of ever getting my first novel over the line.
One day. That was it. Within just one day of steely, grit filled determination it was finished. And not just a draft finish. For the first time I had actually got it to the point where there wasn't a single word, phrase, rhyme or character that I would change. What a relief it was, it felt like I finally had the chance to say to my chiding self "I told you so".
After quite a bit of research I eventually settled on an agent who looks open minded, supportive and genuine, and have now packaged it up and sent it across with at least all of my fingers, toes, knees and eyes crossed. If I've missed anything then please let me know! So now I shall wait, that long, agonising wait to see if they think I might be worthy of being rep'd.
The thing is though, that I am happy with it. I wouldn't change anything, meaning that hope aside, I have taken off my shoe, given it a good shake and got that piece of grit out once and for all. Perhaps more importantly, or not, I can now move on with getting my manuscript finished for my novel. I'm reluctant to say that it'll be done in a couple of weeks in a first draft form, only because I know from the past few months that maybe a meteor will strike my house and I'll have to move again, or the milkman will forget to deliver one day, leaving me devoid of the life blood that is coffee.
Whatever happens in the next few weeks and months I can only look ahead. That means I have the excitement of my children's book and the endless day dreaming possibilities if the agent were to miraculously say yes, and I also have the obsessive desire to get my novel finished.
Oh, and then there's all that real life stuff. I suppose I should think about getting a job some day soon, but perhaps I'll just stay in my fantastical world for just a little while longer.
Wednesday, 30 March 2016
So it begins....
Hi, I'm Mike, I said as though it were a perfectly normal greeting to start a new blog with. I guess that in order to get to know me a little more, I really should try to explain why exactly I'm here.
I'm a writer, you see...isn't that what we all aspire to tell people? I know that it's what I've dreamt of for many years now. But the thing is, you see, that I've never really been brave enough. Perhaps that's not entirely accurate, as the commitment of life takes over; the mortgage, the kids, the divorce, the maintenance payments...they all just seemed to make being a wage slave infinitely more important than following my dream to write and see if I could scrape together enough money to bump along with a deep sense of self satisfaction. Don't get me wrong, I'm no martyr, in fact I've been very lucky in my professional life which has seen me travel the world, see some amazing places and meet some inspiring (and some not so inspiring) people.
You see, it started about 10 years ago when I first separated. I suddenly found myself sitting in my newly rented apartment each evening with no company, save for my slightly deranged cat, Millie. Of course, I did what most newly single people do when they come out of a 15 year relationship. I drank. A lot. The first year post-separation was spent in a delicious haze of red wine, something that only changed with the coming of my first summer alone, when I took the brave decision of switching to white instead. I found that as I spent my evenings wallowing in my misery and misfortune, that putting it down into words was actually quite a cathartic experience.
In the early days this found its way out of me as a sort of moronic poetry, lacking both form and content, being closer to the truth of the drunken ramblings that they were, than a piece of beauty. Realising that my potential reputation as a future writer of some note was in danger of falling into the same unhealthy state as my liver, I eventually cut back on the booze. Miraculously, this improved my poetry writing skills quite considerably, in fact to the point where people actually read them and said nice things to me. Now I don't know about you, but I love being told something that I've done is good. It gives me a real buzz and was something that, at the time, I fed off and used as my motivation to write more, with a small degree of success.
So I blame them. Who, you ask? Them! The people who said nice things about my poetry, it's all their fault. You see, they planted the seed, they awoke my inner desire to create and to write. I carried on until I had hundreds of poems, some were even very good. But to what point, I would ask myself? That's when the bright idea struck me, I was going to write a book. Now, in terms of timelines, you have to realise that this is going back about 7 years now, which is quite a while to have such an itch.
I set off like a devil on speed, beginning with Surviving Divorce - A Man's Guide. This was my satirical take on the ups and downs that men go through after a divorce. Genius, or so I thought. But I'd done what I had so often in the past, I'd set off like an express train burning my keyboard, then after about 6,000 words I ran out of proverbial coal, my fire dampened until it spluttered and expired.
Next came my attempt at a post-apocalyptic survival novel. This one was even better, as I had written about 5,000 words before being completely distracted by the need to research agents and publishers, becoming more and more consumed with the almost impossible process of trying to get my book published. Premature? Uhm, well yes you could say that. Especially as all that my research achieved was to thoroughly dishearten me and dampen my enthusiasm.
What did I do next? The short answer is that I gave up. There was a brief flirting with giving up work for a year to give it a real shot, but I was never brave enough. Then, as so often before, time and circumstance swung my life in a new direction. I took a new job that meant moving 370 miles form my home, up to the edge of the Cairngorms in Northern Scotland. Not only was this a new job, but a brand new industry as well, which consumed me. My energy was totally expended by the point that evenings and weekends came around, leaving me exhausted and without a single creative spark in my body.
Then something happened. I'm yet to know if it was a good, or bad thing. I fell ill, needing surgery that quite literally took the wind from my sails and left me exhausted. The first 7 weeks post surgery were spent in a drug induced, hallucinogenic coma. Were I partial to drugs, this might have been a more pleasant experience, however I can assure you that it was pretty horrible.
Then, oh boy then, the drugs wore off and I have found myself with time. For the first time in my adult life, I actually have time. I'm hopeful that I'll be back at work in a couple of months, but whilst I can't drive and I can't really go anywhere, I've been taking the time to boil up some creative juices and give things another shot. I sense that I'm at a crossroads and, whilst I don't know where the destination is, I'm now wholly committed to the journey.
What's the blog all about? Will I fall short again in my attempt to write my first novel? I can tell you that, having been through the ups, downs and dead stops of trying to write one before, I might be able to bring a little experience to people thinking of trying to follow the same path that I've tried. Maybe my full steam ahead catastrophe's will help some aspiring writer out there to avoid that particular pitfall. I have certainly learned my lesson from it. As for falling short, I've already reached 25,000 words this time, in only a few weeks. By my reckoning I have a real shot of finishing the first draft by the time I'm well enough to return to work. My time off has helped me to reassess where I am and what's really important to me. My post divorce financial commitments will soon be at an end, so why shouldn't I go all out to create the life for myself that I really want? I sense that, if I didn't at least try my very hardest right now, then I might never forgive myself whenever I play "what if" in my darker moments.
There, that should give you a pretty good catch up on how I got here. Whenever I get the chance I'll drop by on here and give you an update on the ups and downs, hopefully with no full stops. I'm not going to blurb on all about the story and how wonderful it is, whilst there is a time and place for self marketing, this blog is not intended for that.
Incidentally, the first 25,000 words have already had their ups and downs. Only 2 days ago I was tearing my mind apart in frustration that I couldn't find the will to write a single word. Guess what? The vat of white wine worked a treat, there I was at 6.30am next morning writing like a dervish for the rest of the day.
Oh, and one more thing. This time I already have my whole story fully mapped out, with the next 3 chapters planned in even more detail.
It seems as though this writing malarkey is actually quite good fun...when you do it right!
I'm a writer, you see...isn't that what we all aspire to tell people? I know that it's what I've dreamt of for many years now. But the thing is, you see, that I've never really been brave enough. Perhaps that's not entirely accurate, as the commitment of life takes over; the mortgage, the kids, the divorce, the maintenance payments...they all just seemed to make being a wage slave infinitely more important than following my dream to write and see if I could scrape together enough money to bump along with a deep sense of self satisfaction. Don't get me wrong, I'm no martyr, in fact I've been very lucky in my professional life which has seen me travel the world, see some amazing places and meet some inspiring (and some not so inspiring) people.
You see, it started about 10 years ago when I first separated. I suddenly found myself sitting in my newly rented apartment each evening with no company, save for my slightly deranged cat, Millie. Of course, I did what most newly single people do when they come out of a 15 year relationship. I drank. A lot. The first year post-separation was spent in a delicious haze of red wine, something that only changed with the coming of my first summer alone, when I took the brave decision of switching to white instead. I found that as I spent my evenings wallowing in my misery and misfortune, that putting it down into words was actually quite a cathartic experience.
In the early days this found its way out of me as a sort of moronic poetry, lacking both form and content, being closer to the truth of the drunken ramblings that they were, than a piece of beauty. Realising that my potential reputation as a future writer of some note was in danger of falling into the same unhealthy state as my liver, I eventually cut back on the booze. Miraculously, this improved my poetry writing skills quite considerably, in fact to the point where people actually read them and said nice things to me. Now I don't know about you, but I love being told something that I've done is good. It gives me a real buzz and was something that, at the time, I fed off and used as my motivation to write more, with a small degree of success.
So I blame them. Who, you ask? Them! The people who said nice things about my poetry, it's all their fault. You see, they planted the seed, they awoke my inner desire to create and to write. I carried on until I had hundreds of poems, some were even very good. But to what point, I would ask myself? That's when the bright idea struck me, I was going to write a book. Now, in terms of timelines, you have to realise that this is going back about 7 years now, which is quite a while to have such an itch.
I set off like a devil on speed, beginning with Surviving Divorce - A Man's Guide. This was my satirical take on the ups and downs that men go through after a divorce. Genius, or so I thought. But I'd done what I had so often in the past, I'd set off like an express train burning my keyboard, then after about 6,000 words I ran out of proverbial coal, my fire dampened until it spluttered and expired.
Next came my attempt at a post-apocalyptic survival novel. This one was even better, as I had written about 5,000 words before being completely distracted by the need to research agents and publishers, becoming more and more consumed with the almost impossible process of trying to get my book published. Premature? Uhm, well yes you could say that. Especially as all that my research achieved was to thoroughly dishearten me and dampen my enthusiasm.
What did I do next? The short answer is that I gave up. There was a brief flirting with giving up work for a year to give it a real shot, but I was never brave enough. Then, as so often before, time and circumstance swung my life in a new direction. I took a new job that meant moving 370 miles form my home, up to the edge of the Cairngorms in Northern Scotland. Not only was this a new job, but a brand new industry as well, which consumed me. My energy was totally expended by the point that evenings and weekends came around, leaving me exhausted and without a single creative spark in my body.
Then something happened. I'm yet to know if it was a good, or bad thing. I fell ill, needing surgery that quite literally took the wind from my sails and left me exhausted. The first 7 weeks post surgery were spent in a drug induced, hallucinogenic coma. Were I partial to drugs, this might have been a more pleasant experience, however I can assure you that it was pretty horrible.
Then, oh boy then, the drugs wore off and I have found myself with time. For the first time in my adult life, I actually have time. I'm hopeful that I'll be back at work in a couple of months, but whilst I can't drive and I can't really go anywhere, I've been taking the time to boil up some creative juices and give things another shot. I sense that I'm at a crossroads and, whilst I don't know where the destination is, I'm now wholly committed to the journey.
What's the blog all about? Will I fall short again in my attempt to write my first novel? I can tell you that, having been through the ups, downs and dead stops of trying to write one before, I might be able to bring a little experience to people thinking of trying to follow the same path that I've tried. Maybe my full steam ahead catastrophe's will help some aspiring writer out there to avoid that particular pitfall. I have certainly learned my lesson from it. As for falling short, I've already reached 25,000 words this time, in only a few weeks. By my reckoning I have a real shot of finishing the first draft by the time I'm well enough to return to work. My time off has helped me to reassess where I am and what's really important to me. My post divorce financial commitments will soon be at an end, so why shouldn't I go all out to create the life for myself that I really want? I sense that, if I didn't at least try my very hardest right now, then I might never forgive myself whenever I play "what if" in my darker moments.
There, that should give you a pretty good catch up on how I got here. Whenever I get the chance I'll drop by on here and give you an update on the ups and downs, hopefully with no full stops. I'm not going to blurb on all about the story and how wonderful it is, whilst there is a time and place for self marketing, this blog is not intended for that.
Incidentally, the first 25,000 words have already had their ups and downs. Only 2 days ago I was tearing my mind apart in frustration that I couldn't find the will to write a single word. Guess what? The vat of white wine worked a treat, there I was at 6.30am next morning writing like a dervish for the rest of the day.
Oh, and one more thing. This time I already have my whole story fully mapped out, with the next 3 chapters planned in even more detail.
It seems as though this writing malarkey is actually quite good fun...when you do it right!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)