Tag: #amwriting

NANOWRIMO Day Two

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Finally, the ship got clear of the wharf, avoided a collision with a barge the strayed a little too close, and had me as captain of the Titanic, worried about people drawing parallels with the barge becoming an iceberg.

But…

I got the first two chapters done, more or less as I wanted them, but, as you would expect, once you start writing, there are minor shifts in the way it plays out.

It’s fine, however, and I’m not going change it.

The story is running according to the script, and it worries me.  You know how it goes, everything’s great until the engines break down.

Perhaps I should be more optimistic rather than pessimistic.

But, sadly, not so much written today as I’d hoped.

Smoother seas tomorrow one hopes!

My 800 words on writing

Writing is one of those occupations that requires a lot of hard work for, sometimes, very little output.  We, as writers, strive to produce a certain number of words per day, or, sometimes, just a few words just to keep oiling the machine and keeping it in working order.

When this creative process stops we tend to call it writer’s block, or something else entirely.  For me it is a point where I have lost the way, and the next chapter, scene, or plot development is not clear.  Time for a shower, sleep, or a walk in the park.

Other times, the creative processes are firing on all 12 cylinders and ideas, thoughts, plot lines, and words are pouring out of you like water over a waterfall at thaw time, or in a flood.

Sorry, shouldn’t be using metaphors, bad writing.

At the moment I have finished my next novel, yes, it sounds really good, and in itself, it gives me a sense of achievement.  In another sense it fills me with dread because I have to start editing, and, more importantly, make sure the first part of the book blends with the new developments that only occurred to me later.

Sometimes I go back and add notes at the appropriate place where the story needs to be corrected, or I just sit there and fix it on the spot.

But, editing is a horrible job.  Making sure of continuity, making sure the characters names didn’t change, or they suddenly go from being short, overweight and red hair to thin, tall and blonde hair.  Making sure the English is correct, grammar correct, spelling correct, and fore’s not confused with four’s.

And not start my sentences with and or but.  Sorry, again, bad habits die hard.

I have read that it’s a good idea to let that first draft sit on the shelf for a few weeks and let the dust settle around it, ruminating on it sub-consciously.  Good idea.  It’s another excuse to put off the inevitable.

So, is it time to have a holiday, take time out from the business of writing, or catch up with all that social media stuff, tweeting, facebooking, tumblring, instagramming, or whatever it is.  Oh yes, that’s right, as an indie author I have to do my own ‘pitching’ to the reading public.

Time to plan a campaign to get my title out there, and generate some interest.

Time in fact to hit the internet and see how others have done it.

42,647,345 hits on Google.  Damn, I didn’t think there were that many writers.  I’m starting to feel very, very insignificant in the greater scheme of things.

OK, that goes in the too hard basket for the moment.  Moving on.

On those days when the creative juices were on overdrive, I fill notebooks with the ideas for stories, short and long.  When out, waiting around for doctors, and others, I have my mobile phone which has a notebook type app called SomNote which I write.  I find it is very easy to lose oneself in a story when there is so much inspiration around.

These notes are then sent via email to my computer and stored in an email directory, ready for me to look at, at a later date.

That later date has arrived.

I start looking through the ‘ideas’ list, a cavalcade of story titles,

Amnesia- the story of a man who wakes up in hospital with amnesia, and then is led to believe he is someone other than who he is.  The plot needs some work, well, a lot of work.

The Will – the story of a grandson trying to stop the greedy and selfish siblings from selling out the family heritage, I’m sure I saw a British movie about this not so long ago

Mistaken Identity – The story of a man who is an illegitimate son, and has a brother who is both an evil man and his exact doppelganger.  He was never told about it, and comes face to face with his doppelganger in extraordinary circumstances.

Strangers in the night – no not the song, but a story about two disparate people who have no time for anything but work and career, who have a chance encounter.

Breaking the rules – a story about a pair of cat burglars who run into each other, on separate heists in the same building.  This has potential.

More than three hours have passed, I’ve been reading the stories, notes, plotlines, and staring at the ceiling looking for inspiration.

Chester, our cat, my friend and confidant, always likes the last word.  He wanders into the office, climbs up on the chair and sits, selecting the pile of papers for The Will.

It will be the title of my next book

NANOWRIMO Day One

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I took a deep breath and could feel the tug pulling hard on the tow line, as the ship eased away from the dock.

In other words, we’re underway!

It’s going to run like this, read the outline that refers to the section or chapter I’m about to write, let it mull in my mind and then, after several hours, sit down and write.

The start is always the hardest because you have to keep in mind that it will serve as an introduction, with some explanation, about the character, and a situation, and still hold interest.  It’s a fine balancing act and I’m not sure if I have got it exactly right.

As for the next chapter, the story is improving, and perhaps, if I’m not happy later on, I will go back and fix it, if, of course,  it needs fixing.

Just the same, we have a long way to go.

Conversations with my cat – 61

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This is Chester.  This is just before he jumped on the bed and started scratching at the cover.

In the first place, he’s not allowed on the bed.  Somehow he seems not to have got that memo.

In the second place, I don’t like being woken up with a rather shrill meow in my ear.

What, I ask, in a rather grumpy tone.

He sits on my stomach.  Maximum effect for a cat that’s heavier than it looks.

It’s national cat day.

Rubbish, I mutter.  I’d know if it was or wasn’t, it comes up on the computer.

It’s national cat day.  You have to do what I tell you.

As if that doesn’t happen every day.

I throw the cover over him and he disappears.  Get out of that, I say, and I’ll think about it.

In the meantime, I go down to the computer and have a look.  National cat day?  Not our national cat day, it’s in the United States of America.

I hear the jingling of his bird warning system coming down the passage, then a moment later he appears at the door to my office.

Got your wires crossed mate, I say.  It’s in America, not here.  Back to the boondocks for you matey.  I’m going back to bed.

I think I just noticed a cat can shake his head like a human.  Or maybe not, it’s too early in the morning to be bothered about it.

 

 

“The Things We Do For Love” – Coming soon

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself.  It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.  

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone.  To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.

But can love conquer all?

It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

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It’s the end of another month

October, where did that go?

I think when I woke up this morning it was the end of September, so I think Rip Van Winkle and I have something in common.

I guess I’m still wondering where September went, and the month before that.

A lot has happened though.  No, I didn’t get enough time to sit down and read a book like I was hoping to.  The shelves and there are quest a few of them, are full and I have to now replace books when I buy a new one.

Either that or I have to move into a larger house.

Wrong.

I’m retired, so shouldn’t I be downsizing?  Or do I build an Airbus A380 aircraft hanger out the back of my small retirement bungalow for the library?

Stories are progressing, though I haven’t written as much as I would like for each of them.  Instead, I have been editing a new novel, and working on the plan for NANOWRIMO, the ups and downs of that have been chronicled in three posts already, and I’m sure as the month progresses, there will be more.

One day someone in a theme park will be able to create a new death-defying ride that will be called ‘NANOWRIMO will be the death of me, maybe’, with all the twists, turns, gradual ups, and terrifying downs, and that endless heart in mouth moment, followed by that intense feeling of sick stomach when something works or when something fails.

Maybe we should simply call the ride ‘A Writer’s Journey’!

As for everything else, it gets done when I can because I still need to get at least two hours sleep and four hours dreaming up the next scene for whatever story I set in my head as my head hits the pillow.

I’m sure there’s an easier way, so if you know what it is, please tell me.

It just passed midnight here and Halloween is over for another year.  It’s not such a big thing in Australia, we don’t go all out with the Jack o Lanterns, but the kids wander the streets in their costumes, some quite brilliant, looking for candy and we always have a good supply.

 

In a word: Pray

It’s usually associated with the church, and saying a prayer for someone or something, but it kind of covers a lot of different situations, like,

We’ll pray for rain, we’ll pray for Mary to recover, I’ll pray for forgiveness.

In other words, in all of these instances, we are looking for intervention by God.

There is another instance, not related to religion, in that in a general sense you can pray for good weather over the weekend because they’re going camping.

In fact it is basically to hope for something very much.

It is, in a sense, wishful thinking, because in reality, no-one can predict, let alone dictate, what the weather will be.

It is also a forceful way of saying something, like,

Where the hell have you been, pray tell?

There is another word that sounds quite similar, prey.

That describes a creature that is hunted by another for food.

It’s also someone who is easily deceived or harmed.

It could also be something that preys on your mind

NANOWRIMO eve

I’m ready, finally, to set sail.

It was touch and go with the preparations almost foundering on the rocky shoreline that represented the plot holes, and in the end, I put all of the plot lines on cards and blue tacked them to the wall in the order I expected they would play out, and it showed where the holes were.

It was an innovative idea, sadly not my own, but one I used many years ago when working as principal researcher for a company biography, a company that had been in business since the 1890s. Inthat instance, I collated the main points attached to dates, sorted the cards m into date order and it gave a very clear historical outline.

The same, I found worked for the plot, and in being able to attach a loose timeline across all of the plots and sub plots to see where, chapter wise, they were going to fit in. Or where something was missing.

I know there’s probably very good computer software that also does this, but I was getting distressed, and didn’t want to put it all into a program, and find it didn’t do the job quite as i might expect, and being so close to starting time I didn’t have the time to fiddle.

Call me a luddite, but what did we do before computers. Yes. Pencils and paper.

Or was that charcoal and papyrus?

Betwixt metaphorical houses

It’s like working in two offices, one uptown, and one downtown.

I have two blogs, this one, and another which is purely for writing, and generally, a lot of starts and not a lot of finishes.  I get ideas, and it’s a place to store them, and give a few people some amusement at my, sometimes, improbable situations and far-fetched stories.

Here I try to be more serious.

I have the ceiling, the cinema of my dreams.  Here anything is possible, like jumping from a helicopter about to explode, and survive, and get out of a sinking ship, like Houdini.  Of course, there is always one time when it doesn’t work, and Houdini knows that all too well.

Over there, I have a series which I started here, long ago, where I take a photograph and write a story inspired by it.  The interesting thing about that is I could probably use the same photograph over and over, and it would inspire a different tale.

I know, if I was running a writing class, everyone would see that photograph differently.

But what amazes me sometimes is the fact the story is not directly related to the theme.  It got me thinking about how we view our experiences, and what triggers memories.  I’ve discovered that it doesn’t necessarily happen by correlation, say, for instance, a memory of being in New York might be triggered by a visit to a cafe in Cloncurry.

I try to do one of these every day, but sometimes it’s hard work.  Writing itself can be some days, particularly when the words are lurking there, behind that invisible, impenetrable, rock wall.

OK, so I’m stuck in the middle of writing a piece over there, and I’ve come over here to whinge.

But, enough.  I’ll let you know what the cinema of my dreams is showing, later.

Conversations with my cat – 61

20160902_094127

This is Chester.  This is just before he jumped on the bed and started scratching at the cover.

In the first place, he’s not allowed on the bed.  Somehow he seems not to have got that memo.

In the second place, I don’t like being woken up with a rather shrill meow in my ear.

What, I ask, in a rather grumpy tone.

He sits on my stomach.  Maximum effect for a cat that’s heavier than it looks.

It’s national cat day.

Rubbish, I mutter.  I’d know if it was or wasn’t, it comes up on the computer.

It’s national cat day.  You have to do what I tell you.

As if that doesn’t happen every day.

I throw the cover over him and he disappears.  Get out of that, I say, and I’ll think about it.

In the meantime, I go down to the computer and have a look.  National cat day?  Not our national cat day, it’s in the United States of America.

I hear the jingling of his bird warning system coming down the passage, then a moment later he appears at the door to my office.

Got your wires crossed mate, I say.  It’s in America, not here.  Back to the boondocks for you matey.  I’m going back to bed.

I think I just noticed a cat can shake his head like a human.  Or maybe not, it’s too early in the morning to be bothered about it.