On life´s impact and writing

It may have always been completely obvious to everyone else but this week I discovered that despite all good intentions and a lot of hard work, real life impacts our writing.

This week has been slow - non existent in fact. I booked myself into a little hotel in Estepona as planned, but there was no writing output whatsoever. There was some scribbling in notebooks and a few sketches but apart from that; nothing. Why?

On Tuesday I got made redundant. Not just me, but the whole office - the entire operation shut down and moved (though not necessarily with us included). There was no warning: it came completely out of the blue for everyone and you can imagine the atmosphere. There was tidal wave of emotions over the place and no amount of early Spanish sun could get rid of the clouds.

I naively thought some creative writing would distract from the scenario and give me something else to think about. But for the first time ever I had a form of writer´s block - or at least, I couldn´t write anything other than notes and thoughts and images.

Of course, these will be used in the future and I´m sure that the end result will be pleasing but - it was a real disappointment to be in the scenario where you have space to write and can´t. It also set me to thinking about how entwined our writing is with our own lives.

Whether its theme characterisation or setting, the general consensus is that we write what we know. Or at least use what we know to build upon and embellish, side step and stampede over with our desire to create lies from truth and truth from lies.

But I (perhaps stupidly) hadn´t realised the impact of living life on the ability to write as this was a first for me. I could not physically write anything constructive. Of course, I have things under control now and the career front looks promising so my mind can settle a little.

I guess I just have to put it down to experience, breathe into the empty space and give myself a little heave-ho to get started again. Is four days enough space? I believe so (though I´m still struggling to put words on a page in a coherent format).

This certainly relates to what John meant in his reply to my last post when he said "I generally write about the absurdity of life, the experiences I've had that I could never have imagined or planned. "

But - what if it happens again? Can a writer afford to let the downs in as much as the ups? Will it scupper all plans of getting published or will it all come out right in the end?

Maybe as Melan Collie said "Personally, I've enjoyed taking a break from writing now and again, because, in my experience, the journey through time can be as perspective altering and influential to one's writing as moving to a new place would be."

On wanderlust and the need for space.

Is it just me or are all writers (artists) driven by a need for experience, understanding and change?

Having resided in Spain for three years now (four separate addresses!) I got that crazy itch for movement, new shores, new people and traditions...more things to write about and dissect/devour when I have a plethora of ideas, characters and events still wanting to burst onto the page! There´s a time and a place, but they´re getting impatient. And so was I.

I am descended from gypsies: my grandma lived in a gypsy caravan up until she died at the age or 100 and something (the details here change depending on who you speak to). Like my father I am very creative and suffer from wanderlust, but is it to do with genetics or creativity that makes you thirst for more?

The wanderlust comes alongside a sort of freedom and anonymity also. The need for space to think, breath, just be. Without being something to someone for a little while. and so like a special gift came a Spanish bank holiday (Thursday 28th Feb) where everything is closed and you are forced to relax. And so...the result?

I had a fantastic writing day this week in Estepona - a little town in the Costa del Sol that is still Spanish. Just me, my notebook and some money had a date with the beach - we laid on a bench outside a church atop the hill and constructed a poem on wanting always what is out of reach called Restless. We ate pata negra ham in plaza de los flores, and some unknown spiky seafood in a boat on the shore which is used for barbecuing fish during the summer whilst composing a poem entitle periwinkle.

We also chatted to a clearly mad one legged man who believes he writes scripts for Stephen Fry and started out with an English accent and ended up with a Glaswegian one. interesting... (an hour of my life, a cheap sangria and three poems later...could one be called Mad Mike?) I gave him my website address - he may read this. Who knows? But that little bit of solitude and freedom to let the mind wander seems to have cured the wanderlust for now.

Kind of. I have the basis of around 10 poems from that day and so this week I am going to stay in Estepona town in a hostal and write in the mornings before work (pre 8am), evenings after work (post 6pm) and eat tapas/walk on the beach in the breeze somewhere in between. Some people I know think this is bizarre behaviour - but surely it keeps you grounded? I´m lucky to have two very understanding cats and one extremely impatient yet similar boyfriend who is happy to acknowledge my whims to keep me sane. Hopefully, he gets a good read out of it at the end.

But tell me - is it just me or are all writers driven by a need for experience, understanding and change? I would like to know.

Is writing just another form of addiction?

I lied. It´s impossible; I just cannot stop. I read about people saying writing is an addiction and that they feel compelled many times. But I´ve always wondered whether its just a little too...fake?

Perhaps not. My asthmas is in full force and I´ve got around 12 submissions sat fat and happy awaiting their jury but still I write... despite promising I´d have just a week off. I even got up last night to write down a dream I´d had that was a potentially excellent short story.

Oscar Wilde was addicted to the beauty of words, and was compelled to write and share his thoughts and observances. And these words are very well known and beginning to ring true:

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

So, should I put my pen down, bow down to ill heath and let my body and mind relax? Not bloody likely! I have an article to write and a few more open submissions I´m interested in which I´d like to get underway...the theme of one is beauty. How can I not succumb?

Another busy week and a little step back...

As well as the return of the first 10,000 words of my novel, I´ve had two poetry acceptances (Word Riot in the future and Savage Manners up now) and also have another 5 poetry submissions sat in some choice places including Dogeater which are awaiting decision. The second part of my Jacob Sam-La Rose poetry critique is complete, and next up we have Pauline Hughes Plummer, Tony O´Neill and visual poet Edward Picot.

I´ve also entered a short story competition in Australia, which will be announced the day before I fly out for my first visit to Oz! The prize is anthology publication which would be fantastic. I realised there was a 5pm Oz time deadline and so got up at 6am three days in a row to write it before work, and on the final day (Australia is 10 hours ahead!) continued with it until midnight to get the submission in on time. Dedication or madness? You decide!

An odd thing though is that two friends - both of whom I trust completely - asked me whether I was overdoing it. I don´t think so, and I´m thoroughly enjoying it but I figured I´m doing around 45 to 50 hours in my day job (as Communications Manager/Web Writer) and another 20 hours writing. So I´ve decided to listen and take a little step back and have a more relaxed week.

I also made a BIG MISTAKE. Its a funny moment to share however - I entered a flash fiction competition with Six Sentences which had the title - Mixed Drinks. I didn´t win. Perhaps it was something to do with my entry being called Mixed Nuts. What was I thinking?

The first 10,000 words returns...

The first 10,000 words of my novel have returned from The Book Doctor Hannah Davies and all I can say is it is money well spent! With some advice on the look that publishers would be looking for, plus notes on silly mistakes (e.g. word repetition), chapter breaks (7 become 3 and one removed) and general dialogue and pace...I´m very pleased with the results.

With an overall appreciation of my voice and a query about what genre the novel would fit into, I feel like I now have some solid points to work with to get a first draft of my novel completed. Not bad seeing as the whole thing was written in 30 days to complete the NanoWrimo challenge. In fact, I was very happy indeed. But the redraft will have to wait until May...

Can I really start a novel with the word fuck?

Just to get an idea of general opinion, I set up a poll in my building a novel blog and suggested these four opening sentences.

1. As a distant crash of waves broke upon the shore, Max stood at an odd angle outside his heavy oak front door.
2. Max was blind drunk and angry.
3. Max swayed outside the heavy oak door, in time to the sound of the waves in the distance.
4. "Fuck this" shouted Max, loudly enough to drown out the sound of waves crashing in the distance.

The most popular was: “Fuck this” shouted Max… But is it really possible to start a book with the word fuck? Firstly – is there a publisher out there that would be prepared to back this opening line? Of course, an opening line does not a novel make, but it’s pretty damn important!

How many readers would you lose due to the usage of fuck as a first word? Yes, it’s in every film and even printed in newspaper these days, and of course there’s many a novel out there that swear throughout the pages – but is it different as an opening word? Would it be applauded or be put straight down for trying to hard? Or is just that my balls have shrunk a little out of the fear of what others think?

I don’t know whether I prefer “Max was blind drunk and angry” or the “fuck this” opener. The first has less impact, less edge – and perhaps even a lot less of my voice. It’s more telling than showing, and I prefer the romanticism of the sway of the sea and the reality of one angry drunken man screaming his head of in the street. So I guess I do know really…writing this blog is clarifying it just a little!

So what was it that made me send the first draft of my novel to be doctored, with the opening line Max was blind drunk and angry. In fact, fuck this, I’ll change the first sentence and resend, and ask for a comparison. Can’t hurt, right?

Doctor doctor!

I took a great leap mid week; I’ve sent the first 10,000 words of my novel for surgery. I found a service near where I live, with Hannah Davies; a lady whose reputation certainly precedes her.

I’ve been accidentally landing on her website periodically over the last year or so, and finally I have something that is worth taking the plunge with. What she offers is not an editing service; it’s something much more exciting…

Hannah searches for glaring mistakes, considers the overall tone, depth of character and advises on what works well and what stinks. Of course, I can’t guarantee how well she does this until I receive her critique back. But I’m excited.

And so, a more than reasonable sum of euros have been transferred, the first 10,000 words of my novel redrafted, and it’s now gone: emailed with an overview of what the novel is about and bated breath. I´ll let you know how I get on.