blogging – Page 3 – Captain's Log

Relentless

Another story finished today. Hit the word count at about 8am this morning and damn but that felt good. This is the second story I have completed in a short space of time and I have to say, nay, I have to repeat… It feels bloody good.

This story is another Warhammer fantasy story, focussing on the Black Guard. I’m quite pleased with how it’s turned out but for now it’s going away in a drawer for a week or two. Its time to forget it even exists and get on with something else. When I do finally unearth it again it’ll be do read it with fresh eyes and begin the editing process.

A lot of people hate editing but I love it. Other than finishing a first draft I don’t believe there is any better feeling for a writer than re-reading a crappy sentence and then re-writing it as an awesome sentence. Yes, I’ll be trimming the fat and sharpening those key scenes so that when I come to read it again, it’ll be even better.

One thing I never do, and which I have been giving much thought to is letting others read my work. I still feel like something of a fledgling author (I call myself an author now, because I’ve actually finished shit. Okay it’s not published but, hey, it feels good) and I don’t want to be crushed yet. I don’t ever want to be crushed, of course I don’t but you know what I’m saying.

On the flip side of that, I value criticism so long as it’s constructive. I’d feel awful if some bloke read my work and his only feedback was ‘This is bollocks mate.’

I was recently asked to read another chaps work and being something of a bumbling bumpkin I think I shot him down in flames. I really didn’t mean to. It was only afterwards when my subconscious was running over the conversation again that I suddenly sat bolt upright in my chair and said ‘Oh shit!’ I thought long and hard about that and how I meant to say that the story really was good, but I could see where it could be improved. I think what came across was ‘Meh, I don’t get it.’

Should I ever bump into that chap again I’ll buy him a pint or two – a kind of sorry for being such a thoughtless prick.

So, that was kind of cathartic. I feel like I’ve confessed in the worldwide confession booth of the Internet.

Right, time to be going. I have a story to bury at the bottom of a drawer and garage to paint.

Later,

I failed

Last night I attempted to stay up all night and write an entire short story from start to finish. Inspired by Jonathan Green, a Black Library author, I took this challenge upon myself for the following reasons:

1) Obviously, to see if I could do it.

2) To see if I had the discipline to sit down and hammer out the words to meet the word count whilst avoiding distractions.

3) To see if I really am serious about pursuing a career as a writer.

Where Jonathan Green did all of his planning and outlining weeks before, I included the outlining as part of the challenge. My hope was that not only would I succeed in completing the story, but I‘d also have done all the planning too, in just 12 hours. I didn’t have an idea for a story either, so that had to come from somewhere too. Clearly, had I succeeded I would have trumped Mr Green’s effort. I can’t imagine how chuffed and amazed I would have been had I succeeded. I would certainly have used it as a benchmark for future stories though. I mean, if I could turn out a complete story in just 12 hours, how many could I bash out in a month?

Well, the answer is irrelevant I suppose, because I failed.

I did get the outline and synopsis done. I also put down about 2500 words. Today I’ve hammered out another 1000 on it so in theory I should finish by the end of the week. I’d love to finish it sooner though. Last night, I think around 1am maybe, I really started to flag. If only I had taken Jonathan’s advice and bought a shitload of Red bull. Alas, I didn’t and instead I started writing at the speed of spastic tortoise, my brain unable to process more than one word at a time.

Anyway, if nothing else, I’ve put a lot of words down over the past day which is really good practice and promotes discipline to the craft. It would be fair to say that learning has taken place. Not a whole lot mind because as soon as my wife works her next night shift I’ll be parking my fat arse in front of a keyboard for the night. I certainly won’t be spending my time abusing myself watching T&A flix either. Not this time.

Right, it’s about time I sod off for the night.

Later,

Behold my lump…

My story is finished. I hit the word count today and it came in a little over 9.5K. This is an awesome day.

I’ve been chatting with various folks on forums and many agree that finishing a story is a massive hurdle many writers will never make it over. Some will face plant straight into it and not recover. Others will see it approaching and change direction, giving up for a while before returning with a new story only to fail again.

But what do I really have here? Have I really got a finished story? Have I fuck.

I’ve got a massive lump of clay.

That lump is now ready for the real fun to begin. The story’s there, hidden and lost in crap but I know it’s there. Over the next day or so I’ll dig it out and watch it take form on the page. This is what re-writing is all about, and if you ask me, this is the real secret that wannabe writers everywhere are really looking for. I should point out that I am one of those wannabe types so I am in no way using the word ‘wannabe’ in a derogatory manner. That said, I am of the believe that nothing worth having comes easily. I believe you have to work bloody hard to finish that story, before you can even begin. That makes no sense right? Wrong. It makes perfect sense. Half the battle is not knowing where your story is going. If you can get a beginning, middle and an end down on paper then you’re half way there. It really doesn’t matter if what you have actually written is utter guff, because this is where re-writing comes in to its own. It’s easier to re-write a paragraph than it is to make up one from scratch. That’s my view anyway and I believe it really is the secret to writing.

Well, I’m sorry to make this such a short post but I have a bottle of wine to crack open now in celebration of reaching my word count. Then with highlighter in hand and a pencil or two I’ll put the secret into practice.
M:-)

Freewriting…

Free writing

The spontaneous and unfocused vomit of words upon a blank page. Sounds awesome! So how does it work?

Apparently I just stare out of the window or something and write whatever comes into my head. I’m not to think about it though. I am finding this a tad hard this morning as a there is a cat hopping all over my lap, kneading my legs and arms. Occasionally he’ll slip and drag his razor claws down my thigh. If I put him on the floor he sits under my legs. This is bad as I am only wearing a robe, which by the way is my name for a dressing gown. I worry he may look up and see something temptingly dangling and take a swipe. I can picture the blood dripping now, red and wet, warm perhaps and congealing quick. I’ll have to bandage it and clean it myself because there is no way on earth I’ll present myself at the local emergency department with a lacerated cock. I work there for Christ sake.

What the hell was that? Its not quite what I thought it would be, this free writing thing but I am surprised how quickly the words flooded out. I may do this again, without the cat. Tomorrow perhaps. The point is, I have only been up for maybe twenty minutes, and here I am tap tapping away at 7am. Usually I would be up for at least two hours before finding the strength(?) to sit down in front of my computer and start writing.

One of the things new writers will struggle with is the fear that what they write will be utter shite and that any effort is only ever going to be a waste of time and energy. This is a daemon of your own psyche and needs to be shot in the face the moment it rears its ugly head. The dreaded white page of emptiness, writers block, call it what you will, there are treatments for these maladies. Free writing is one such treatment, and although it might not allow you to keep going with that story you’ve been struggling with for weeks, it will begin to free your mind and let the words tumble out. I cannot describe how good it feels to pour words out onto a bank page and watch it fill. Think of it as a kind of therapy whereby the physical act of pumping out words helps you get back into that zone in your mind, you know the one. It’s the one that makes you feel like a real writer. Sometimes I have absolutely no idea what crap is coming out but I don’t let that bother me. I know there could be some hidden gems within that mound of raw material, and I’ll dig them out when I come to re-write.

DiamondInTheRoughBusiness — I am the Aladdin of the blank page!

Freewriting is worth having a pop at. Try it for just two minutes – you’ll be surprised how much you can put down in just 120 seconds and even more surprised to learn a bit more about how your mind actually works. Don’t think about what it is your writing, just stare out of a window, into a guttering flame, at the bubbles sending you morse code in your coke, it doesn’t matter. Let them out however they come and you’ll be amazed at what happens.

The Quick Brown Fox Jumped Over The Lazy Dog…

Fox — That damn fox makes it look so easy…

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

Will this work? Will getting up at the crack of dawn and beginning the tap tap tapedy tap regime stimulate my creative juices? Or will I sit here and stare at the dreaded white page for half the morning before doing all or a combination of the following…

Must get a 1000 words done/need a cup of tea first/just check my email/what’s up on Facebook?/click on that YouTube link/hmm its lunchtime/the muse is not with me… I’ll watch a movie to inspire me/perhaps going to the gym will help/I’ll never be a writer/I’m giving up for the day.

I suppose the fact that I am up and I am getting words down is worth something. I notice a hell of a difference in my ability to get those words down if I have so much as a few days off. Perhaps habit does feed the craft?

Well, I have a lot to do today. Today’s target is a meagre 2000 words but if I achieve that it will be double what I achieved yesterday.

Right then, I suppose the only thing left for me to do now is to crack on and get to work.

Is that grass over there greener?

Danny threw the response bag down and slumped heavily into the attendant’s chair. He looked bitter and thoroughly pissed off as he swung his booted feet up onto the stretcher. I sat down in another chair and waited. I could sense a rant coming on and knew Danny well enough to know it was imminent. A long sigh cut the silence like a knife as Danny finally lost his rag.

‘Dude, I’m so sick of this job. Today is the first day in two weeks that I’ve actually been put on a shift with a paramedic. I’ve had nothing but drivers for eight shifts!’

‘Really? That sucks.’

‘Tell me about it. It’s just shit at the moment. We get sent to crap all day long, then I have to do everything because my driver is just so useless its offensive, and when I get a sick patient and I ask for paramedic backup I get told there aren’t any available.’

I nodded without saying anything. I knew there was more to come.

‘It’s just not fair. How am I supposed to develop as a clinician in my own right when the only two people on this bloody ambulance are the driver and me? Who do I learn from? Or am I just supposed to make it up as I go and learn from my mistakes, because I’ll tell you this… patients don’t like mistakes.’

I smiled. ‘You’re right there mate.’

‘Yeah! I know!’

‘So why are you so upset now? You’ve got me today.’

He sat and thought, a confused look etched on his face. ‘I don’t know really. I guess it’s because even though you’re here and you can deal with the sick patients, it’s still going to be me doing everything, all the dog’s work I mean.’

‘I see. Well, I don’t mind doing everything mate. Seriously, pop your feet up. Actually, you just drive me around and I’ll sort the shit out as it comes.’

He sighed again. ‘Thanks mate, but you know me. I won’t let anyone shoulder my workload. That’s not me.’

‘Things aren’t going to get any better you know, what with the cuts coming.’

‘Easy for you to say mate. You could drop out of here anytime you want and go and work on your farm instead. I’ll be here till I retire.’

‘Bollocks mate. What did you do before this?’

‘I was a pharmacist. Well, I worked in a pharmacy, as a pharmacist’s technician.’

‘So you could go and do that again. You’re not trapped mate.’

He started to pack things back into the response bag. Where things were date stamped, he’d check it. I couldn’t remember checking a date on any consumable in over five years. He found a number of cannulas and needles that were out of date, and I’m guessing, no longer sterile. He threw them away and went back to his systematic check, pack, check, pack routine. Danny was good like that, dependable. You knew if you took over an ambulance from him it would be spotless. Nothing would be missing. No patient would suffer because a piece of equipment wasn’t available or it wasn’t cleaned properly. Nothing got past Danny. His movements slowed and he stared off into the distance as he spoke again.

‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘you forget the reasons you left in the first place. I feel like it would be taking a step backward if I was to go back to working there.’

I thought about that for moment and then, with a smile I said, ‘Not unless you’d taken a step forward into a hole. It would only be right to extricate yourself in that case wouldn’t it?’

He laughed. I laughed.

‘I see what you’re saying. Thing is though, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.’ He looked sad again. ‘For me though, it’s a case of old grass or no grass.’

If I had the power…

Today, whilst being chauffeured about in an ambulance by my ‘driver’ I took in the sights as we drove through my local town centre. Some of the highlights included:

A queue of people waiting outside the job centre, not looking for a job, but collecting their dole money.
A queue of people (well, more of a disordered rabble really. Well, actually they looked more like swaying zombies to be truthful) waiting outside a premises to get their methadone fix.

Does this look fun to you?

Several groups of eastern Europeans dancing in the street, chugging on bottles of cider and whiskey. Note: this observation is not specific to eastern Europeans. The English are just as bad, only they tend to only come out at night or else they stay behind closed doors and drink themselves stupid.

A typical ‘Benefit’ party.

Now, I may be about to get controversial and so let me state that these are only observations of a few people, and do not reflect my views on entire cultures, ethnic groups, race etc. That is to say, I am not intending to tar a group of people with a large brush, only a minority who for all intents are shit bags.

So, I got to thinking about how I ‘if I had the POWER’, would deal with these problems. This is what I would do:

I would make every single person claiming dole, benefits, job seekers allowance… whatever, provide a urine sample on the premises. If you’re drunk, or under the influence of drugs, you can bugger off until your clean. There are people who work certain kinds of jobs (on oil rigs for example) who cannot work and therefore cannot get paid and thereby pay taxes unless they provide a clean sample of urine. If they have to be clean to earn it, so should every other fucker be.
Ah, the heroin addicts. What to do with them? I say, let them have their drugs. But… add a little something to it. Something that will give them, I don’t know, a severe groin itch that lasts a week. They take these drugs because of the hit it gives them. Trying to block drugs entering the country won’t work. A real addict will only turn to crime or seek his drugs from dubious sources. In my view, the only way to combat this is to make the drugs undesirable, and I think an itchy groin will make a few think twice.

Also, cigarettes… I’d add something that makes their head glow fluorescent green. (Oh, I used to be a smoker, but now I am cured. I’ve seen the light.) I think many would give up immediately if they had go round looking like a Martian for the day. Thinking about it, I’d add this head glow thing to all drugs. I know drug addicts are fairly easy to spot anyway but I say shame them. Make them glow. Make doing drugs so un-cool that its cooler to avoid them altogether.

Well, I think we can all agree that none of these things will ever happen. There’s probably some mad law that would mean this sort of thing violates Human Rights or something. Almost as mad as say, paying these people benefits and handouts so that they can go out and buy more drugs.

What a crazy world.

M J

I don’t feel like writing today.

I really don’t feel like writing today. And yet, I have to.

This is one of those creative writing advice things that you find somewhere near the front of just about every creative writing book out there. You the know the one, “Try to write a little something every day. Even if you don’t feel like it.” To be honest, I’m not feeling the love right now. It would be so easy to shut this program down and fire up a game. I’d have much more fun, at least for a time. Then my shoulder angel would appear and say something like ‘You know, if you didn’t waste your time playing these games, you could be writing the back story for them.’ This almost always happens, and how the hell do you argue with that anyway?

Then the shoulder devil appears and speaks his hard to ignore words, ‘Don’t listen to that guy. He’s full of crap. He wants to lead you down the path that sucks. I’m not. You’re doing just fine on your own. Look! You’re a level ten druid.’

Angels & Demons — This is my life. I have conversations with these guys daily.

Well, I’ve resisted the cool devil guy and here I am. This is a good thing. I feel better already for having sat here and let my mad fingers go to town over the keyboard. It could have been an ugly experience, especially if I’d had writers block. That could have led to a very grumpy and depressing afternoon. But no, this is good. My mind is working, the circuits are firing, and new synapses are growing in my skull. My mind is being charged up for a potent release of genius. I can feel it….
Hmmm. Any minute now…. any minute and genius will strike. I’ll never suffer with writer’s block again. Come to think of it, when do you start calling yourself a writer? Technically, as I have actually published a total of fuck all then I’m not really a writer am I? So what the hell have I got if not writers block? Depression? Brain damage? Hmmm. Something is going to have to change soon. I can’t go on staring at blank screens and wondering why I can’t do it.

writers block — That’s right… because the computer is to blame for your lack of talent.

It’s a damn good thing I’m not being paid for this. My boss (hypothetical) would no doubt be wondering how best to lay me off. I’ve just had the strangest mental image. I’m going to have to try to find an image to encapsulate it.

Lack of Faith — This needs no caption. Oh wait… this is a caption.

Well then. This is just getting silly now. Although, I thinks its been worthwhile. It’s a few hundred words I wouldn’t have written if nothing else.

Lets see what madness tomorrow brings.

M 🙂

This is not an amused face…

;

Okay… slightly miffed as this is the second time I have written this post but…. count to ten….

Okay. Feel better now. Where was I?

Today, is actually a pretty good day. I have just submitted a short story to a publishing house and feel really quite chuffed with myself right now. I am sorely tempted to crack open the wine and have a mini celebration all on my own but I’ll have to try to resist. My wife took her motorbike into work today and I happen to know that she was running low on fuel when she left the house. She’s at that nervous stage in her biking life whereby she knows the bike needs fuel but she’s never filled a bike up before. I went with her the first time but today she is all on her own. I got a text message a few hours ago that said she hadn’t stopped on the way and so she’s hoping she can make it to the fuel station on the way back.

*Sigh*

No wine for me just yet. I wonder if I’ll have to go and rescue her? Running through the options, it would seem the most likely scenario will see my driving to the fuel station and buying one of those annoying little containers. Then I’ll have to stand in a cue of cars like a lemon until I can fill the thing up. Drive off, fill up her tank and then drive off in disgust. Okay, maybe not disgust… but that won’t be a joyful face.

I’m off work today, and have been praying all week for a nice sunny day today. Behold! It is sunny! I was insanely pleased about this when I got up this morning as I’ve been itching to get out on my own bike all week. Alas, look at what I found in my tire…

An EVIL nail. — Arghhhhhhhhhh! I don’t believe it!

It should be noted that this is an image dragged off the net but, yeah, this is the same thing I found this morning. A fucking nail!

I rang my local garage and asked if I could pop in on the off-chance and have them just change it over quickly. I could almost hear the bitch sniggering down the phone, and I swore I heard her mouthing to a colleague ‘Oi, Daphne…. this bloke’s asking if he can just pop in on the off chance!’

Bitches.

Anyway, the end result is that it will be Tuesday afternoon before they can do the work. I’d do it myself but they don’t even have it in stock so I’m doubly shafted.

So, Tuesday…. hmmm. Just in time for me to go back to sodding work.

Damn, I really want to open that wine. Maybe if I text her now she can tell me of she thinks she’ll make it to a garage? Hmmm, maybe not. As pissed off as I’ll be having to rescue her, I doubt my wrath will compare to hers if I can’t perform said rescue because I’m drunk.

*Sigh*

M 🙂

Think…. think… oh sod it.

The title pretty much sums it up. I’m supposed to be studying and yet I keep getting sucked into bloody Facebook and various other forums,

Well, in an effort to do something constructive I thought, ‘Hey! Why don’t I write on my blog?’

I mean, its been fucking aeon’s since I even looked at this thing.

Damn this wine is good.

You see what happened there? I was telling you how long its been since I wrote something and then I go and get all involved with the wine again. I’ve been doing that all night. You don’t believe me? Ha, well I started that last sentence a half hour ago. I’ve been trawling through Facebook since. Oh, and Its my second glass since even starting this post.

Damn this wine is good.

Did I mention I like motorbikes? I do. I think they are gods own mode of transport, should he actually need anything. Anyway, this is just a random tangent I’m letting my fingers tread so bare with me a while longer. I’ll tell you about my latest project. Take a look at this…..

I call this beast El’Rusto. Its a fucking heap…. for now.

This beast has been keeping me busy for a few weeks now. I bought as a project and possible business venture with the wife. The plan was to buy up mechanically sound but otherwise cosmetically challenged bikes and make them look all pretty again. Simple eh? I mean its bomb proof right? Eh-er!

Its been a bloody disaster. Okay disaster is a bit harsh. Its not worked out quite how I thought it would. To save time here, and because I am a super lazy fucker, I will now compile a list of things I have learned and that have most likely fucked me off over the past few weeks.

CBR 125’s are as plentiful as council estate chavs.
Many council estate chavs are highly likely to own a CBR 125 at some time or another.
Being a chav, they are also highly likely to neglect little things like, oh I don’t know, servicing, MOT, basic maintenance. That sort of thing. Anything important that would involve any degree of responsibility.
Its also highly probable our friendly chav does not own a garage or even a shed. El’Rusto will sit outside in the garden, alongside a fridge maybe, and possibly a sofa.
If, like me, you are super keen to get to work and hopefully turn a profit, you’ll discover that because of all of the above, you’re in for real treat.
On getting the bike home (and into some decent light that doesn’t involve Mr Chav showing you the bike via a zippo lighter) you discover that the bike is more rust than anything else.
All of the fairings are scratched, cracked or both.
Every single serviceable item i.e air filter, spark plugs, breather pipes etc. are all absolutely fucking knackered.
An oil change will have you tearing at your own eyes as you struggle to make sense of the black sludge that drains from the sump.
Inspection of coolant will reveal that there is none.
Same for break fluid.
The forks will be badly pitted with the fork seals resembling something like Mrs Chav’s knickers after a night on the town.
You’ll probably sigh with relief as your realise the tires appear to be in good order, only to realise that that the rims are banana shaped.
Every little task you set yourself will, upon further investigation, be hiding a fucking big problem requiring not the half hour you planned but a full day.
I could go on… but the wine is running low.

I’m so glad this is good wine.

So, not to worry. The bike project is finally starting to make some headway now. I have conquered most of the major problems and corrected them and I’m happy to say that I think I nearing the finishing line. No, don’t applause. I’ve been here before and I don’t want anyone fucking clapping until that thing passes its MOT. I’m not sure if I had a goal prior to starting this other than to make money but now I certainly have one. I’d like this thing to pass its MOT first time with no advisories. That would be bloody wonderful and a testament to my manly skills too.

Right, wine? Wine??? Where the fuck is my wine?

Tag: blogging