Tag: On Writing

Mind Punch


Yesterday was a good day. I put down 3500 words and went to bed feeling pretty awesome. Woke up feeling pretty awesome too.

Then I listened to a Black Library audio drama called “The Stromark Massacre“. In particular, it was Andy Smillie’s “From The Blood” which is Disc 1, and by the time I finished it I was a seething mess of frustration.

That story was beyond awesome. Even as I write this I can feel my frustration bubbling just under the skin. I’ve never met Mr Smillie but right now I feel if I were ever to meet him, I can’t be sure if I would greet him a handshake or a punch. Perhaps, I should explain.

Or a handshake?

Normally, if another author makes me want to eat glass and nut a brick wall it’s because I discover they’ve already had my idea, already committed it to paper, and done it a lot better than I would have done. Not so with Mr Smillie. I think I’m passed that kind of reaction now. Too be honest, I hadn’t considered writing a Flesh Tearer story. I hadn’t even considered a black rage/red thirst spin on a Blood Angel story. In fact, I had no ongoing project that even remotely resembled this story. So why am I so downhearted? It’s because, in my opinion, Mr Smillie is in another authorial league; he makes my paltry efforts look like my niece’s first attempt to write her name with a crayon. Worse even. I feel mine would more closely resemble a potato print.

My latest submission… surely they’ll want this one? Look, I’ve mastered the colour ‘blue’ this time.

I have felt like this before, namely when I first started getting serious about my writing. I’m sure everyone does. You know the ones…

‘I’ll never be able to write like that.’

‘This author is a God.’

‘I’m a tosser.’

‘Is my grammar any good? Is that how you spell grammar? Fuck, where do I put the full stop? A semi-what?’

‘I could never think up shit like this.’

Sure, we’ve all been there. It’s a difficult hurdle to get over. I guess I never expected to feel like that again. I thought I was passed all that. So, should I ever meet Mr Smillie, do I shake is hand on a job well done? Or, do I punch him for forcing me to raise my game?

Come to think of it, I’ve heard he’s secretly a ninja so I might have to give him a mind punch instead. Only fair, considering he’s just given me one.

Later,

M.

 

Victory is mine


Unbelievably, I finished everything I wanted to today.

Well, almost everything. I didn’t get anywhere near the word count I hoped for. Instead I achievied a miserable 1000 words in the end. I can’t write anymore today as I’m off out for a bite to eat with the wife because she’s arranged for us to have a dinner out with friends. A shame I know but take note… take your wife for granted at your own peril. She has the power and an inherited devious-ness (passed down on a genetic level from Eve herself) to make your life a living hell for at least a week should she so desire. A little bit of wife maintenance tonight will give me the next few days burden free. Oh, and I’ll also have a rather nice steak too. Om nom nom.

Yep, all in all, a surprisingly good day that deserves a victory dance. Behold!

Later,

M.

Oh, is ‘devious-ness’ even a word?

Too much to do


I can’t be arsed with blogging this morning so I apologise in advance if this entry is riddled with errors. I’ve got just too much ‘shit’ to deal with today and so I’m just going to bullet point a list of what I absolutely have to get done.

• Go to the farm and start up one of the tractors. This is one really grinds my shit. We contract out the crop spreading aspect of the farm business. You’d think these guys would know how to start a bloody tractor. I mean, they drive them for a bloody living! No, that would make my life easier if they could do that. Apparently our tractor is ‘temperamental’ and can only be started in a particular way. This is bollocks. I just turn the fucking key. Retards.

• I have to be at the farm to take delivery of six tonnes of poultry feed. I called up this morning to ask what time I could expect the delivery and was told it could be some time between 1pm and 5pm. So basically anytime this afternoon then? Wankers! I’ve been up since half past six already – because that’s when they usually come in.

• I am expecting a delivery at home today too. This one will definitely need signing for and wouldn’t you just know it? It’s coming this afternoon. Now I need to figure out how to be in two places at the same bloody time.

On top of all this, I had planned to write around 4-5000 words today. It was meant to be that all of my farm duties would have been completed before 8am as that is what usually happens. Typical that today, when I really needed things to go to plan so that I could sit down and write, that it all goes to hell. I fear this blog entry will be all the writing I actually get done today. Bollocks. I’ll try and find the time to bash another entry out tonight and let you all know how I got on.

Later,

M.

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.’

 

Malcolm read his latest story review on WarSeer.

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,

 

M.

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,

M.

Burning the midnight oil…


 

I stupidly lay down a challenge today thanks to some dude called Jonathan Green. He’s an author type I follow on Twitter. I saw earlier that he’s posted the fact that he had finished and edited an entire short story in just one day. I immediately asked if that included planning and outlining to which he replied no, that that had been done months ago.

 

So why am I a fool?

 

I’m a fool because I said I was going to pull an all-nighter and try and write a complete story myself. Not only that, but as I didn’t actually have any on-going projects, I’ve had to plan and outline first. As it stands, I have a completed outline and synopsis and I’m about 2000 words into the story itself. The thought has occurred to me that if I do manage to finish I would have surpassed Jonathan Green’s effort. One major difference however is that he will likely get his published while mine languishes at the bottom of my desk drawer. C’est la vie.

 

I’m going to stop this post here as A) its eating up valuable story writing time and B) I am going to test something. Over the next hour I am going to try and hammer out 2000 words. That will bring the story roughly up to the halfway point and give me a major confidence boost. If I can’t and only average 1000 words an hour then I will admit defeat (for the night) and go to bed. Mr Green can keep his title and I will bow down out of respect as before.

 

Later,

 

M.

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.

 

Yummy… a sausage!

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.

 

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…


That damn fox makes it look so easy…

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.

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.’