E: Elephant

Blogging from A to Z: E

You're either going to think this is as funny as I do, or you're going to think I'm nuts. Either is fine.

Nobody wanted to be the one to mention it. Well, they never do, do they? It's that thing, the thing that nobody talks about. Our family secret. The obvious, that nobody states.

Leave it to Grandma to break the unspoken code. She doesn't do tact.

“Marjorie!” She bellowed at my mother, in that special decibel level that old people who are deaf but won't admit it, use.

“Marjorie, why is there a bloody great elephant in the living room?”


Denise Covey over at L'Aussie Writer has been kind enough to feature me today in her Bloggers Were Children Too! series. Check out seven-year-old me :-)

Catching up

I've been quiet this week. I'd like to say it's because I've been preparing my A-Z challenge posts but, uh, no. (More on that in a moment). I have been trying to get a few things wrapped up before the mayhem begins on Sunday though. I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo last week and it was enough to get me started reading the trilogy I've had since Christmas. I finished the last one last night and, although I thought they could have done with a serious edit, (really I don't care about all the specs of Lisbeth's laptop, just tell me it was 'top-of-the-range), I was hooked enough to read them one after the other. Yeah, that's my review.

I also went to see The Hunger Games at the cinema with the girls on Tuesday. I thought the last time I went to the cinema was to see Rugrats go Wild but the girls reminded me that I took them to see Nanny McPhee. That was in 2005, so going on Tuesday was a big deal. I would happily have waited for the DVD but it was lovely for the three of us to do something together. I was pleasantly surprised that, including us, there were only twelve people watching. I don't do well in crowds, so that helped me relax. As for the film, I thought it was okay. My biggest disappointment was the scene with the dogs. I'll say no more because of spoilers, but you probably know what I mean. On the plus side, there was nobody who I thought shouldn't have been playing the part they had. The stand-out for me was the girl playing Clove. I thought she was fantastic.

I had a great deal of trouble choosing a theme for the A to Z challenge so I'm going with … no theme. Big surprise, huh? I've got a few things written for other themes I was going to do (flash fiction, eighties stuff), so I'll still use those, but sometimes it might be pictures or other bits and pieces I've found. The only thing that hasn't changed since I signed up is the first post – it's a very easy one for me :-)

I've sent off the first chapter of one of the stories I'm revising to two different people for a critique. I'm plodding on with the rest of the work, so I'm happy with how that's going. I've also had an awesome idea for a new story, but I'm not quite sure how it's going to work, so I've written some notes and am just waiting for it to ferment some more.

To the nice people who have been inviting me to Google+ this week, I'm not ignoring you, I'm not on Google +. Thanks for asking though :-)

There will be a Musical Impression tomorrow, it's a special celebration one, so I hope you come back and share a friend's good news!

How has your week been?

Campaign Challenge 2

There will be a special edition of Musical Stories tomorrow morning, but I'm sneaking another extra post in this week, for the Campaigner Challenge.

I found this one very difficult, but I was determined to complete it. The original story was written very quickly - reducing it from 1100 words to less than 200, took hours!

I've used all five prompts in the following story, which is 199 words. For an added challenge it's the dystopian genre, which is new to me. (Although to be fair I couldn't come up with a story in any of my usual genres that the prompts would lend themselves to).

Also as an additional challenge I'm happy for anyone to offer any constructive criticism that would help me to improve. To be honest, I think the story has lost something in the word reduction, but rules are rules :-)

ETA: Forgot to add the link to Rachael's page, where you can view the prompts.
(I'm number 93)


Pure
He was obviously privileged, judging from his scarlet coat. Seeing him, after passing kids scrabbling through trash, made me want to scream.

Distraction made me careless so, when the flash came, I was flung off the bridge. I wasn't injured but I needed to get out of the water quickly. I swam to the support and climbed. The boy was there.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

He pointed to a gash on his leg, nothing serious.

“Where do you live?”

“Nowhere. Men came and took Nana, 'cause she's a creator. I hid, but then I got lonely.”

The cabal. Because of them, the few remaining water creators were hidden, only helping family or the wealthy. The rest of us drank the stuff the daily flashes poisoned.

At home, after I'd cleaned his leg, he wanted water.

“Sorry kid.”

He grinned then grabbed an arid pear, balancing it on a wooden spoon.

As I stared, the pear vanished and a spray of pure water shot across the room.

“You're a creator? How? You're a kid.”

He shrugged.

The world was saved. I'd take him to the authorities, they could find others.

But what if they didn't?

I had water now.  

Counting words with Annalisa Crawford

That was some party yesterday, wasn't it? No time for hangovers though, I have to clean up around here. *Sweeps confetti under the rug*. I've got a guest!

It's my absolute pleasure to welcome Annalisa Crawford from Wake up, eat, write, sleep to my blog today. (If she added 'blog' to that title, she'd have my whole life!) Annalisa's novella, Cat and the Dreamer was released on 14 February. Here's what you want to know:

As a teenager, Julia survived a suicide pact, while her best friend Rachel died. Julia’s only escape from her guilt, and her mother’s over-protection, is her imagination. When Adam arrives in the office, Julia’s world takes a startling turn as she realises reality can be much more fun than fantasy. Finally she has someone who can help her make the most of her life. But can she allow herself to be truly happy?

Buy it here:

Vagabondage Press (inc, PDF version)

Kindle UK

Kindle US

Nook

Now, take it away Annalisa!

Firstly, a big thank you to Sarah for inviting me over to her blog today. Posting on someone else’s blog is a bit like being inside your TV and looking out, slightly disconcerting but lots of fun.

Did you know that War and Peace has approximately 570k words (a Google search brings up varying counts – that’s an average), To Kill a Mockingbird has 99k, but The Color Purple only has 67k? I did - because I’ve previously Googled them (and before Google, I searched Yahoo!). I used to be obsessive about word counts. In fact before the internet, I’d grab books from my shelves just to count words:

Average words on a line x number of pages – 1000 or so for empty spaces = The Word Count.

And then I’d compare the counts to my own novels, fall short and feel disappointed. Put your hand up if you recognise yourself in this… erm… please tell me I’m not the only one!

I also – still – buy books based on their thickness. There’s nothing better than seeing a short novel on the shelves: if they can get published at that length, so can I! I’ve found some wonderful books doing this, but I also realised they were the exception to the rule.

In an attempt to increase my word count, (unpublished novel #1 for example, started life at 23.250 words) I developed The Method, otherwise known as Write & Delete - a six-point plan to increase my wordage:

1. write your story, preferably longhand

2. type up the first draft, editing and developing as you go

3. print out and then delete the file (or move it to another part of your hard drive if you’re not brave enough to delete it completely – just don’t look at it anymore)

4. read the print-out, make notes, scribble all over it, huge chunks of prose should appear as if by magic

5. retype

6. return to #3, and repeat as many times as you choose.

BUT, WAIT… these days, is word count so important? Am I stressing about nothing?

When I wrote Cat and The Dreamer – the first version was written about seven years ago – I loved the story, I thought it was perfect, but I assumed it would never get published, solely based on the fact it was only 22,000 words – too long for a short story magazine, far too short for a novel.

Seven years ago, if you remember, was before the explosion of ereaders and ebooks. And when that explosion happened, people were suddenly clamouring for books to read on their Kindles. Now there are Nooks, iPads and smart phones too, the clamour has grown.  Can you imagine reading War & Peace on your smart phone?

Shorter pieces, it seems, are now much more desirable than they are when printing volume costs and unit costs have to be taken into consideration. Based on this, and after some thought-provoking comments on my blog, I pulled Cat and The Dreamer out of its drawer and submitted, and the rest is history!

It's taken me a long time to realise it, but in today's market size is not important. People are selling individual short stories of 2000 words, and making a name for themselves. Simply write the story you want to write, make it the best it can be, and there will be more of a market than you think!

Thank you so much to Annalisa for visiting, and for making me feel more hopeful about all my work that doesn't seem to fit any known word count! Do you think word count is still important? Or do you think 'anything goes' these days?

The Evil Genius Blogfest

The Golden Eagle over at The Eagle's Aerial Perspective is having her second blog birthday today, and to celebrate she's holding The Evil Genius Blogfest. The rules are simple: create a story,or non-fiction piece, in any format about an evil genius. It can be an already existing person from history or literature or you could, as I have done, create your own.

At 450 words, my entry is a little bit longer than The Golden Eagle's suggested limit of 400, but I hope you'll forgive me. Also, please bear with me. Humour is not something I usually tackle!
                                         

Handsome hero crept round the corner, punching First Anonymous Bad Guy in the face. Second Anonymous Bad Guy was no problem either. Handsome Hero back-kicked him without even turning round.

Handsome Hero made his way to the pool area, not even caring that he still had his shoes on. Rules were made to be broken. There she was, Plucky Heroine, bound to a chair, gagged . She'd held her own so far through this long adventure, but now it was time for him to rescue her from the clutches of Evil Genius.

He ran over to her, breaking another poolside rule, and began to work at the knots holding her captive.

“Mmmph,” she said.

“Sorry sweetheart?” He was still concentrating on the task at hand.

“MMMPH,” she said again, more urgently this time.

He looked up. There stood Evil Genius, a gun in his hand.

“I knew you'd come. This time Handsome Hero, it really is the end for you. I don't know how you escaped the ski lift of death, the roller-coaster of doom, or the runaway-driverless-subway-car of destruction, but no matter. You won't get away this time.”

From the corner of his eye Handsome Hero saw something move. Turning his head to look, he realised that the pool wasn't empty. There were several sharks swimming in it. Sharks? Really? Even as he'd stuffed the Shark repellent in his pocket this morning he hadn't thought he would need it. Sharks were so last decade. On the other hand, it would make this all a lot easier. He would be forced into the pool, then whilst Evil Genius was recounting every last step of his incredibly long and detailed plan to take over the world to poor, helpless Plucky Heroine, He, Handsome Hero, would despatch the sharks, silently climb out of the pool behind his nemesis and knock him unconscious. He sighed. It was a shame he had to get his hair wet.

“Stand on the edge of the pool,” ordered Evil Genius.

“I suppose you think you're going to make me jump in. No way that's happening.” Handsome Hero was pleased that he'd finally got some use out of the reverse psychology degree he'd taken all those years ago.

Evil Genius grinned an evil grin.

“Know why they call me Evil Genius?” He asked.

“No, why?”

Evil Genius raised his gun and shot Handsome Hero in the head. He watched as his enemy's lifeless body toppled into the pool.

“Because I learn from my mistakes.”

Plucky Heroine watched as Evil Genius walked away. She wondered how hard it would be to change her name to Evil Badass Sidechick.

Campaign Challenge 1

Musical Stories will be up later tonight, but here's a little extra post for you, my entry for the first Campaigner Challenge of 2012.  You probably know the rules by now, but just in case:

It's a flash fiction story beginning with the words 'Shadows crept across the wall.'
It ends with the words 'Everything faded'.
It includes the word 'orange'.
It's the genre I'm currently writing.
It's 200 words exactly.

I think I've fulfilled everything, so here it is. (If you get that far, it's entry 188 on the list).

Shadow Puppets
Shadows crept across the wall; a dog, then a rabbit, then something that Emma thought was an elephant. Robbie obviously liked it. His sweet giggle pierced her heart.

“More, Daddy, more.”

How she would miss her darling boy.

From her vantage point by the door, all she could see was Robbie's back, his head covered by the oversized orange baseball cap. It didn't matter though, every part of her son's face was etched in her brain. She wished to God she had the strength to fight this.

Jack's head appeared from behind the sheet that he was using as a screen. Even from across the dimly lit room, she could see his raised eyebrow, that meant 'are you still here?'. She felt for the doorhandle behind her. He'd won. The evidence he'd gathered about Robbie's illegal adoption saw to that. She could walk away, or end up in prison. Whichever, she'd never see her beautiful son again. Instead, the man who wasn't really his father would be left to raise him.

As Emma left the house she strained to hear just one more peal of laughter, but she could hear nothing. The music, Robbie, even Jack. All gone. Everything faded.

• 
  

The Lesson

She sweeps the classroom door open with an imperious gesture that doesn't match her inner feelings of unease.

“In.” she commands, with a slight tilt of her head towards the waiting desks.

Five minutes later, thirty pairs of eyes are fixed on thirty sheets of paper and her fear disappears, only to return as she catches him staring at her, an unfathomable expression on his face.

'Pull yourself together. Why be afraid of a fourteen year old?'

But she is.

She roams the classroom, making a comment here, a correction there. She forces herself to stop in front of his desk.

“Get on with your work.” Her voice is louder than it needs to be.

“Yes Miss,” the boy murmurs, so quietly she can barely hear him.

He bends his head over his paper, a shock of yellow hair hiding his expression from her.

Her insides are churning like a live thing trying to escape the confines of her body. She sits down quickly. He knows, she is convinced. The boy knows she is a fake. Her tough exterior will be an easy shell to penetrate.  Surely, she is on borrowed time. How long before he attempts to break that shell? Will he smash it in one piece or chisel it off, blow by blow? She gazes at the clock. When will this lesson end? How much more can she take without cracking? She is surprised she has managed to last this long without giving way. She thinks back. This is the longest she has survived without someone discovering her true self. Now it seems she will have to look for yet another job, jump before she is pushed.

She begins to shiver as he pushes back his chair and approaches her desk. This is it she decides, the moment of truth. He falters for a moment, and stares, wide-eyed, at her. After what seems an eternity, he simply grabs some paper and returns to his seat.

She knows then what his plan is. He is going to keep making her feel that a confrontation is imminent, then he is going to back off. Will her nerve crack before he tires of that game, or will he say something to her that will prove to his classmates what he already knows, that she can't handle them? They are a most unruly class and if they sense weakness, she will be helpless. The jailer has become the prisoner. What was once a pleasant lesson has become a weekly nightmare. She watches the hands crawl round the clock. A minute or two before the bell is due to ring he approaches her but, as he opens his mouth to say something, the lesson change signals.

“It doesn't matter,” he says, and turns away to pack up his things.

He is the last out of the door, and as she moves to close it behind him he turns back and stares at her for what seems like forever before she looks away and shuts the door. She sits down, shaking. Another lesson over, only one more to get through before she reaches the safety of home, but it's too much, she can't do it.

He hates this lesson. There is something not quite right about this new teacher, although no one else has noticed anything yet. As usual, she has them all working hard and silently within minutes of the lesson starting; but his pen soon slips out of his hand in favour of his daydreams. He isn't here in this stuffy classroom any more. He is a seagull flying high in the sky, soaring above everyone else...

His flight of fancy is shattered when a harsh voice breaks into his thoughts. It's her. He blushes, realising he must have been staring at her. She speaks a few sharp words to him and he bends his head in a posture of obedience.

When she moves away, he decides to draw his daydream. She won't notice, and anyway it's what he's good at, unlike all this other pointless stuff. He searches his folder but can find no paper so he leaves his place to get a piece from her desk. As he draws closer he stops suddenly, unable to stop himself from staring. There is definitely something wrong with her. She is pale and wild-eyed and, although it is a hot day and beads of sweat crowd her forehead, she has goosebumps over her arms. He tears his eyes away and sits down with his paper. He thinks of her for a few moments but then his desire to draw overtakes him and he has to get his ideas onto paper. It's not right though, he scrunches it up and heads for more paper, but then notices the time. Only a few minutes left.

“It doesn't matter,” he tells her.

He thinks she looks at him rather oddly but decides he's imagining it. Anyway, who cares? It's time to leave, thank goodness.

As usual, he's last out of the classroom. She follows him to the door and he looks back at her. She looks scared. She turns away and shuts the door.

'Weird woman.'

For a brief moment he wonders if he should tell someone. But tell who? And tell what? Anyway, it's time for Art, his favourite lesson of the week. He forgets her as he heads for the one hour a week he really enjoys.

No- one saw the crumpled drawing of a seagull that she'd clutched as she jumped. It became dislodged and the wind soon stole it, where it soared, free.

Constructive criticism very welcome.

Campaigner Challenge 1

The first campaigner challenge is here. In Rachael's own words:

Write a short story/flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “The door swung open” These four words will be included in the word count.

If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), use the same beginning words and end with the words: "the door swung shut." (also included in the word count)

For those who want an even greater challenge, make your story 200 words EXACTLY!

Here's my attempt. I've gone for the extra challenge of the beginning and end phrase and exactly 200 words. I'm not great at flash fiction yet, but I relish the chance to practice. Also, please don't judge me on the title :-)

I'm number 147, if you would like to vote :-)

Prisoner of the Mind

The door swung open. For a second he stared at it, too frightened to move. Then excitement overcame fear and he scurried across the cell. Peering into the corridor, he saw it was empty, and the door at the end – the one that led to freedom – was open too.

On the verge of running, he paused, uncertain. What if it was a trap? What if they were hiding, waiting to see what he would do? Maybe they just wanted another excuse to beat him. His smile was smug, he was too smart for them. He wouldn't play their game.

He shuffled back to the far corner of his cell, waiting. For them. An hour later, although he didn't know it was an hour, there was a shout from the far end of the corridor.

"Which idiot left the outer door open?"

Then another voice. "Jesus Christ! The auto mechanism' s malfunctioned, we've lost him."

Running footsteps then, approaching the cell. A head poked in.

"Panic over, he's still here. Idiot probably didn't even notice it was open."

He smiled to himself. They thought he was a fool, but he was too smart for them. The head withdrew, the door swung shut.

New goal and own goal

Kate Ellison of the blog Southern Scrawl has changed her name to Kate Avery Ellison. She's also got a book available on Kindle from Amazon. Congratulations to her on the publication of Once Upon a Beanstalk. There's another Kate Ellison. This Kate has a book, The Butterfly Clues, due out next year. If anybody knows this second Kate Ellison, could you please point her in the direction of Southern Scrawl so Kate Avery Ellison can forward the lovely emails she's been getting for her?

The girls go back to school tomorrow. The beginning of September has always been my New Year, the time when I make plans and set goals. This year is going to be slightly different in that the only goals I'm going to set are writing ones. I'm posting one of them here in the hope that I might work on that procrastination habit of mine, and hold myself accountable. Well, anything's worth trying, right?

The big goal, then, is to stop faffing about. A few words written here and there followed by deletion, is no good to anyone. I can tell myself it's okay, it happens to everyone. Or I can realise that aiming to one day be a professional writer means behaving in a professional manner. This is why I've ripped the guts out of my current wip and am, to all intents and purposes, starting again. My big goal then, is to have the first draft of this story finished by the end of October. I have other opportunities that I won't be able to take advantage of if I don't do this properly. Playtime is over and the new term has started.

Talking of procrastination, here's what can happen when you suffer from it. Today is a perfect day to tell you this story as it was the final day of the football (soccer) transfer window. (Mixed fortunes for my team). Readers who have been around for a while may remember this post. For those who don't want to read it, it tells of an idea I wrote down in my early teens that later turned up as much of the plot line in the film Sleeping with the Enemy. It happens of course, there's no such thing as an original idea. To be fair, at the time I wasn't ready to write any novel, let alone that one.

It was a different matter last Summer. That's when I first began to think seriously about trying to write a novel. I thought about the old old adage 'write about what you know', and this is the outline I came up with:

Summer is 15. She has supported Liverpool FC all of her life, it's something she shares with her dad. She's never seen them play live as they live on the other side of the country. Her father gets tickets to the 2005 Champions League final to be held in Istanbul, Turkey.* Dad dies a few weeks before the match and Summer decides to run away to Europe to watch the match, taking her father's ashes with her. The story will end with her walking into the stadium at the start of the match.

There were a lot of notes, but that was the basic premise. I love Liverpool FC and I was really excited about this idea, but then that nasty little voice crept in. The one that told me it was a stupid idea, that boys wouldn't read a book about a girl, and girls wouldn't read a book 'about football'. I should have written it anyway, because it was the story I wanted to tell. Instead I wrote something else, that turned out to be a novella rather than a novel.

A few days ago, whilst struggling with the current wip I decided to make some more notes for my football tale. Whilst doing research I found this story (and how did I miss this back in May?) Again, for those who don't want to read it, it's a news story discussing an upcoming film about a boy who runs away to Istanbul to watch the 2005 Champions League Final in memory of his dead father. If there's something you really want to write, just write it. Before somebody else does.

*This final is widely held to be the best ever in the history of the competition. Liverpool, the underdogs, were 3-0 down at half time. Nobody had ever come back to win from that deficit in this competition, much less against AC Milan. They finished the match 3-3, then Liverpool won the championship 3-2 on penalties.

Full of ideas, but all out of words

Well, after more than a week of upheaval, Diva and Blue each have a beautifully clean and tidy bedroom. We've thrown away enough rubbish to build a recycled replica of Buckingham Palace and I now have a dozen black bags of clothes in my hallway waiting to be donated to charity. Yesterday we visited the local library and handed over as many books as the three of us could carry up the hill, and any week now someone from the council will come and remove the sofa-bed from my driveway.

The only trouble is that somehow every single room, apart from the girls' rooms, is now a complete mess and full of things that don't belong there. The garage is overflowing with stuff (it's a good job we no longer have a car!) that nobody seems to want but we absolutely have to keep and, now that they have perfect rooms, Diva and Blue have lost interest in helping me. I don't blame them. They've worked really hard, they deserve the time to relax. Just like everything else round here, it'll get done. Eventually.

You would think that all this physical activity would really put a dent in my writing time wouldn't you? Well, you'd be wrong. The truth is, even before we started the house beautiful project, my writing had trickled down to almost nothing. I've been wrestling with trying to revise Looking for Lola (my one and only full length first draft) for weeks but I can't seem to make the story do what I want it to do. I think there's one of three reasons for this. The first could be that I'm just not a good enough writer yet to fix what I think is broken. The second could be that I just need to give it even more time before I go back to it – in which case, this week will have done me good – or the third reason (and the one I'm most worried about) is that the story itself just isn't good enough. I'm not sure which it is, but I'm not ready to give up on it just yet.

I did start to write another story, but a few thousand words in I wasn't sure the idea I had was strong enough to sustain a whole book. I haven't given up on that one either though, I mulled it over and made the odd note in my head as I threw furniture and moved rubbish. Then yesterday, something Diva said on the way home from the library gave me the germ of an entirely new idea. I jotted down a few thoughts and tried to file it away but it keeps coming back to me. There's not enough there yet to sustain a whole novel but it's coming, I can feel it. I'm a bit nervous about this latest one because it has to be set in an American high school and all I know about American high schools is what I read in books. Still, the internet is my friend, so it needn't be a deal-breaker. Whatever I decide, I need to do it soon. It's been a long time since I've gone so many days without writing anything, and just as I thought I was getting better too!

So, come on guys, what are you all up to? Has anyone else been through a slump like this? Am I wrong to try and force some words out, however bad they are, or do you think the act of writing itself is enough to get creativity kick started again?

Guess what I did?

Guess what you guys, I did it! Yesterday I finished my first ever first draft of a full length novel, (66,000 words counts as full length for YA, right?). The only thing I've managed before this was something that was supposed to be a novel but is complete at 36,000 words so I'm very happy.

I know the more experienced among you are probably grinning to yourselves and thinking, 'yeah, that was the easy part kid'. (I'm not sure why I imagine any of you would call me 'kid' but let's go with it). I expect that revising this novel will be tough, not just because of all the things I'll discover when I read it through, but because of the things I already know need fixing, due to me changing my mind as I was writing it and not going back to edit it. I have nine pages of notes that say things like 'Sam's broken leg in ch 11 is now a sprained ankle' and 'Glenda isn't needed, take her out and turn her son into one of Lola's mates'. My MC's Mother died and came back to life on four separate occasions (and no, this isn't supernatural!).

My favourite change will be the title. I gave this book a working title of 'Joe and the Angels'. Yes, I know it's rubbish but I had to call the files something. The only thing is there are no longer any Angels in it and he isn't called Joe. Other than that, the title rocks :)

I had to change my MC's name because I imagined Joe as a particular boy who had some very specific experiences and talents. He's changed beyond all recognition but I know that one day I'll want to go back and try again to write the story of my 'ordinary Joe'. I can't imagine him being called anything else, so this Joe is now Jamie.

Do I think this story is good? Yes I do. Do I think it will be the one that makes me a published author? Probably not, but that won't stop me doing my very best with it, and making it the best YA thriller that I can.

I know that in the grand scheme of things, writing a first draft (especially for the first time) isn't that big a deal, but to me personally it is. It's a sign that I believe in myself, that I think I'm worth taking seriously enough to actually make the time to sit and do this every day. Whether I still think that after a few weeks of revisions is another story, but for now it's a good feeling.

I'm going to take a few days off and read a book called Radix by A.A. Attanasio. It's something that Techno has been urging me to read since I first met him, and promises to be a very strange experience! After that, I'll start writing something else and in a few weeks time I'll start revisions on my first ever novel. I love saying that :)

P.S I forgot to add that I had to write quite an emotional part in the last chapter, and I made myself cry! How weird is that?

I thought of it first!

Before I start, I just wanted to say thanks to those of you who commented on my last post. I have some ideas now about how to go about finding readers and becoming part of the critiquing world. I'll let you know how it goes :)

Yesterday I was searching through some old writing files for details of a Writers Bureau course I started years ago. (I had thoughts about going back to it, but that's a story for another day). I'm talking about honest-to-goodness paper files here, from before I owned a computer. I was somewhat amused to come across my 'ideas' book. I've had this book since I was in my early teens. Anything that I thought might have the remotest potential has long since been transferred to my computer but I can't bear to throw the book away.

I've copied the following outline exactly as it was written in my book, including punctuation. Bear in mind I was about fifteen years old at the time!

A teenage girl marries. Soon realises it is a disaster. Husband an alcoholic, beats her and often rapes her. Eventually at 18, she gets pregnant. Final straw when he pushes her down the stairs in a drunken fit, causing her to miscarry – a fact she doesn't discover until later – she butchers him up with a carving knife, leaves him for dead, takes the car and starts a new life. 10 years later she's remarried and has twins. A man starts following her. It is her husband who wasn't dead after all – he' s tracked her down and he wants revenge for the stabbing which has left him in a terrible way. Her life is in danger when he kidnaps her daughter in an attempt to lure her to her death – then they fall for each other all over again.

I'll be honest here. I seriously considered omitting that last line from this post, I was so embarrassed by it.

then they fall for each other all over again.

I don't know what I was thinking when I decided that was a good ending. It's probably safe to say that these days no writer would think of ending this type of story like that, and if they did, no agent or editor would accept it.

(I was amused by the fact that whilst completely avoiding the issue of accidental bigamy, or any mention of her new husband, I deemed it important that she 'takes the car').

The reason I'm posting this today (apart from the obvious chance to give you all a nervous giggle at the insight into my teenage mind), is because underneath all the melodrama and plot holes I think that I had the tiniest seed of a good idea back in the 1980's. Hollywood must have agreed with me. Sleeping with the Enemy anyone? I remember the first time I saw the film. I told anyone who would listen (and a few more who wouldn't) how that was my idea and the success of the film obviously proved that if only I had written it, it would have been a best-seller. Obviously. Never mind the fact that I'm not Julia Roberts, not to mention a dozen other reasons why my assertion was wrong. You know what the biggest reason was? Yes of course you do. I didn't write a word of the damn thing. Ideas are easy. I've got loads of 'em. Some of them are even good; but they're not worth a bean until they become part of an interesting plot with well drawn characters. Almost three decades later, that's the part I'm still working on. (I also know now that two people can have the same idea and produce two totally different stories).

Did any of you ever have an idea that you thought was great, only to see it turn up later somewhere else?

Searching for that special someone

I need some help from you, my very small but oh so beautifully formed group of readers. I'm not ready for beta readers or critiquers (is that the right word?) yet but one day soon I will be. Now before you panic and click away, pretending to yourself that you never saw this post, I'm NOT asking for volunteers! What I am asking for is some hints on what would be a good way to go about finding such people. I know that it's a two way street, and actually that excites me. I'd love the chance to critique someone's work, I just don't know how much use to anyone I would be right now. Everything I know about writing I've learned from the internet. No-one has ever read what I've written, I've not been on any courses and I only own a few books on the craft of writing (although to be fair, one of them is Stephen King's awesome On Writing). I know lots of other people are in the same situation and I only mention it so you can see why I don't feel qualified to critique anyone's work yet.

Obviously I make it a point to read as much as I can about the actual craft of writing. Somewhere in my perusings I came across a post linking a site that was a good place to join to get to know people with a view to finding a critique partner, but I'm darned if I can find where I filed the link. I'm asking for your advice at this early stage of my WiP because I'm guessing it could take time to find someone who is comfortable enough with me to let me see their work and vice versa.

So here's where you lovely people come in. What I want to know is what skills should I be developing to become a good critiquer? (still not liking that word). Is there anything specific I should look for when trying to find a critique partner, and are there any sites that you can recommend as being a good place to find like- minded people?

Finally, how important do you see beta readers? I use that term to mean people who may not necessarily be writers themselves, but who enjoy reading and are prepared to say what worked and what didn't for them, even if they can't say why. I sort of have a beta team. That would be Diva and Blue. I was concerned that if I let them read anything they might go too easy on me. On Wednesday, Blue asked if she could make a few notes on a three page outline I'd typed for a possible project. After reading her notes (written in red pen of course) I know that at least one of them isn't afraid to tell it like she sees it! Don't worry, I've almost recovered :)

PS If anyone needs 14 year old beta readers I know two who will work for chocolate - and Playstation privileges :)

MYWYN Update 2

I thought it was time for another update on my May – You write your novel project. As I'm sure you know by now this is where participants write 80,000 words in 80 days. That's the only 'rule'. Luckily for me there isn't another rule that says you need to write 1,000 of those words per day .

Today is day 18 and my word count is – drum roll please – 12,812. Yes, you read that right. I've managed to fall over 5,000 words behind in less than three weeks. For the past few days, I've only managed a few hundred words a day, most of which I've deleted the next time I've sat down to write. I've finally admitted (temporary) defeat on the story I'm working on.

I've tried, but I'm not a 'pantser'. I don't need a detailed outline but I do need more than a couple of characters to be able to write a story. I've given myself until tomorrow to decide between two other ideas I have, and I'm going to start one of those instead. One is, I think, a really good idea but it might require some complicated plotting to make the story work as I want to tell it. The other is one that I keep promising my girls I will write as it's a subject dear to their hearts. I'm just not sure there's a full length novel in it. I'm still undecided but I have to make a choice soon as I have a lot of catching up to do!

I'm determined that I will have finished something by the end of this challenge, but to do that I really need to start again. I think I should stop calling myself a writer until I've actually managed to type 'The end' on something longer than a blog post.!

MYWYN Update 1

So May – You Write Your Novel is on day nine. How am I doing?

I'm keeping up to the target. My official count at the moment is 8847 but that doesn't include today's total of which I've so far written about 500 words so I'm over the magic 9000 words mark. I've found it harder than I expected to write 1000 words a day – it's more likely to be 2000+ every two days – but that's due to other things happening. I'm working on that. For now, I'm happy to be keeping up.

The way I'm writing this novel is a real departure for me. As I explained here, at the last minute I chose to try writing something based only on a vague outline I had of a few characters. I've never worked on something where I didn't at least think I knew the ending, even if I changed my mind along the way. So far, it's gone surprisingly well. Every time I sit down to write I wonder if today is the day that I have to give in and plot something out, but so far so good. It has to be said though, that I haven't read anything back yet so how much of what I've written will actually be usable is debatable. I know there's at least one thread that, at the moment, is just hanging in mid air so will either have to be deleted or added to in the first edit. In chapter two, my MC briefly met someone and learnt something about her that was really amazing. I'm now on chapter four and this hasn't been mentioned since. I'm sure there are other places where similar things are occurring but isn't that what edits are for?

One thing I really wish I'd done from the beginning is create my usual 'bible', where I list names, places, descriptions etc. as I'm writing. The story is going so well at the moment that I'm scared of jinxing it if I read it back so it'll have to wait, and I'll just have to try and remember people's names as I go along!

So, for now, I'm very happy with the way things are going. Here's to another week!

80K in 80 Days

I submitted my competition entry on Sunday. I might blog about it later if I can get over feeling embarrassed about it, but for now I have something much more fun to talk about, and that's my next project.

Remember this post? I said I had a new idea that I couldn't start until May. Well, it started yesterday, and it is – as I think my post title may hint at – 80k in 80 days. Yep it's that simple. A whole bunch of us are going to try and write a novel in 80 days, and cheer each other on while we do it. The lovely little badge to the right is designed by Dawn Amos. 'MYWYN' stands for May – you write your novel. Does exactly what it says on the tin!

Due to circumstances beyond my control (domestic duties) I've actually started today. I'm only about 500 words in at the moment but intend to be caught up by bedtime. Oh, and I'm not working on the YA sci-fi that I thought I was going to be. It's, well, I don't know. All I have is a courier, a child, a mysterious bad guy and freak environmental conditions. For the first time I'm going to have a go at writing something without having much (or any) idea of the beginning, middle or end. It should be interesting!

Thanks to Sally Quilford for coming up with the idea, and setting up the blog so we can all (okay, me) be impressed by how much everyone else has written and GET ON WITH OUR OWN. Okay, I'm going, I'm going. Wish me luck that at least half of today's 2000 words will make sense!

Something borrowed, something blue....

I'll start with the blue. That's the air around me right now. I thought my competition short story was pretty much done. At 4,000 words it was well within the 2,500 - 5,000 required range. All that was left was one more edit after letting it sit for a few days. So you can imagine my reaction when a quick double check of the rules revealed that the word count is actually 1,000 - 2,500. D'oh! I don't know how I managed to make that mistake, all I know is that my every-word-counts story has got to be butchered.

While I'm working on that I leave you with something borrowed from another site. Although this particular letter is aimed at bureaucrats rather than writers, I think there are reminders there to all of us who have anything to do with writing.

I love this site. If you click on the archives tab you can find letters listed by the writer's name or type - including authors - as well as other categories. Each letter is transcribed below its original copy so remember to scroll down if you can't read the original.

Spare a thought for me murdering my darlings today, at least 1,500 of 'em!

Invisible people in an empty white room

I've sort of finished the first draft of my current WiP. I say sort of because it's about half the length it needs to be. This surprised me as I'm normally an over-writer, but I'm not worried. Yet. Ask me again in a couple of weeks and it might be a different story but there's no sense fretting until I have to, right?

What struck me though as I read through the story yesterday was the distinct lack of description. One character's hair colour was mentioned, and a door was stated as being made of 'varnished wood'. That's it. It's not such a big deal of course, after all it's not like I don't have any spare words to use to add some in, but what's making me think about it so much is the fact that I don't actually want to put any in. I can't decide if this makes me a bad writer, or just someone who hates wading through pages and pages of description so much that I've deliberately gone the other way and favoured the 'minimalist' approach. I suspect the truth is somewhere in the middle. I may not be a very good writer (it depends what day you ask me as to what answer you'd get to that question) but the fact is I've noticed it and I will, of course, layer in some description; and it's not like I'd ever show an editor this scruffy, raw first draft so it's not really a major problem.

But how much description is too much? Are you a reader who likes to be told exactly what a character, a house, a street looks like so you can see what the author saw when s/he wrote the novel? Or do you like to decide for yourself what people and places look like? And when is the right time to describe your main character? Too early and you could lose a reader who wants to jump straight into the action but too late and you risk annoying the person who's already formed a mental picture of the character – and it doesn't match anything you wrote.

I suspect that getting the balance of description right is just one of the things that separates a good/okay writer from a great one. Now, if you'll excuse me I've got to go and describe all my characters in 10,000 words or more!

That would never happen

Last night started innocently enough. Techno asked me what I was working on and I explained I was rethinking the opening of a YA SF novel I'm going to be starting in May. (There's a reason I'm not starting it until May, but more about that in another post). Originally I had planned to open with my MC waking up, but I have learned that this is a BAD THING. Techno agreed that I could do better and we idly kicked around a few thoughts. Although he's supportive of me, he doesn't really get involved in plotting unless I ask him a specific question. On the rare occasions that we have in-depth plot talks I usually end up getting no help for the thing that I'm working on but enough ideas to generate half a dozen more novels. Ideas are something I don't need at the moment. I have a bumblebee mentality, always looking for the shiniest, tastiest morsel, and right now I just want to get something finished; but it was nice to be chatting away so when he asked me where the story would be going I was caught off guard, and told him. To give the guy his due, he actually said "no, don't tell me any more or you know what will happen." "No, it's fine " said I. "I like hearing your ideas."

Yeah, okay. An hour later, all the SF parts of my novel have been thrown out and I'm back to the drawing board. Apparently, I messed with the laws of physics. Even for fiction this isn't good – unless of course messing with the laws of physics is part of the story. Which, obviously it isn't. Seriously though, who knew the laws of physics were relevant in a story about a parallel universe?

As annoying as this is for me, Techno has reminded me of something. It doesn't matter if something isn't possible in the real world; if you're going to pretend it is, you damn well better make it sound like it could be. How many times have you read a book or watched a film and been happy to accept invisible men, flying cars, alien invasion or any variation thereof, but that one little detail – such as how they travel – seems to jar, and you find yourself saying 'that would never happen like that'. We're prepared to suspend any amount of disbelief for a good story but the writer needs to make it seem as though it could be possible or we're just not going to buy what's being sold.

I love my YA SF story. I'm still going to tell it, but it needs a lot more research than I originally thought. When Techno tells me 'I don't think your 17 year old girl would say that', I'll listen to what he has to say but make up my own mind. When he tells me 'If your 17 year old girl does that, according to what we know right now this is going to be the unintended consequence' then I'll take his advice.

If I want to tell an unbelievable story I have to make it believable. That's the bit I'm working on, so you'll never put my book down and say 'that would never happen like that.'

And in case you were wondering, yep, he gave me ideas for two more totally different stories!