10th January

New month, new year.

Did you make resolutions? Have you kept them? Broken them? Pretended to forget about them?

Last year I started with a shiny spreadsheet and plans of what I would aim for. This year was going to be the same. But… Well, I didn’t succeed last year – life got in the way. An unexpected move with little notice and a hit to my health left me struggling.

I didn’t want to leave myself open to the same issues this year. Beyond that, I realised that last year I started a lot of new stuff, some which I finished, some not. I’ve too much stuff that isn’t finished. Above that, I’ve lot’s that is finished, but unsold.

So, what to do?

This year is the year of the rewrite, the completion, the edit, the stocktake.

First off I started with some stocktaking. I’ve pulled a whole load of completed stories into a 2018 folder. These are stories I’ve submitted, but not sold. Time for fresh eyes on them. The first two were an eye-opener. First up I checked a story I describe as ‘Murder She Wrote’ in a wintery Nebraska, with fairies, elves, and vampires. It’s a story set in a world akin to ours but without us boring, standard, humans. As with every time I look at a story, there were some tweaks, but only individual words, or shuffling a sentence around. I really like this story as it is, and want to sell it as is.

Then I opened up my ‘Robinson Crusoe in Space, with dead aliens’ story. This is a story which I threw a lot of time, effort, and ideas at. I thought it worked. After a year or so not looking at it I was awestruck by how poor it is. All those pretty ideas are there, right there, just lying in the dirt ready to be picked up, polished, and put in the right setting. And wow, what a bunch of dirt they are lying in. Poor exposition, tedious first person POV, clunky everything, just everything. I’m looking forward to pulling this story apart and making it the bog-standard SF tale it should be.

Elsewhere in my near future, I have 1 novel; 3 novellas; lots of short stories. One of the novellas needs to be finished, the other has deep structural issues, the third is only just about started. The novel requires lots of work. First, it needs to be completed; secondly, it needs re-writing, with the adjustments I already have in mind; then it needs re-written again, and again, and then sent to an agent. Damn, I hate re-writes. And writing novels is boring because it’s like waiting for the next season of Sherlock, or Firefly.

But all success is boring. Sitting in the saddle and battling up mountains, through rain, and down vale is boring – but it’s how you get to wear the maillot jaune. Spending seven, eight, nine, hours a day potting balls in a dim snooker hall while all your buddies are at the beach, or the football, or a club, is boring – but it’s how you become a snooker world champion. Going to bed at nine pm every day, instead of partying, is boring – but it’s how you become an Olympic ski champion.

So this year I intend to bore myself silly. I will finish the incomplete novellas, novel, and stories. I will re-write stories that require such, I will submit, and submit, and submit.

I will not compare myself to others (that’s clearly a lie). I will not begrudge my buddies their success (also a lie, but I’ll hide it behind effusive congratulations that they really deserve). I will remember that my main job is caring for my chronically ill wife, epileptic son, autistic daughter, and the household in general (yeh, pretty much a lie too – especially as I missed out my ADHD daughter and my ME).

Last year I sold/placed 3 stories (have you read them? Ugh, really? It’s less than 10k words in total. You could, really, you could (#desperate).

In conclusion, expect more maudlin posts, at random intervals.

Happy New Year

Advertisements

14th December

Moving into the dying days of the year. The nights are long and cold, the days short and grey – well, short, we’ve had some glorious sunshine even as parts of the country have suffered through the couple of inches of snow that would have a Canadian pulling out deckchairs and calling for a barbecue.

And it’s been a funny old month storywise for me. After nothing all year I’ve had three stories released in two anthologies in the last week or so.

The first is in The Infernal Clock and is called The Green Man’s Fête. A reporter at a local spring festival isn’t all he appears to be, but then the festival isn’t all it appears to be either. This is available as either a download or hard copy. I’d recommend considering getting the physical book, the cover is absolutely glorious. Apart from my tale there are 15 others to revel in, and a wide variety of writers demonstrating their skills.

Secondly is Afromyth. This is a collection where the focus of the story is on people of African or African descent, and non-caucasian. My first story here is Fishing Lake Tanganyika where a man takes up fishing to feed his family after being made redundant. Will his grand-mothers belief in his abilities be enough to sustain him in trying times? Later on in the anthology I have The Black Birds of White Oaks. Set in a southern US state  some-time after the civil war it tells of a young Boston woman on a trip to collect folk memories from ex-slaves. What she discovers stretches across the atlantic, into the Anti-Atlas mountains, and all the way back to stories of Prometheus, Zeus, and a portion of human existence glimpsed only through the veil of myth. With 10 other stories from a wide variety of writers this powerful collection will set your imagine whirring.

I hope you take time to read not just my stories, but all who have tales in these two exciting anthologies, and more than that, add a review on Goodreads or Amazon.

Of the three stories I am proudes of Fishing Lake Tanganyika. Realistically it could be a story without a fantastical element, and it would still hold together, because it is firstly a story about a person, and personal interactions. Of course, all stories must contain these, but they are rarely the focus of something I write. Asperger’s tends to make that personal level of interaction difficult for me to negotiate on the page but I think that I’m reaching a point where I can do it with more confidence, and for me this story is the current high spot.

So, with three publictions, and a feeling of improvement having been made, why did I recently sign up to be mentored by Gareth Powell?

Because advancement is incremental, because – while I’ve written lots this year – I don’t have an awful lot of finished material, and even less that has been picked at and polished until it is suitable to be submitted anywhere.

We had our first session together a few days ago, and it was most heartening to hear Gareth’s assessment of the writing portion I’d submitted. Now I’m working on internalizing the advise recieved to allow ongoing writing to incorporate it organically.

I’m also perservering in trying to finish draft one of my novel. This is the novel that a month or so ago I declared to be a novella. What changed?

Earlier this month I was at a How To Be Published day run by Writers & Artists (thank you, Juliet Pickering, for the ticket). We had a series of talks, followed by Q&A sessions. The session by Cally Taylor discussed story structure and, as we went through it, I wrote down the sections, then matched them to what is already in my story. It helped clarify that the bones of a proper novel are there. This was heartening because I’d begun to think of the story as an amorphous amss of words lumped together in a hopeful, yet random order (despite me having a pin board with the scenes, sequences, and characters all mapped out).

Seeing the parts of a novel written down, and seeing my extant work marrying up to these parts, has reinvigorated my desire to finally get that first draft complete. It should have been completed by now, but that slipped, and now I’m aiming for the end of the year.

What happened?

My ME, and the house. For a while now my ME has been quite bad. The time I’ve had to write is in the evenings, but by the time I sit an enervating fog has fallen between my ears. Holding a single cogent thought in my head is difficult, manipulating that thought to amend, increase, expand, develop, or otherwise work it has been nigh on impossible. Much easier to sit and scroll through twitter while having a film play in the background. This hasn’t been helped by the chaos of us moving things around in the house so that there is not an area I can lay claim to as my writing spot, no calm, quiet, zone I can retreat to and work in.

Some may look at this and think it is just an excuse. It may be. But it’s a debilitating confluence of explanations for me. One alone I can work with, I have so in the past and will in the future. But together, it is a real writing killer.

Meh.

By next week there should be some order in the house, and then the wife and children go up to Scotland for a couple of weeks. This should allow me the time to clear my head, clear the decks, and get ready to hit 2018. Plans for that to follow when I see how the next week or so goes.

 

 

5th August

And now it’s August!

I really want to do a nice long post. I want to tell you about my friends wonderful story that’s up for an award, about my novel, my novella, my attempt o be writing , and fear that I can’t, that the words written mean nothing. I want to tell you about my buddy’s wonderful ‘break the twitter’ post that’s flooded my feed with positivity for the last couple of days.

And instead my arms ache, my throat aches, my groin aches. All the physical signs of my ME being bad. And my head is full of cobwebs, fog, marshmallow, cotton wool, and lethargy, and ennui.

So, sorry.

That’s it for now.

30th April

End of the month.

I’ve written a new story this month, about 1,800 words.

I’m 6,500 words into a novella that needs to be 11,000 words longer by May 15th.

Which would be fine, at 733 words per day. Trouble is I’m struggling with writing. Partly it’s the ME, but mainly it’s my personality doing its best to screw things up. My longest work to-date is about 11k words long, still unsold. So hitting 17,500 is a step up, and I’m conscious of the step.

Wish me luck.

Speak with you in May.