Gareth Williams's Blog, page 2

Dealing with criticism

As promised, this is a post about disappointing feedback. It is easy to feel bruised and retreat in the face of criticism. I know that's how I feel. But I am trying to be more robust because we learn from our mistakes. If I want to write books; then I have to listen to opinions about my writing. I may not always agree but, in a real sense, the reader is always right.

So, here goes. I submitted a pet project to a national historical novel competition in 2023. The judge felt the main character (William Augustus Bowles) was unsympathetic but commented on the strength of other aspects of the book's structure. I submitted the book for a developmental edit, and again, these other features were singled out as having potential if I developed them further. So, I spent a year doing that and resubmitted for the 2024 competition.

As you have probably guessed from the theme of this blog, it didn't go well! Once again, the main character was singled out for having opaque motivations - which I had withheld deliberately as these were explored in the two other structural elements I had been encouraged to develop.

This year's judge was not convinced by these additions, stating that they 'confuse and dilute the main thrust of the story'.

Other criticisms included 'the very short sentences and paragraphs sometimes convey pace but there is no variety in the narrative voice. This creates a jerky impression...'

It is pointless for me to object that the publisher of my trilogy, The Richard Davey Chronicles insists on short paragraphs!

The book is 550 pages long and is the result of intensive research but this nevertheless left me accused of a 'lack of detail'. As a fictional biography, the book spans William's life - choices must be made about what to include but Captain Liar and the Forgotten Flag was weakened by 'abrupt changes in time and place... forc(ing) the reader to keep adjust(ing) focus'.

Finally, I was advised to undertake more detailed research about the military history of the time to add more depth to my writing. I have lost count of the military history books I have read for this project. What to then include is a difficult balance, as a review of my first novel, Needing Napoleon commented, there can be 'too much about buttons'!

So, what am I going to do? I have other projects on the go. I have put William's story in a metaphorical drawer. Perhaps I'm still processing. Maybe I will dust it off and have another go at a later date. Maybe not.

Scottish Association of Writers Annual Conference 2024

It was great to meet up with so many writers at the recent conference. Let's face it, writing is a solitary game so it's good to be reminded there are other oddities like me out there beavering away!

This year, I decided to enter lots of the writing competitions associated with the conference - including formats I had never tried before. These included humour, flash fiction and monologues.

I thought I would share some of the feedback and a few examples of what I wrote. This week I'm going to concentrate on what went well but in my next post I'm going to share some of the more critical comments I received.

One of the themes of the speakers at conference was how valuable feedback is and how we have to learn to accept it and use it to get better. This is my way of recognising that truth and trying to get a bit thicker skinned!

Ironically, my best received piece was a 250 word flash fiction (genuinely the first I have ever attempted) which was set in and around the village of Sconser, where I live on the Isle of Skye.

So here is my entry, which was adapted from a 730 word piece I wrote to perform at Angus BookFest 2023:

Closing My Eyes

The Northern Lights pulse. An iridescent curtain so thin that beings cross to live among us. As children we tell tales and receive indulgent smiles. If we persist, we are hushed and keep quiet. We see less and less, until it is as if we never glimpsed that other world.

We find another and love weaves us into the warp and weft of our lives until the cloth is complete and we are no more.

But a few do not seek such comfort. I thought I was one. But now I stroke the soft cheek of my child and bite my tongue. Before I turn my back, I will preserve the truth, and a splinter of self-respect.

Sconser is small, windy and wet, squeezed between red hills and the sea. Dragons roost in a quarry above the golf course where silvered elves wield clubs with quarrelsome beauty. A troll snuffles beneath the bridge and aurochs feed on the flanks of the hills while dwarves mine deep below.

Sea kelpies frolic in the narrows, raiding fish farms, tearing nets and stalking the shore. Goblins with green fingers weed and blight as they see fit. Capricious creatures who bless one year and curse the next. When your dog barks at nothing, know the truth.

The inexplicably lost ring. Odd tracks in fresh-turned earth. An unexpected blonde child. Sour milk. A leak that stops. Puppies with wrong-coloured eyes. Treasure in the loft.

We see what we want to see.    

Here are some comments from the adjudicators who felt it was one of the top six out of more than fifty entries:

The narrative voice is strong. Lovely sense of a world that most of us don't see. The tone is beautifully melancholic. While the ideas of elves and goblins aren't new, the writing is so strong that it doesn't matter. The reader is taken on a journey. We particularly liked the way the fantastical is blended with the everyday.      

I am particularly pleased with this feedback as I am working on a novel-length version that builds on this vignette. Do let me know what you think.

       

Ninety not out!

I'm just back from France where the family were celebrating my father's ninetieth birthday. I am well aware how lucky I am to still have my Dad as I approach sixty. He remains as healthy and dogmatic as ever, still driving, taking regular exercise and, of course, insisting on an annual skiing holiday - yes! Once again, he took to the slopes, albeit with a few falls, and has not entirely ruled out returning next year.

As we drove home with my eldest niece, there was a ninety year old, a near sixty year old and a thirty year old in the car. Not surprisingly, I have been thinking about age recently. What I learn from my father is that you do not ned to let age define you, you can define yourself. What I learn from my niece is that all that I hoped for the generation of girls I helped educate is possible if they too refuse to let others define their limits.

What about me in the middle? Well, I couldn't feel less like someone approaching sixty. I intend to bag another fifty plus Munros this year and I'm going to keep writing the books I would want to read, even if that means I never get an agent or a traditional publishing contract! Not that I'm going to stop trying.

If anyone would like a free copy of the anthology of short fiction which includes my story inspired by the Chandos Portrait of Shakespeare, then take look on Amazon this weekend for Masterworks - historical short fiction inspired by works of art at

https://amzn.eu/d/6lyWC2C

When a story won't let you go

Many thanks to Tracey Warr and The Historical Novel Society for the opportunity to discuss my approach to writing about different cultures and historical periods, both in The Richard Davey Chronicles and the book I have just finished, a fictional biography of a real 18th century adventurer called William Augustus Bowles. There are many challenges involved in this type of writing, so I hope you find the article interesting!

https://hns2024.com/2024/02/05/when-a-story-wont-let-you-go-by-gareth-williams/

#historicalnovelsociety #whatif #richarddaveychronicles #needingnapoleon #servingshaka #rescuingrichard #munrobagging #hadrianswall #napoleon #skye #isleofskye #scottishfiction #scottishwriters #theconradpress #thebooktypesetters #alternatehistory #writing #fiction #biography #historicalfiction #williamaugustusbowles

Happy New Year!

I was pleased to see a new review appear at the start of 2024 for Rescuing Richard, the third instalment of The Richard Davey Chronicles. If you haven't read it yet, why not start the new year with an escape into the nineteenth century? If you have read it, then please consider leaving a review online. It is the single most effective way you can support an author - and it only takes a minute or two!

If you would like to see what thetablereadmagazine.co.uk thought of my historical adventure with a hint of time travel, then you can read the review here: https://t.co/Uxnk7qEx0x

None the wiser... Ridley Scott

Just a short message to wish everyone Season's Greetings and confess I finally got around to watching Napoleon at the cinema here on Skye. I was no clearer what Ridley Scott wanted me to think of Napoleon at the end of the film than at the beginning.

I am all for leaving interpretation up to the viewer (or reader) but for all the chronological approach of the film, and the undeniably impressive visual impact, I found myself checking my watch little more than half way through.

Far from obsessing about little errors of detail, I found the sweep of the film grating. Inevitably, trying to cram a life like Napoleon's into a single film is something of a fool's errand. What to leave out? What to gloss over? What to dwell on?

I suppose I just wanted a bit more focus on Bonaparte's motivations. What was going on in his head? Fortunately, we can get a really good insight by reading Max Gallo's masterful Napoleon quartet - which remain impressive even in translation from the original French.

Ridley Scott, Napoleon, Radio Skye and me

I couldn't let the recent release of Ridley Scott's film Napoleon pass without some comment. Firstly, I haven't seen it yet but I still have something to say on the matter! Why do so many reviewers feel obligated to gripe at historical inaccuracies - it's a movie, a form of entertainment, an interpretation.

Napoleon is an emotive character - I get that. The Hitler of his day or the founder of modern Europe? I have my views but I'm not getting drawn in to a 'good or evil' debate. If you want a sense of what I think, you could visit my Shepherd's List - The best books for getting inside Napoleon Bonaparte’s head (shepherd.com). Alternatively, you could read my trilogy- The Richard Davey Chronicles which starts with Needing Napoleon https://amzn.eu/d/4spXeBi.

A third option would be to listen to my recent interview on Radio Skye where I was talking to Carole Horton about the third book in the series - Rescuing Richard. You can listen to Carole's show here:

https://podcast.canstream.co.uk/radioskye/index.php?id=10000

https://podcast.canstream.co.uk/radioskye/index.php?id=10001

My interview is about 45 minutes into the first half and goes well into the second half, but you really should listen to the whole show because Carole plays great music!

Angus Book Fest and a new short story without a title

I'm just back from a weekend at Angus BookFest: Celebrating Literature and Culture where I took part in their Local Myths, Legends and Folklore evening. I was a bit of a ringer coming from the west coast to perform in Montrose but nobody seemed to mind! I read an edited version of an article I wrote for The Historical Times Magazine https://amzn.eu/d/diRT7Rh on the Myths and Legends of Skye in the first half of the evening.

After the break, I shared a myth set on Skye which I wrote specially for Angus Book Fest. I thought I would share it with all of you here (any suggestions for a title would be welcome):

The Northern Lights flicker and pulse, shifting hues like an iridescent curtain between purple and green, pink and yellow. The curtain between this world and the other is so thin where they manifest, light spills through. More than that, beings can cross over, pushing through the curtain to live among us. But, just like the Northern Lights, most of the time, they are invisible, at least to most of us.

A few of us are born with the sight. As children we tell tales to our parents and receive indulgent smiles. If we persist, we are hushed, frowned at, even shunned. We soon learn to keep our own counsel. Most of us choose to look away, to blink, to shade our eyes and focus on family and friends, mundane things, our daily lives. As we grow older, we see less and less until, one day, it is as if we never saw glimpses of the other world. We must have dreamed it all.

We find a boy or girl who tugs at our heart and we are lost again but this time everyone understands. Bonds of love bind us, human connections weave us, the warp and weft of our lives – births and birthdays, loves and losses, hopes and disappointments until the cloth is complete and we are no more.

Thus, what we knew to be true as children is lost to the world long before we die. That is how it is for almost everyone. But there have ever been those, albeit few in number, who do not seek the comfort of the pack, who do not fear ridicule, who relish the gift beyond the value of all else.

I thought I was one. But I have a partner and a daughter now. I find myself biting my tongue, rubbing my eyes, stroking the soft cheek of my child. There is magic and wonder in this world. Powerful magic that conjures first words, first steps, first day at school.

So, I am just like all the rest, after all, denying what my innocent self knew to be true. But before I turn my back on the other world, I have decided to leave a record. No doubt, should it survive long enough, it will be filed away with all the other myths and legends that the modern world scoffs at while plundering for entertainment. No matter, I shall have preserved a glimpse of the truth, and a splinter of self-respect.

Sconser on the Isle of Skye is my home. A little village of some thirty houses, most clustered around a loop road facing the ferry dock. An ordinary place, a little place, windy and wet. Red hills at its back and a sea loch shore ahead.

Dragons roost in the grey rock of the quarry that looms above the golf course where, by the light of the moon, elves wield drivers and wedges with quarrelsome beauty. A troll lives beneath the bridge and aurochs step over the cattle grid to feed on the flanks of the hills. Dwarves work deep beneath the hills between Loch Sligachan and Loch Ainort, mining seams of precious ores yet to be discovered by man.

Sea kelpies frolic in the narrows between Raasay and Sconser, raiding fish farms and lobster pots, tearing nets and stalking the rocky shore as sure-footed horses, sirens tempting those with the sight to mount them and be borne away, to death or that other realm no one knows.

Goblins with green fingers stalk from garden to garden, weeding and thinning, sowing and blighting as they see fit. Capricious creatures who bless a gardener one year and curse the same soil the next.

When your dog barks at nothing, know the truth. Canine ears are sharp but they have another sense, a sixth sense that tingles at the passage of creatures from that other world. Day and night they are among us, living parallel lives just beyond the reach of our everyday senses.

The inexplicably lost ring. The odd tracks in fresh-turned earth. The mudslide on a stable hill. The unexpected blonde child. The runaway who never came home. Sour milk. A surprise bloom. Flattened grass. A crack in the wall. A leak that stops seeping. Puppies with wrong-coloured eyes. The just-serviced engine that refuses to start. Treasure in the loft.

We see what we want to see.

Shakespeare, short stories and the National Portrait Gallery

So what made me pitch an idea to Historical Writers Forum for their Masterworks anthology of historical short fiction inspired by works of art?

It all started when I was reading about the reopening of the National Portrait Gallery in London after a major renovation and Covid. I was excited. I love this gallery and found myself reflecting on some of my favourite portraits.

As an historian, it wasn't long before I was researching how these works of art found their way into the collection. I was drawn to the Chandos portrait of William Shakespeare as it was one of the very first works to be acquired by the nascent gallery. It is the only image of the bard thought to be painted from life that survives.

Here is a link to an image of the portrait on the NPG website:

NPG 1; William Shakespeare - Portrait - National Portrait Gallery

I kept staring at the enigmatic face of the greatest playwright who ever lived. What would he make of the world that we live in, of the changes since his death? Would he be full of wonder or disappointment, would he see similarity or difference?

The idea for a short story spanning the period spent by the Chandos portrait in the National Portrait Gallery was born. But who should be my main character? I wanted to tap into Shakespeare's perspective but he died long before the trustees considered a national collection. He is immortal nonetheless thanks to his works and his portrait.

I found myself imagining Shakespeare sitting for the artist - John Taylor. What was he thinking as he sat there, patiently or impatiently? Was he grasping at a life beyond by commissioning the portrait or was it for a wealthy admirer? Did he know he would be more famous today than in his own lifetime or was he staring into the abyss?

What if the Chandos portrait continued Shakespeare's life beyond his corporeal death? Continuing to experience and think and learn as the decades passed? What would he be like by the time the gallery was opened? What would he think of the people who came to stare at him?

My answers to these questions resulted in my short story, entitled The Watcher on the Wall.

Historical fiction anthology - MASTERWORKS out now!

I am delighted to announce this anthology based on works of art. I was chosen to write one of the short stories and I think it is one of the best things I have written. Available on Kindle and as a paperback, it would make an affordable and stimulating Christmas read/present.

I am scheduled to blog in more detail about this release on the 10th of November - so watch out for my next post if you want to know more.

Here is the order link for the UK:

https://amzn.eu/d/iC8CEY7

Here is an extract from the very first review posted on Amazon: out of all these excellent tales, the one that will stick in my memory is Gareth Williams’s personification of the Shakespeare Chandos Portrait. I was captivated by the humour, sarcasm and understanding, as the subject in the painting comments on visitors who have chosen to stop and contemplate him during his 167-year residence in London’s National Portrait Gallery.