Keris Stainton's Blog, page 28

First Draft in 30 Days, Day 1: Character sketches

I sat down at the craptop and reached for the Guardian supplement, which had been with the pile of books I brought with me on holiday, but somehow haven’t been able to face reading (I’ve been reading Kindle books instead. I’ll have to work out what all that’s about some other time) and it wasn’t there. David had chucked it out.

Fortunately it’s all there on the Guardian’s website (unfortunately, I’m supposed to be passing my copy to a friend next week – sorry, Kirsty). The first day of First Draft in 30 Days focusses on character sketches. I don’t like doing character sketches. I used to do them all the time when I first started trying to write because How To Write books told me to. I never found them particularly useful because characters develop so much in the writing, so I don’t see the point of deciding this character’s Scouse accent comes out when she’s angry or that character once ate a bit of poo thinking it was chocolate (neither of those were me) (ahem) before you even start. But the plan told me to start with character sketches and so I did.

And I actually found them really helpful. Typical. A couple of things popped up that feed into the overall theme in the book and which I had no inkling of until I found myself writing them down (this is my favourite thing about writing – when ideas seem to appear from nowhere). I skipped a couple of bits – family background and backstory – and then got stuck into the internal/external conflict.

Figuring out the characters’ internal and external conflict is actually my top writing tip (I got it from Jennifer Crusie years ago). It makes such a difference and often if I’m stuck in a book it’s because I haven’t figured out one or the other (or, sometimes, both – not fun). This isn’t the same as figuring out protagonist/antagonist stuff, the thought of which gives me the heebies (I hope that’s not coming up tomorrow), but what the characters want and what’s preventing them from getting it. That sounds obvious, I know, but I think it’s the internal/external that really helped me. (With internal being emotional and external being practical/physical/situational.) And it was while doing this part that I thought of something about one of the characters that made me go “Whoa…”

So. Against expectations, Day 1 at least has been incredibly helpful. Just by doing the above I feel like I’ve got more story to get my teeth into and I’m actually keen to get back to writing it. I’ve just got to finish Lilly’s Wish first…

NoNaNoWriMo

Not this year. I had been planning to do it – I’ve done it pretty much every year since 2004 and two of my three published novels have been written during NaNovember, but this year…

I’m currently writing Lilly’s Wish and, though I planned to have finished it by now, freeing up my time to NaNo, I, um, haven’t.

But even when I thought I may finish it in time, the thought of NaNo gave me a smidge of a sinking feeling. One of the best things about finishing a book – for me – is that I then give myself a month or so off to read and do other things without having the constant ‘But you haven’t written anything today, have you?’ nagging to deal with.

I have a couple of books that I’ve started and need to either finish or rewrite/edit before I start something new.

Although I’ve always enjoyed just throwing myself into a book and writing writing writing without having a clue where it’s going – and that, for me, is the joy of NaNoWriMo – I feel like I need to try something a bit different. A change is as good as a rest and all that.

So instead of NaNoWriMo, I’m going to attempt to work my way through the Guardian’s How to Write a Book in 30 Days supplement (extracted from First Draft in 30 Days by Karen Wiesner). I’m going to do it for a book I’ve already started, but feel needs some structure: Rebecca Hearts Paris (working title!) and I’ll try to blog about it along the way.

Are you doing NaNo this year? Have you tried the First Draft in 30 Days method? Are you a panster or a plotter? Enquiring minds need to know.

52 Books: Attachments by Rainbow Rowell

I read Rainbow Rowell’s latest book, Eleanor & Park, on holiday this summer and I absolutely loved it. I don’t know why I put off reading Attachments for so long, but then suddenly – possibly because I’ve been chatting with Rainbow on Twitter – it was the only thing I wanted to read (do you ever get like that? Loads of books to read, but suddenly only one will do?) I adored it. Like Eleanor & Park, it’s funny, sweet, sad and true and even though I’m glad I read it, I’m a bit annoyed too, because now I’ve got to wait ages for Rainbow’s next book (which sounds fabulous, btw).

Dancing on the ceiling

I bought this yesterday. (Yes, hand wash only, I know. But I’m 41! I can deal with it, can’t I?) (Almost certainly not.)

I was just hoovering our hall (I know, handwashing and hoovering – what’s happening to me) and the bright sun shining through our front door turned me into a disco ball!

(Even if it hadn’t, it would still be the best top I’ve bought for ages. Love it. Must try really hard not to shrink it/leave it in the washing basket forever.)

Blackpool, baby!

We went to see what Joe calls the Blackpool “Loomiations.” This time, we got on a tram rather than drive. This was a mistake since we couldn’t really see the illuminations from the tram. But we did get out and have a walk down the North Pier and the boys had a run around on the comedy carpet, so all wasn’t lost. Some photos:

Being fiendish over fish and chips

Blurred, yes, but I love it

To the Tower!

Arty pier shot

Another, slightly less arty, pier shot

Me. Taken by me. The others had buggered off by this point.

Homeschooling Harry: What about maths?

When I tell people we’re homeschooling, one of the first things they say is “What about maths?” At first, I muttered about calculators and how I’ve never needed to use algebra or long division or that thing we did with the little pamphlet full of charts, but as I’ve done more reading (honestly, I can’t read enough about unschooling – I find it completely fascinating), I have a better answer.

Because surely the point of everyone having to learn maths – at least basic maths – at school is so that we can use it in “real life”. But if that’s the case, then why can’t we also learn it in real life?

Like this, from From How Children Learn at Home by Alan Thomas and Harriet Pattison:

Far from being a subject detached from everyday life as it is often treated, maths, like the written word, is all around us, and numeracy skills are in daily use. Moreover, most of the primary curriculum if not more, can be covered in this way: telling the time, counting money, making a paper house, colouring patterns, sharing food, weighing cooking ingredients, working out how many days to a birthday, estimating how long a car journey will take, laying the table, playing board games. Many mathematical concepts arise spontaneously and attract child interes; the list above contains just a selection of the myriad possibilities.

My mum was great at mental arithmetic, but she learned it when she worked in a shop (before electric tills), not at school. I was in the top stream for maths at school, but I don’t know my times tables (I know some and can work the others out from the ones I know, but ask me, say, 7 x 8 and…*), and I sometimes refer to subtraction as “backwards adding” and I’m only half joking.

So, no, I’m not worried about maths. My only slight concern is that maybe if Harry was exposed to advanced maths – the stuff I never understood, didn’t know why we were learning and forgot instantly once the exams were over – he would love it and go on to do something with it (I don’t know what… Countdown?) and that by not being forced to do it we’ll never know, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. And, of course, if he ever shows any interest in or aptitude for maths in the future, we can always take it further under our own steam.

I keep thinking about a guy I worked with years ago, who was always quite quiet and dull, but then one night had a few drinks and started telling me how much he loved maths. He was completely passionate about it, much more passionate than I’d ever known him to be about his job. And this was when I worked in the music industry, not accountancy. I also heard Simon Mayo on the radio the other night saying something about how he was never interested in maths until someone pointed out how beautiful it is. But I’m almost certain that was pointed out to him after he left school so it’s not like the ‘advanced maths’ door is permanently closed. (For Harry, I mean. It is for me, happily.) (Although I did enjoy Pythag…)

But also, the above doesn’t just apply to maths, it could apply to anything, and not just things that are on school curricula (we do still say ‘curricula’, right? It hasn’t gone the way of ‘stadia’ and ‘fora’?). With unschooling we have to trust that Harry will find – and follow up – the thing(s) he feels passionate about. In fact, I think that’s what I like about unschooling the most. (That and not having to do the school run, obv.)

 

* If you did ask me 7 x 8, I would think “7 x 8 is the same as 8 x 7. 7 x 7 is 49. Add 8. Um. Add 10 is 59. Take away 2… 57!” I would hope by then you’d have wandered off and got me a glass of wine or something.

Updated: Yes, 8 x 7 is 56. I really was in the top stream, honest. (Thank you to Siobhan and Hannah for pointing it out. And not laughing at me. Or at least not telling me they were laughing at me.)

George Michael. Still.

A couple of weeks ago I went to see George Michael’s Symphonica tour. A friend of my sister had got the tickets ages ago, they were rubbish tickets for a ridiculous price and then the tour was cancelled. Turned out that was for the best (for us, not for poor George so much) because we were able to get better and cheaper tickets for the rescheduled date. But thanks to all of that, my feeling when I thought about the tour was vague annoyance, which is ridiculous since I’ve loved George since I was 12.

Of course, George does have a way of testing a person. Not just the driving incidents and the, um, Olympic closing ceremony, but I still haven’t forgotten he made us wait 12 years for a new album and then called it Patience. But I forgive him. Because of Faith. And Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1 (where the hell is Vol 2, eh?). And Older. And the Last Christmas video. And his gorgeous voice.

It’s weird getting older. When the lights went down and everyone cheered, I felt a bubble of excitement in my stomach, but mostly I was just ‘la la, here comes George Michael…’ When I think about what I would have been like at 14 or even 18, I feel a bit sad. But it’s probably better. I don’t really want to scream myself hoarse or wet my pants at my age.

But then he started singing Cowboys and Angels, which is a song I always think I don’t really like but is actually lovely, and I started to cry. It’s not a special song to me and it’s not a song that has any particular emotional resonance (unlike You Have Been Loved, which has the line ‘If I was weak, forgive me, but I was terrified’ which I can barely stand to hear; or A Different Corner, which reminds me of being a teenager, in my room, listening to it over and over and YEARNING), but there I was, crying anyway. I thought I was being subtle, but my sister’s friend had noticed and put her arm round me and I cried even more. And then my sister passed me a tissue and said, “What are you crying for?” and I said, “I don’t knooooooooow!” and cried some more.

And then the bastard did You Have Been Loved AND A Different Corner, so you can imagine.

I assume it’s because these songs – and George himself – have been part of my life for most of my life. Almost three-quarters, in fact. I remember listening to Faith in my bedroom (and screaming my head off at Birmingham NEC and Wembley Arena). I remember buying Listen Without Prejudice on cassette and listening to it on the bus back to where I lived and worked as a ‘Mother’s Help’ in Richmond, after I moved to London aged 18. I remember hearing You Have Been Loved when I was pregnant with Harry and couldn’t sleep and crying so much that I woke David up. It’s always been George. With all the press and the drama and the nonsense, I forgot that. I’m so glad the Symphonica tour reminded me.

Boy quotes

Ooh, it’s ages since I’ve done a boy quotes post. So lots of these will be, you know, pretty old. 

I think Joe’s made up a new verb: To Ballerine. Means to dance like a ballerina. “Look, Middy, Joe ballerin’in’.”

Harry’s just pointed to a pic of Kylie Minogue and said “That looks like you… when you were younger.” Meh. I’ll take it.

Me: “Do you want to go to the park?” Joe: “Not yet. Just feedin’ my dog…” He’s dragging around a tape measure and making whimpering sounds

David said Harry had his heart broken this morning. I asked Harry what her name was. H said “How did you know it was a girl?” Love that kid.

Left the room for two minutes, when I came back in Joe had drunk my sweet and sour sauce.

Buying chocs in Hotel Chocolate earlier. Got to the till and Harry said, “I’ve put a little something in there for myself…” He had too.

Joe: “I yike you coat, Middy.” Me: “Do you? Thanks!” Joe: “I yike you face.”

Watching ‘Trickster’ ep of The Sarah Jane Adventures. Harry said “I think you might cry in a minute and run out of the room.” He’s not wrong

I don’t know what advert Joe’s just seen, but he came into the kitchen and said, “Three pounds monf. Cat.” I ain’t buyin’.

Watching Harry Potter for the first time with my Harry. He just said ”I’ve heard Hogwarts is a very magical school…”

“What Joe tendin be? Joe tendin be nowman!” (He had an ice cream cone in his mouth.)

Harry: “Can I use your bottom as a guitar?” Joe: “Yes!”

Just showed Joe the #ISS for the first time. He shouted, “Don’t go without Joe, star!”

Harry just urged me to buy some Vanish: “It’s five times better than vacuuming alone!” #toomuchTV

Joe is all wet down his front and says he weed with his mouth. So that’s something new.

Harry’s just requested “bread and butter… With no butter.”

Playing hide and seek with Joe. I opened my eyes to “seek” and he was standing two feet in front of me with his eyes tight shut.

I just said, rhetorically, “How handsome does Joe look?” Harry said, ”So handsome I can’t believe it!”

52 Books: Back Story by David Mitchell

Y’all know how I feel about David Mitchell, don’t you? I love him. I luff him. I loave him. I was so keen to read this book that I almost bought the hardback in Smiths (I was put off by the fact that almost all the other hardbacks were 50% off and yet this one was full price), came home and bought the Kindle version only to be advised that I’d already pre-ordered it (on Kindle) and it had already been delivered. Thank goodness Amazon’s more on the ball than I am.

Once I started reading it I basically didn’t stop for the rest of the day. Harry and Joe nagged me for the iPad and I said, “I am reading a book!” in the manner of Waynetta Slob ‘avin a fag. In fact, I only put it down in order to follow Mitchell’s route – the book is structured around a walk from Mitchell’s Kilburn flat around London to TV Centre – on Google Maps (which my David thought was a bit stalkerish, but what does he know, eh?).

I don’t know why I found it so hard to stop reading – there’s very little (actually, possibly no) drama or shocking revelations – but his voice comes through so clearly and it’s just as wry, interesting and entertaining as you’d expect if you’ve ever seen him on a panel show (which you must have done, surely). Plus it made me laugh out loud quite a few times. But, for me, the very best thing about this book is the penultimate chapter about his relationship with – and love for – Victoria Coren. Mitchell’s always been cagey about his private life, so I didn’t expect the honesty and openness of this chapter. It’s beautifully written, incredibly romantic and it made me happy.

How to write a book

Yesterday, on Twitter, I saw this

and it annoyed the hell out of me.

First of all, to clarify, I thought the Guardian supplement Higson refers to was related to NaNoWriMo which, it turns out, it’s not, but I think my point still stands and here’s why:

In the early nineties when I was trying to be a journalist, I bought a How To Write book. I can’t remember much about it, but I do remember that it put me off trying to be a journalist – and off writing altogether – for, well, years.

One thing I remember clearly was that the author said that if you say you want to be a writer – rather than saying you want to write – you don’t really want to write. At that point, I’d been saying I wanted to be a writer for at least five years. So that bit of the book made my heart sink. Had I just been kidding myself all that time? Was I just messing about with this writing thing? Apparently real writers say they want to write. I was doing it wrong.

Yes, I had no confidence/self-esteem and there may be lots of people who read that and thought “Hey, screw you! I want to be a writer and I will be a writer!” and stuck the book in the recycling. Good for them. But that’s not how it was for me.

Now I still haven’t read the Guardian supplement and I’ve heard it’s not actually very good, but consider this: Someone who had been thinking about writing a book for a long time may have read that supplement and been inspired. They may have been struggling with starting a book and thought the advice laid out in the Guardian seemed useful. And then they saw Charlie Higson’s tweet – Charlie Higson who has written 14 novels – and felt their heart sink. Consider the wording of his tweet: “Any novice writers intrigued by…” What if he’d said, “Any novice writers inspired by…” And some “novice writers” will have been – they really will – and then a successful writer comes along and says no. THIS IS NOT HOW YOU WRITE A BOOK. You’re doing it wrong. And so they don’t try. And their book remains unwritten. Congratulations, Charlie.

I feel a bit bad singling out Charlie Higson – I haven’t read his YA books (too scary for me), but I loved his adult books (and The Fast Show’s Ted and Ralph is a work of beautiful genius) – and he’s certainly not the only author to do this. Every November, I see many many condescending tweets from writers – published and unpublished – saying THIS IS NOT HOW YOU WRITE A BOOK. 50,000 words in 30 days? No. You’re doing it wrong. But they are wrong. All of them. Because, as I said on Twitter yesterday, the only right way to write a book is the way that works for you. And you should feel free to ignore anyone who tells you otherwise.