Steve Harrison's Blog, page 2
July 9, 2016
Are Rules for Fools?
In writing, there are no rules. You do not have to conform to grammar. Spelling is optional and punctuation, well, who needs it? It’s just a lot of messing around with detail, really. Completely unnecessary and rather annoying. And time consuming. Actually, writing is much simpler when you don’t worry about this stuff.
People get upset with this concept. But, but, but, but, they say. You can’t do this! You must conform! Chaos will ensue! Even people who say there are no rules invariably string a ‘but’ after that statement, if you know what I mean. But, they say. And then they say, having said that. And having said that, they will go on to tell you that although there are no rules, there are some rules after all.
Confused? You should be. Because when it comes to writing advice and definitive solutions to those myriad everyday challenges presented to a writer, from within and without, in the words of the great William Goldman, no one knows anything.
Except for me, that is. I know everything.
Rules are unbending. They are black and white. You can’t break them. Unless more people break them than keep to them. Then the rules are changed. Yet rules do not apply to writing. I am sorry – not really – if you find that statement annoying, but it is true. You can write whatever you like, in whatever form you like and even make up your own grammar, spelling and language. And you are not restricted by technology. A manual typewriter is fine, as is a pen or a pencil. You can even scratch on a cave wall with a sharp rock, with the confidence that over the fullness of time your graffiti etchings will go on from environmental vandalism to become art.
Like I said, there are no rules in writing. And there are no rules to dictate how you express yourself through your writing.
But. There, I said it. There is a but. Not a but, there are rules, but a but about something else. Something to bear in mind when you consider the implications of your writing and the wider goal of writing, if your writing ambitions extend beyond self-fulfilment. And it’s this:
But if you want to write for an audience…
… there are still no rules. There are conventions. Expectations. Boundaries, even. Are they rules? Of course not. Didn’t you read the earlier paragraphs? These conventions are dictated, perhaps demanded, by your reader. They form the parameters of what they find acceptable. They expect you to write within them and do not take kindly if you stray outside of those lines. There is latitude within them, but, on the whole they know what they like and the way they want it presented. When they read, they want to see - like Hollywood film producers demand of a script – something that is the same, but different.
It may be counter-intuitive, but herein lies the beauty and allure of writing. If these conventions and expectations were rules they would be static and unchanged. But we know they are not. We only have to read novels from twenty, fifty or a hundred years ago – or more – to see how expectations and conventions have changed. It is no stretch of imagination to see no difference, for example, between yesterday’s Sherlock Holmes readership and that of Jack Reacher today. Stylistically, they are worlds apart, yet essentially they tell the same stories.
Writers across all writing spheres have forced the change in tastes and style and language by testing boundaries, stretching conventions and circumventing expectations. By stealth, they have changed their readers.
Writers, that is, who didn’t follow rules and allowed themselves the freedom to explore their craft.
People get upset with this concept. But, but, but, but, they say. You can’t do this! You must conform! Chaos will ensue! Even people who say there are no rules invariably string a ‘but’ after that statement, if you know what I mean. But, they say. And then they say, having said that. And having said that, they will go on to tell you that although there are no rules, there are some rules after all.
Confused? You should be. Because when it comes to writing advice and definitive solutions to those myriad everyday challenges presented to a writer, from within and without, in the words of the great William Goldman, no one knows anything.
Except for me, that is. I know everything.
Rules are unbending. They are black and white. You can’t break them. Unless more people break them than keep to them. Then the rules are changed. Yet rules do not apply to writing. I am sorry – not really – if you find that statement annoying, but it is true. You can write whatever you like, in whatever form you like and even make up your own grammar, spelling and language. And you are not restricted by technology. A manual typewriter is fine, as is a pen or a pencil. You can even scratch on a cave wall with a sharp rock, with the confidence that over the fullness of time your graffiti etchings will go on from environmental vandalism to become art.
Like I said, there are no rules in writing. And there are no rules to dictate how you express yourself through your writing.
But. There, I said it. There is a but. Not a but, there are rules, but a but about something else. Something to bear in mind when you consider the implications of your writing and the wider goal of writing, if your writing ambitions extend beyond self-fulfilment. And it’s this:
But if you want to write for an audience…
… there are still no rules. There are conventions. Expectations. Boundaries, even. Are they rules? Of course not. Didn’t you read the earlier paragraphs? These conventions are dictated, perhaps demanded, by your reader. They form the parameters of what they find acceptable. They expect you to write within them and do not take kindly if you stray outside of those lines. There is latitude within them, but, on the whole they know what they like and the way they want it presented. When they read, they want to see - like Hollywood film producers demand of a script – something that is the same, but different.
It may be counter-intuitive, but herein lies the beauty and allure of writing. If these conventions and expectations were rules they would be static and unchanged. But we know they are not. We only have to read novels from twenty, fifty or a hundred years ago – or more – to see how expectations and conventions have changed. It is no stretch of imagination to see no difference, for example, between yesterday’s Sherlock Holmes readership and that of Jack Reacher today. Stylistically, they are worlds apart, yet essentially they tell the same stories.
Writers across all writing spheres have forced the change in tastes and style and language by testing boundaries, stretching conventions and circumventing expectations. By stealth, they have changed their readers.
Writers, that is, who didn’t follow rules and allowed themselves the freedom to explore their craft.
May 4, 2016
How to become a better writer… by not writing
You must write every day. And you must write x number of words every day. This is excellent advice if your writing goal is to write every day and produce x number of words every day. And, by golly, if you follow this method you will indeed write every day and accumulate the required number of words.
But will it make you a better writer? That’s the implication of nonsense like this; if you force yourself to write every single day and write the above mentioned x number of words, you will become a great writer.
Maybe it works for some people. Perhaps all this writing and all those words magically accumulate to bestow expert writing ability upon the adherent. Some might find the discipline helpful and productive. But for others, no amount of days or words will help. They will be just as crappy at the end as they were at the beginning. Crappier even.
I can see how such a simplistic solution to the incredibly difficult and diverse journey to writing competence appeals to new writers. Literacy, imagination, technique, innate talent and intelligence are devalued or not required. Achieve greatness by simply scribbling every day and hauling in all those words.
Perhaps I’m merely jealous. When I started writing, advice came in the form of books I couldn’t afford or sharp, insightful responses from sympathetic editors. I didn’t have the internet or thousands of writers to instantly call upon when I didn’t know how to spell a word, needed a suggestion for a character name or the million and one other insignificant elements of the trade. I had to fend for myself (introduce violins). At the time it was horrible, but in hindsight it was the best way to learn.
But, alas, had I known the secret was to write every day and build an enormous stash of words, I could have done it all a lot sooner and by now have overtaken Dickens in fame, ability and word count. But it’s not too late, I hear you cry. Greatness is still possible with a daily diet of time and a side dish of ink.
But no. I refuse. My yearning for writing immortality is outweighed by my indifference. My contrariness exceeds my conformity. My… well, you get the picture. In other words, I’m lazy and prefer my own writing routine.
I write when I feel like it. Sometimes I don’t write for weeks. Sometimes I write twice a week. Sometimes I even get the urge to write every day. Of course, when this happens I lie down until the feeling passes. I refuse to write every day on principle. No hollow, fast-track to fame and success for me!
Sometimes – I love over-using that word, mainly because it annoys so many people – I spend a writing session staring into space thinking about everything except what I am writing. On occasion, I perform a very long writing session and end up with fewer words than when I started. In both instances, those sessions were incredibly rewarding. I solved editing problems and subconsciously resolved pressing issues in my stories. Not writing actually improved my writing.
My ultimate ambition is to produce a book without writing at all, so that I can counter the write every day rubbish with ‘never write anything, especially words.’
Until then I shall continue to write every year – I am, if nothing else, disciplined – and try to conserve as many of the planet’s word resources as possible.
But will it make you a better writer? That’s the implication of nonsense like this; if you force yourself to write every single day and write the above mentioned x number of words, you will become a great writer.
Maybe it works for some people. Perhaps all this writing and all those words magically accumulate to bestow expert writing ability upon the adherent. Some might find the discipline helpful and productive. But for others, no amount of days or words will help. They will be just as crappy at the end as they were at the beginning. Crappier even.
I can see how such a simplistic solution to the incredibly difficult and diverse journey to writing competence appeals to new writers. Literacy, imagination, technique, innate talent and intelligence are devalued or not required. Achieve greatness by simply scribbling every day and hauling in all those words.
Perhaps I’m merely jealous. When I started writing, advice came in the form of books I couldn’t afford or sharp, insightful responses from sympathetic editors. I didn’t have the internet or thousands of writers to instantly call upon when I didn’t know how to spell a word, needed a suggestion for a character name or the million and one other insignificant elements of the trade. I had to fend for myself (introduce violins). At the time it was horrible, but in hindsight it was the best way to learn.
But, alas, had I known the secret was to write every day and build an enormous stash of words, I could have done it all a lot sooner and by now have overtaken Dickens in fame, ability and word count. But it’s not too late, I hear you cry. Greatness is still possible with a daily diet of time and a side dish of ink.
But no. I refuse. My yearning for writing immortality is outweighed by my indifference. My contrariness exceeds my conformity. My… well, you get the picture. In other words, I’m lazy and prefer my own writing routine.
I write when I feel like it. Sometimes I don’t write for weeks. Sometimes I write twice a week. Sometimes I even get the urge to write every day. Of course, when this happens I lie down until the feeling passes. I refuse to write every day on principle. No hollow, fast-track to fame and success for me!
Sometimes – I love over-using that word, mainly because it annoys so many people – I spend a writing session staring into space thinking about everything except what I am writing. On occasion, I perform a very long writing session and end up with fewer words than when I started. In both instances, those sessions were incredibly rewarding. I solved editing problems and subconsciously resolved pressing issues in my stories. Not writing actually improved my writing.
My ultimate ambition is to produce a book without writing at all, so that I can counter the write every day rubbish with ‘never write anything, especially words.’
Until then I shall continue to write every year – I am, if nothing else, disciplined – and try to conserve as many of the planet’s word resources as possible.
January 27, 2016
I Am a God
I create and destroy worlds. I make people bend to my will and if they won’t, I make them disappear or retrospectively ensure they never existed. I can make people suffer and die in agony or experience extreme happiness. I can bend the universe to my will and there is nothing anyone or anything can do to stop me. I control everything. I am all powerful.
On reflection, that may sounds a little bit conceited, so I’ll start again.
I am a writer.
I create and destroy worlds. I make people bend to my will and if they won’t, I make them disappear or retrospectively ensure they never existed. I can make people suffer and die in agony or experience extreme happiness. I can bend the universe to my will and there is nothing anyone or anything can do to stop me. I control everything. I am all powerful.
Much better. No wonder writing appeals to people.
Of course, that’s all bullshit. I am no more in control of my writing than I am of most other things in my life. The character I am about to subject to a gruesome death will do something nice and make me reconsider, or sweet-talk me into building his role. The planet I am about to destroy will surrender and ruin my epic interstellar war sequence. I’ll feel sorry for the woman I created who never finds happiness and make her happy. My hero will do something awful and become the villain. My brilliant plot will go off in another direction and defy every effort to bring it back on track. My characters will laugh in my face when I order them to do something and then do something completely different, presumably out of spite.
The truth is, I’m powerless. All my plans are reduced to ruins, my plots shredded, my genres twisted and my characters always seem to undergo personality changes as soon as I commit them to the page. Nothing ever develops the way I intend.
It all sounds very frustrating and probably makes you wonder why I subject myself to such suffering.
But the thing is, this process is wonderful and comforting. It means something – a creative spark, my Writing Entity, perhaps – is looking after me, saying, in effect, “This is crap!. Let’s do it this way!” I will resist sometimes, but invariably, the Writing Entity will gets its way and literally have the last word.
Despite our constant disagreements, I like and believe in my Writing Entity. It constantly surprises me with plot twists and character developments I could never have come up with myself. On many occasions I will watch my hands skim across the keyboard in slow motion (my usual writing speed) then look up to the screen and be completely surprised and delighted by the words on the page. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I think they didn’t come from me.
And so, alas, it appears I am not a God at all. Maybe I’m not even a writer. Perhaps I’m merely a typist happily taking dictation…
Steve Harrison is the author of TimeStorm: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
On reflection, that may sounds a little bit conceited, so I’ll start again.
I am a writer.
I create and destroy worlds. I make people bend to my will and if they won’t, I make them disappear or retrospectively ensure they never existed. I can make people suffer and die in agony or experience extreme happiness. I can bend the universe to my will and there is nothing anyone or anything can do to stop me. I control everything. I am all powerful.
Much better. No wonder writing appeals to people.
Of course, that’s all bullshit. I am no more in control of my writing than I am of most other things in my life. The character I am about to subject to a gruesome death will do something nice and make me reconsider, or sweet-talk me into building his role. The planet I am about to destroy will surrender and ruin my epic interstellar war sequence. I’ll feel sorry for the woman I created who never finds happiness and make her happy. My hero will do something awful and become the villain. My brilliant plot will go off in another direction and defy every effort to bring it back on track. My characters will laugh in my face when I order them to do something and then do something completely different, presumably out of spite.
The truth is, I’m powerless. All my plans are reduced to ruins, my plots shredded, my genres twisted and my characters always seem to undergo personality changes as soon as I commit them to the page. Nothing ever develops the way I intend.
It all sounds very frustrating and probably makes you wonder why I subject myself to such suffering.
But the thing is, this process is wonderful and comforting. It means something – a creative spark, my Writing Entity, perhaps – is looking after me, saying, in effect, “This is crap!. Let’s do it this way!” I will resist sometimes, but invariably, the Writing Entity will gets its way and literally have the last word.
Despite our constant disagreements, I like and believe in my Writing Entity. It constantly surprises me with plot twists and character developments I could never have come up with myself. On many occasions I will watch my hands skim across the keyboard in slow motion (my usual writing speed) then look up to the screen and be completely surprised and delighted by the words on the page. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I think they didn’t come from me.
And so, alas, it appears I am not a God at all. Maybe I’m not even a writer. Perhaps I’m merely a typist happily taking dictation…
Steve Harrison is the author of TimeStorm: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
January 22, 2016
Gender Pretender
I am a middle-aged male and for the most part my characters have been male in both stories and short films (with the exception of one major female character in my novel). I have tried to inject depth, intelligence and complexity into my male characters, although, as they are men, this is quite difficult, particularly when writing action adventure. However, in WE MEN DO*, a short film about mental health I co-wrote with John Osmond, I believe we did capture a level of male complexity and insight that surprised us both and certainly resonates with the film’s audience.
In short, I am confident about writing men. I feel I know them and how they think. Or, in reality, don’t think, which is probably why they appear to have more adventures and near-death experiences than women, who clearly have more sense.
My writing philosophy is that if faced with a choice, men will always choose the wrong one, usually because they believe it is the best solution, will be quick and hassle-free and is a very intelligent approach to the problem at hand. It’s not, it won’t and it is invariably stupid, not intelligent. It will actually makes thing much worse and harder or impossible to resolve. All fiction writers therefore owe a huge debt of gratitude to men.
In keeping with the sentiments expressed in the previous paragraph, in my latest novel, which is close to completion, I chose two teenage girls as the main characters. What made me choose to do this? Obviously, it’s the best solution, will be quick and hassle-free and is a very intelligent approach.
The reason I set myself this task, which makes climbing Mount Everest look like stepping onto my patio (which doesn’t actually have a step), is because of my daughter, Sophia. Like a loving father, if the book fails, I will hold her personally responsible and never let her forget how she ruined my writing career.
I was telling Sophia about the proposed book some months ago, a young adult science fiction, action adventure comedy (I like multiple genres) featuring two teenage boys, when Sophia asked, “why can’t they be girls?” I didn’t reply at first, trapped as I was in my middle-aged-male-boys-own-adventure mindset. “Boys are always the heroes in these books,” she continued.
It was very easy to counter this argument. Well, that was my thought as she spoke. But the reply came out as a shrug and an embarrassed, “Dunno.” I write better than I speak.
Sophia’s comments funnelled their way into my brain and took hold. As I thought about the idea, I became excited, inspired, troubled, worried and, eventually, terrified. But I do like a challenge, and as I have someone to blame if it goes belly up, I decided to go ahead.
The boys would have been easy, because, as a male I have never grown up and inside I am still a teenaged boy. But changing the story to accommodate a sex change proved to be difficult, until I decided what I was not going to do. The temptation was that because the characters were now girls I would have to introduce stereotypical ‘teenage girl issues,’ like emotional problems, puberty, body image pressures, sexism, foul language, romance and family complications. With possibly a deceased parent thrown in, so to speak, or maybe even gay parents. These were on a long and growing list of things that I would not in a million years introduce into the lives of my boy characters. I became ashamed of myself, until I remembered I have the brain of a teenaged boy and shouldn’t worry about it.
The key, I realised, was not gender, but maturity. My daughter and her girlfriends, at 15, had been quite mature, while the boys were completely clueless, with more in common with the grunting cast of The Walking Dead than actual living human beings. The boys in my story got themselves into trouble through stupidity, actions I could not imagine from my girls. Instead, the girls have the same adventure through over-confidence. They are, in many ways, too clever for their own good. It’s only a subtle difference, but all roads lead to Rome…
Whether the story involves boys or girls, they all want the same thing: to get out of the mess they created. The result will hopefully be the same as my original concept; a thrilling adventure with a couple of infuriating, but loveable characters who happily just happen to be girls. For a change.
The readers will decide if this approach works or not, but once I found that being human just might be a little more interesting than the usual male-female divide in what is, after all, an adventure, everything fell into place and I finally discovered my inner 15 year old girl.
*For anyone interested in 11 minutes of short, dark drama, WE MEN DO can be viewed at https://vimeo.com/19143670
Steve Harrison is the author of TimeStorm: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
In short, I am confident about writing men. I feel I know them and how they think. Or, in reality, don’t think, which is probably why they appear to have more adventures and near-death experiences than women, who clearly have more sense.
My writing philosophy is that if faced with a choice, men will always choose the wrong one, usually because they believe it is the best solution, will be quick and hassle-free and is a very intelligent approach to the problem at hand. It’s not, it won’t and it is invariably stupid, not intelligent. It will actually makes thing much worse and harder or impossible to resolve. All fiction writers therefore owe a huge debt of gratitude to men.
In keeping with the sentiments expressed in the previous paragraph, in my latest novel, which is close to completion, I chose two teenage girls as the main characters. What made me choose to do this? Obviously, it’s the best solution, will be quick and hassle-free and is a very intelligent approach.
The reason I set myself this task, which makes climbing Mount Everest look like stepping onto my patio (which doesn’t actually have a step), is because of my daughter, Sophia. Like a loving father, if the book fails, I will hold her personally responsible and never let her forget how she ruined my writing career.
I was telling Sophia about the proposed book some months ago, a young adult science fiction, action adventure comedy (I like multiple genres) featuring two teenage boys, when Sophia asked, “why can’t they be girls?” I didn’t reply at first, trapped as I was in my middle-aged-male-boys-own-adventure mindset. “Boys are always the heroes in these books,” she continued.
It was very easy to counter this argument. Well, that was my thought as she spoke. But the reply came out as a shrug and an embarrassed, “Dunno.” I write better than I speak.
Sophia’s comments funnelled their way into my brain and took hold. As I thought about the idea, I became excited, inspired, troubled, worried and, eventually, terrified. But I do like a challenge, and as I have someone to blame if it goes belly up, I decided to go ahead.
The boys would have been easy, because, as a male I have never grown up and inside I am still a teenaged boy. But changing the story to accommodate a sex change proved to be difficult, until I decided what I was not going to do. The temptation was that because the characters were now girls I would have to introduce stereotypical ‘teenage girl issues,’ like emotional problems, puberty, body image pressures, sexism, foul language, romance and family complications. With possibly a deceased parent thrown in, so to speak, or maybe even gay parents. These were on a long and growing list of things that I would not in a million years introduce into the lives of my boy characters. I became ashamed of myself, until I remembered I have the brain of a teenaged boy and shouldn’t worry about it.
The key, I realised, was not gender, but maturity. My daughter and her girlfriends, at 15, had been quite mature, while the boys were completely clueless, with more in common with the grunting cast of The Walking Dead than actual living human beings. The boys in my story got themselves into trouble through stupidity, actions I could not imagine from my girls. Instead, the girls have the same adventure through over-confidence. They are, in many ways, too clever for their own good. It’s only a subtle difference, but all roads lead to Rome…
Whether the story involves boys or girls, they all want the same thing: to get out of the mess they created. The result will hopefully be the same as my original concept; a thrilling adventure with a couple of infuriating, but loveable characters who happily just happen to be girls. For a change.
The readers will decide if this approach works or not, but once I found that being human just might be a little more interesting than the usual male-female divide in what is, after all, an adventure, everything fell into place and I finally discovered my inner 15 year old girl.
*For anyone interested in 11 minutes of short, dark drama, WE MEN DO can be viewed at https://vimeo.com/19143670
Steve Harrison is the author of TimeStorm: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
October 30, 2015
Don't Do That!
On a writer’s board recently I read a post asking, what advice would you give your younger self?
It’s an interesting question, because my writing path, like, I’m sure, that of many others, would make Frodo’s epic journey in Lord of the Rings look like a stroll to the corner shop.
My path is littered with abandoned manuscripts, tortured prose, short stories that should have been novels, novels that should have been short stories, experimental writing I thought (wrongly) would revolutionise literature, humour works that aren’t funny, pieces written into a corner, stories without an ending, beginnings with nothing else, great endings but no story, and assorted other utter and complete rubbish. And that was only in the last month. I won’t list my earlier mistakes.
Of course every one of those attempts was going to be a success. I knew better than everyone else. I ignored writing books and magazine articles that warned me against many of my choices. You see, I was special. Just because other, inferior writers did not have the ability to surmount those problems did not mean anything to me. I would show them what was possible using my superior skills and magnificent writing abilities. I was going to rewrite the written word and wipe the floor with all those hacks from Shakespeare to Dickens and beyond.
In hindsight, my plan may seem to have been a little ambitious. However, I am now convinced I came to the writing game with exactly the right attitude. I knew best and would prove everyone else wrong.
I did have several major advantages over writers starting out today. There was no internet. I started out in longhand and then used that new-fangled invention, the typewriter. You couldn’t amend a manuscript and give it another file name in those days, you had to write or type the entire thing out again. There were books about writing and a few magazines, but the tips were general and homespun. And. Of course, I knew better, so I didn’t take much notice.
It was a slow process, but I discovered the sobering reality of writing and gradually became the caring, intelligent and modest person you have all come to love.
These days, writers are bombarded with online advice. The 10,000 Things You Should Avoid to Become a Great Writer, What Not To Do When Writing, Don’t Do This, Don’t Do That & Do This Instead. There is a tsunami of advice and while much of it may be correct, the vast bulk of it is useless at best and dangerous at worst to a new writer.
There are many, many things you should and shouldn’t do to become a writer, but the one thing I would absolutely advocate (my opinion, not advice) is to avoid avoiding mistakes. Find out for yourself why you should and shouldn’t do them. It’s the only way to fully understand why. Taking someone else’s word for it means you have missed out on a learning opportunity. Take a leaf out of science and try to prove the giver of advice wrong. You will become a better writer.
I realise this may not suit many people, particularly as the process can and, I think, should take years. All I can say is that it is immensely satisfying to give yourself a broad writing education. One which will carry rewards far beyond any material success and give you a wonderful understanding of language and writing.
So, what advice would I give my younger self? None. Let the bastard suffer like I did.
It’s an interesting question, because my writing path, like, I’m sure, that of many others, would make Frodo’s epic journey in Lord of the Rings look like a stroll to the corner shop.
My path is littered with abandoned manuscripts, tortured prose, short stories that should have been novels, novels that should have been short stories, experimental writing I thought (wrongly) would revolutionise literature, humour works that aren’t funny, pieces written into a corner, stories without an ending, beginnings with nothing else, great endings but no story, and assorted other utter and complete rubbish. And that was only in the last month. I won’t list my earlier mistakes.
Of course every one of those attempts was going to be a success. I knew better than everyone else. I ignored writing books and magazine articles that warned me against many of my choices. You see, I was special. Just because other, inferior writers did not have the ability to surmount those problems did not mean anything to me. I would show them what was possible using my superior skills and magnificent writing abilities. I was going to rewrite the written word and wipe the floor with all those hacks from Shakespeare to Dickens and beyond.
In hindsight, my plan may seem to have been a little ambitious. However, I am now convinced I came to the writing game with exactly the right attitude. I knew best and would prove everyone else wrong.
I did have several major advantages over writers starting out today. There was no internet. I started out in longhand and then used that new-fangled invention, the typewriter. You couldn’t amend a manuscript and give it another file name in those days, you had to write or type the entire thing out again. There were books about writing and a few magazines, but the tips were general and homespun. And. Of course, I knew better, so I didn’t take much notice.
It was a slow process, but I discovered the sobering reality of writing and gradually became the caring, intelligent and modest person you have all come to love.
These days, writers are bombarded with online advice. The 10,000 Things You Should Avoid to Become a Great Writer, What Not To Do When Writing, Don’t Do This, Don’t Do That & Do This Instead. There is a tsunami of advice and while much of it may be correct, the vast bulk of it is useless at best and dangerous at worst to a new writer.
There are many, many things you should and shouldn’t do to become a writer, but the one thing I would absolutely advocate (my opinion, not advice) is to avoid avoiding mistakes. Find out for yourself why you should and shouldn’t do them. It’s the only way to fully understand why. Taking someone else’s word for it means you have missed out on a learning opportunity. Take a leaf out of science and try to prove the giver of advice wrong. You will become a better writer.
I realise this may not suit many people, particularly as the process can and, I think, should take years. All I can say is that it is immensely satisfying to give yourself a broad writing education. One which will carry rewards far beyond any material success and give you a wonderful understanding of language and writing.
So, what advice would I give my younger self? None. Let the bastard suffer like I did.
August 4, 2015
The Outline of a Pantser
Are you an outliner or a pantser? If you frequent online writing boards as I do, you have no doubt been assailed by this question lately. Probably several times. It is the flavour of the month in the online world of scribblers. Apparently, you can’t be both and must align with one of these groups or the consequences will be dire. Apparently.
If you are lucky, you don’t know what I’m talking about. You may not even care, but stick around while I make fun of this important subject.
Outliners are writers who plan their writing, usually incorporating written notes, in order to structure and plan their stories. To the pantser, this method is too regimented and boring and outlining stifles creativity.
The pantser freewheels and flies across the page by the seat of his or her pants, never knowing what they are about to write. To the outliner, they are undisciplined rabble and their writing must be a complete mess.
In truth, the outliner is actually a pantser while outlining, and, at the completion of the outline, becomes an outliner. The pantser bypasses the outlining stage and merrily pantses through the manuscript from start to finish.
By now, you must be fascinated by this vitally important writing subject and literally (see what I did there?) dying to find out in which metaphorical camp I pitch my metaphorical tent.
OK, if you must know, I’m a pantsliner. Or a linerpantser. Line of Pants? Pantsouter? I’m looking for a word that says I’m a who-the-hell-cares-how-I-get-to-the-end-of-my-writing writer. You can see the need for a catchy name.
I am a loose outliner in my head. I formulate my stories in there, where there is plenty of room to roam and graze on ideas. I don’t write anything down, though, instead making mind-movies, which I ‘watch’ and rewind and refine until I am ready to start writing. This can take anything from a week to twenty-five years, but by the time I put finger to keyboard, I’m ready to rock and roll.
In my head the movie unwinds and I rewind and fast-forward as required to fiddle and adjust and edit. I have been on the other side of the tracks and produced written outlines in the past, but for some reason I find it much harder to deviate from a written plan. It makes me claustrophobic and my writing stilted.
I sympathise with people who are compelled to be one or the other, rather than being open to the possibility that writers can have individual methods to take them over the line. I have friends who are outliners and others who are pantsers. Some of them are very close to being normal human beings. Well, as close to normal as any writer can be. OK, not that close, really.
But does any reader or writer – at the end of the day, in the fullness of time and at the exhaustion of clichés - when they finish a book, know whether the writer outlined or pantsed? Or care?
I thought not.
If you are lucky, you don’t know what I’m talking about. You may not even care, but stick around while I make fun of this important subject.
Outliners are writers who plan their writing, usually incorporating written notes, in order to structure and plan their stories. To the pantser, this method is too regimented and boring and outlining stifles creativity.
The pantser freewheels and flies across the page by the seat of his or her pants, never knowing what they are about to write. To the outliner, they are undisciplined rabble and their writing must be a complete mess.
In truth, the outliner is actually a pantser while outlining, and, at the completion of the outline, becomes an outliner. The pantser bypasses the outlining stage and merrily pantses through the manuscript from start to finish.
By now, you must be fascinated by this vitally important writing subject and literally (see what I did there?) dying to find out in which metaphorical camp I pitch my metaphorical tent.
OK, if you must know, I’m a pantsliner. Or a linerpantser. Line of Pants? Pantsouter? I’m looking for a word that says I’m a who-the-hell-cares-how-I-get-to-the-end-of-my-writing writer. You can see the need for a catchy name.
I am a loose outliner in my head. I formulate my stories in there, where there is plenty of room to roam and graze on ideas. I don’t write anything down, though, instead making mind-movies, which I ‘watch’ and rewind and refine until I am ready to start writing. This can take anything from a week to twenty-five years, but by the time I put finger to keyboard, I’m ready to rock and roll.
In my head the movie unwinds and I rewind and fast-forward as required to fiddle and adjust and edit. I have been on the other side of the tracks and produced written outlines in the past, but for some reason I find it much harder to deviate from a written plan. It makes me claustrophobic and my writing stilted.
I sympathise with people who are compelled to be one or the other, rather than being open to the possibility that writers can have individual methods to take them over the line. I have friends who are outliners and others who are pantsers. Some of them are very close to being normal human beings. Well, as close to normal as any writer can be. OK, not that close, really.
But does any reader or writer – at the end of the day, in the fullness of time and at the exhaustion of clichés - when they finish a book, know whether the writer outlined or pantsed? Or care?
I thought not.
July 21, 2015
Some More Mister Nice Guy
Apparently, I’m a nice guy. I’m considered kind and considerate, approachable and friendly. All very… well… nice. It’s not a bad way to be thought of and I am very comfortable with the label, though in some ways it is a little wishy-washy. Nice is, after all, another way of saying safe.
But my seemingly unassuming and kindly personality causes some confusion among friends who have read my novel. It is a violent story (nice-less in a way) with a huge cast of characters, good, bad and worse, and told from the point of view of twenty-six of them. A lot of work went into making each character as unique as possible, and therein lies the feeling of disconnect for my friends.
They ask me one of two questions:
1. Where do you get your characters? This implies I must order them from eBay or some other character retail site.
2. Who is that character based on? This is often accompanied by a knowing nose tap, as though they have worked it out and just want confirmation.
The answer to both questions is that all of the characters are unequivocally me.
If you were brave enough to enter my mind, and got used to all the empty space, you would find, lurking in those dark alcoves and recesses, a wide variety of versions of my character. There are monster versions (I haven’t released them yet), killers, thieves, deranged parents, criminal masterminds, possessed children, two-faced back-stabbers and violent drug dealing gang members. And they are just my female side.
There are people who are insanely jealous, filled with remorse, seething with anger, in search of revenge, consumed by lust, clingy, dependent, dominant, meek, happy, sad, manipulative, depressed, euphoric, arrogant, delusional, realistic and fatalistic.
There are sailors, soldiers, police, firemen, slaves, politicians, nurses, reporters, convicts, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, orphans, migrants, refugees, astronauts, aliens, animals, vegetables and minerals.
You will see history, war, peace, revolution, anarchy, battles, natural disasters, discovery, nation building and invention. You can see why I need so much space in there.
All of this is in constant turmoil in my mind. There are stories involving all of them and they constantly compete to be released, hopefully only onto the page. I can only hope they never form a united front and take over.
But given this recipe for disaster, it is fortunate that I am dominated and kept in check by my niceness. It serves me well and allows me move around in a population completely unaware of the terrible danger walking freely among them. A potential danger so terrible that if unleashed it could – and I say this modestly – consume the entire planet.
And so, while I contain this enormous evil power that would make a James Bond villain look like one of Fagin’s pickpockets, no one will be the wiser as I remain unassuming, charming and nice.
While I can.
But my seemingly unassuming and kindly personality causes some confusion among friends who have read my novel. It is a violent story (nice-less in a way) with a huge cast of characters, good, bad and worse, and told from the point of view of twenty-six of them. A lot of work went into making each character as unique as possible, and therein lies the feeling of disconnect for my friends.
They ask me one of two questions:
1. Where do you get your characters? This implies I must order them from eBay or some other character retail site.
2. Who is that character based on? This is often accompanied by a knowing nose tap, as though they have worked it out and just want confirmation.
The answer to both questions is that all of the characters are unequivocally me.
If you were brave enough to enter my mind, and got used to all the empty space, you would find, lurking in those dark alcoves and recesses, a wide variety of versions of my character. There are monster versions (I haven’t released them yet), killers, thieves, deranged parents, criminal masterminds, possessed children, two-faced back-stabbers and violent drug dealing gang members. And they are just my female side.
There are people who are insanely jealous, filled with remorse, seething with anger, in search of revenge, consumed by lust, clingy, dependent, dominant, meek, happy, sad, manipulative, depressed, euphoric, arrogant, delusional, realistic and fatalistic.
There are sailors, soldiers, police, firemen, slaves, politicians, nurses, reporters, convicts, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, orphans, migrants, refugees, astronauts, aliens, animals, vegetables and minerals.
You will see history, war, peace, revolution, anarchy, battles, natural disasters, discovery, nation building and invention. You can see why I need so much space in there.
All of this is in constant turmoil in my mind. There are stories involving all of them and they constantly compete to be released, hopefully only onto the page. I can only hope they never form a united front and take over.
But given this recipe for disaster, it is fortunate that I am dominated and kept in check by my niceness. It serves me well and allows me move around in a population completely unaware of the terrible danger walking freely among them. A potential danger so terrible that if unleashed it could – and I say this modestly – consume the entire planet.
And so, while I contain this enormous evil power that would make a James Bond villain look like one of Fagin’s pickpockets, no one will be the wiser as I remain unassuming, charming and nice.
While I can.
July 8, 2015
The Fortunate Gullibility of Readers
Note to self: Readers are extremely gullible and easily fooled. They want to believe and they want me to fool them. That’s why they bought my novel. They wish to travel to another world, experience another life, perform heroic deeds, be another person. While immersed in the bubble of my book, they will ignore the impossible, accept the unacceptable and willingly surrender to my every whim.
Second note to self: Don’t burst that bubble, because these gullible readers will not forgive me for destroying their illusion. They will simply walk away and seek another illusionist.
I am, first and foremost, a reader. I read far more than I write, so I know what readers want from a popular fiction, genre writer such as myself. They want to place themselves in my hands and be told a story. They don’t want to read a story, they want it read to them. They want the words on the page to do all the work and their only input should be to turn a page or tap a screen and open their eyes.
Does this make readers lazy? Of course it does (I speak from experience, remember). But they have paid for their leisure. They have given me an amount of money in exchange for a journey. It’s less a book purchase, than a ticket to ride.
They will settle down and open the book, and at this point they are willing me to succeed. They are cheering me on, waving a flag, roaring my name. They believe in me. I am, in this moment as their eyes drift toward the opening word, a Writing Messiah.
No pressure there, then.
But I have to speak to them from the opening line. I must say, “Look, this opening may be boring or convoluted or confusing or silly or terrible (perhaps all of them), but it’s deliberate. I have valid and compelling reasons. Stick with me. Trust me. Sometimes a wonderful train journey begins with a rough shunt and whiplash. But the movement becomes smoother, the train emerges from the dark and gloomy station and soon you will be in the sunshine admiring the view from your window.”
And do you know what? Most readers will hang around. Some of them will actually be happy they have not been immediately jolted out of their chair by throat-grabbing opening sentence or something alarming like a gruesome murder, an interplanetary battle or a character who is a politician. They are happy to settle into the book. I will then have some time – perhaps only a few pages – to reveal my intentions, which, I assure you, are entirely honourable.
And as a reward for your faithfulness, I will take you with me on a fabulous adventure to places you have never imagined, with people you will love and loathe, situations which place you in mortal danger and you will experience all the highs and lows of a life fully lived, leaving you breathless at the conclusion and wishing my novel would never end.
Well, that’s the intention…
Second note to self: Don’t burst that bubble, because these gullible readers will not forgive me for destroying their illusion. They will simply walk away and seek another illusionist.
I am, first and foremost, a reader. I read far more than I write, so I know what readers want from a popular fiction, genre writer such as myself. They want to place themselves in my hands and be told a story. They don’t want to read a story, they want it read to them. They want the words on the page to do all the work and their only input should be to turn a page or tap a screen and open their eyes.
Does this make readers lazy? Of course it does (I speak from experience, remember). But they have paid for their leisure. They have given me an amount of money in exchange for a journey. It’s less a book purchase, than a ticket to ride.
They will settle down and open the book, and at this point they are willing me to succeed. They are cheering me on, waving a flag, roaring my name. They believe in me. I am, in this moment as their eyes drift toward the opening word, a Writing Messiah.
No pressure there, then.
But I have to speak to them from the opening line. I must say, “Look, this opening may be boring or convoluted or confusing or silly or terrible (perhaps all of them), but it’s deliberate. I have valid and compelling reasons. Stick with me. Trust me. Sometimes a wonderful train journey begins with a rough shunt and whiplash. But the movement becomes smoother, the train emerges from the dark and gloomy station and soon you will be in the sunshine admiring the view from your window.”
And do you know what? Most readers will hang around. Some of them will actually be happy they have not been immediately jolted out of their chair by throat-grabbing opening sentence or something alarming like a gruesome murder, an interplanetary battle or a character who is a politician. They are happy to settle into the book. I will then have some time – perhaps only a few pages – to reveal my intentions, which, I assure you, are entirely honourable.
And as a reward for your faithfulness, I will take you with me on a fabulous adventure to places you have never imagined, with people you will love and loathe, situations which place you in mortal danger and you will experience all the highs and lows of a life fully lived, leaving you breathless at the conclusion and wishing my novel would never end.
Well, that’s the intention…
May 9, 2015
Righting Advice
I am becoming increasingly annoyed when I read writing ‘advice.’ I write ‘advice’ that way because invariably, it’s not advice, it’s opinion. It is opinion disguised as advice, a sort of process of opinionisation (I made that up!).
If someone tells you, never jump out of an aeroplane without a parachute, that is advice. Good advice, unless suicide is your intention. As is, don’t cross roads with your eyes closed while wearing headphones.
Writing ‘advice,’ on the other hand, is opinion, or, at best, a suggestion.
Writing ‘advice’ can be broadly split between two sources:
•The successful writer who has employed a long list of methods and assumes that everyone who does exactly the same – without variance – is destined to be equally successful. It worked for me, right, so you need to do it? So what’s the problem?
•The unsuccessful or progressing writer who has heard ‘advice’ which they consider extremely good and have decided it is the right ‘advice,’ whether it works for them or not. It worked for someone else and I agree with it and one day it will work for me and, by God, you have to do it, too!
They both sound the same, because they pepper their ‘advice’ with things like never, don’t, you shouldn’t, you can’t, always, you must and, my all-time favourite (which has a number of variations), if you don’t do x, how can you ever call yourself a writer?
Should you ignore this tsunami of negativity? Sorry, I don’t give advice.
Writing opinion (note no quotation marks), offered by the thoughtful writer, however, is a different and much more welcome beast. The author of opinion will say things like, you might want to consider this, it worked for me in a similar situation, or, someone told me this, which I thought made sense and may help, although I haven’t used it myself.
As a writer, when I look at a blank page, apart from the feeling of dread, horror and panic, I see a universe of writing possibilities. I know – and I am reassured by the knowledge – that all the great and not-so-great works of literature, everything, in fact, that has ever been inscribed, began by someone looking at a blank page (or the ancient equivalent writing surfaces).
It is possible to dream that I might fill that blank page with something as wonderful and enduring as all those fabulous writers of yesterday and today. The reality may be quite different, but while the canvas is unspoiled by my written words, no one can argue with me.
It therefore irks me when I am surrounded by don’ts, nevers, always’s (I did that deliberately, so sue me) and musts. Suddenly, the giant universe of the written word shrinks into a negative little rule-bound world of fear and doubt. The page is no longer filled with words, but landmines.
Language is a tool and words exist purely so that we can express ideas with them. I can mash and pummel and invent (and invert) and abuse and misuse them to suit what I am attempting to do. The resulting success or failure is a very personal matter between ME and my readers.
So now, when ‘advice’ is presented as fact, I like to throw a spanner in the works by asking, why? The ensuing discussions are a lot of fun.
So, I hear you ask, what should you do? Should you ignore the plethora of ‘advice?’ This waterfall of instructions? The catalogue of commandments?
Decide for yourselves. I only have opinions.
If someone tells you, never jump out of an aeroplane without a parachute, that is advice. Good advice, unless suicide is your intention. As is, don’t cross roads with your eyes closed while wearing headphones.
Writing ‘advice,’ on the other hand, is opinion, or, at best, a suggestion.
Writing ‘advice’ can be broadly split between two sources:
•The successful writer who has employed a long list of methods and assumes that everyone who does exactly the same – without variance – is destined to be equally successful. It worked for me, right, so you need to do it? So what’s the problem?
•The unsuccessful or progressing writer who has heard ‘advice’ which they consider extremely good and have decided it is the right ‘advice,’ whether it works for them or not. It worked for someone else and I agree with it and one day it will work for me and, by God, you have to do it, too!
They both sound the same, because they pepper their ‘advice’ with things like never, don’t, you shouldn’t, you can’t, always, you must and, my all-time favourite (which has a number of variations), if you don’t do x, how can you ever call yourself a writer?
Should you ignore this tsunami of negativity? Sorry, I don’t give advice.
Writing opinion (note no quotation marks), offered by the thoughtful writer, however, is a different and much more welcome beast. The author of opinion will say things like, you might want to consider this, it worked for me in a similar situation, or, someone told me this, which I thought made sense and may help, although I haven’t used it myself.
As a writer, when I look at a blank page, apart from the feeling of dread, horror and panic, I see a universe of writing possibilities. I know – and I am reassured by the knowledge – that all the great and not-so-great works of literature, everything, in fact, that has ever been inscribed, began by someone looking at a blank page (or the ancient equivalent writing surfaces).
It is possible to dream that I might fill that blank page with something as wonderful and enduring as all those fabulous writers of yesterday and today. The reality may be quite different, but while the canvas is unspoiled by my written words, no one can argue with me.
It therefore irks me when I am surrounded by don’ts, nevers, always’s (I did that deliberately, so sue me) and musts. Suddenly, the giant universe of the written word shrinks into a negative little rule-bound world of fear and doubt. The page is no longer filled with words, but landmines.
Language is a tool and words exist purely so that we can express ideas with them. I can mash and pummel and invent (and invert) and abuse and misuse them to suit what I am attempting to do. The resulting success or failure is a very personal matter between ME and my readers.
So now, when ‘advice’ is presented as fact, I like to throw a spanner in the works by asking, why? The ensuing discussions are a lot of fun.
So, I hear you ask, what should you do? Should you ignore the plethora of ‘advice?’ This waterfall of instructions? The catalogue of commandments?
Decide for yourselves. I only have opinions.
April 15, 2015
Genre Friction
During the long years of writing, rewriting and submitting TimeStorm, a stumbling block with many of the publishers I approached was the genre label attached to the book. Or lack thereof. “What genre is it?” they would ask, implying that if I got the answer right, they would immediately sign me up.
How easy is that? I thought. The novel follows the crew and convicts aboard an eighteenth century British navy ship as they are transported to the present day via the book’s title. It’s clearly a… wait a minute!
The event driving the story is time travel, so it must be science fiction. But it’s not hard science fiction, as the time travel element is not explained scientifically. In which case, it must be fantasy. However, the time travel portion is very brief and, though important, the story is really a fish-out-of-water or strangers-in-a-strange-land tale and grounded in, I hope, gritty reality. It’s about the characters, with the main one being a seafaring officer in the Hornblower tradition, so it’s a seafaring adventure, even an old fashioned seafaring adventure. And there’s lots of action, so it must be an action adventure, too, or a violent action adventure, if truth be told. It’s a thriller, too. I’m glad I cleared that up.
But what about the historical aspect. TimeStorm is based on the 18th and 19th century British policy of transporting convicts to Australia, so it must be historical fiction or, more accurately, historical time slip fiction. Did I mention romance? That’s in there, too, so it’s an historical romance. Television news reporting is a key element in the story, so the book must also be current affairs. It does, after all, include political machinations. Political thriller sounds good. Don’t forget the police siege… Hornblower meets Die Hard.
The publishers were gone by this time, probably shaking their heads and thanking their lucky stars they didn’t have market the novel to the public.
But finally, the wonderful Elsewhen Press came along and published TimeStorm, seeing the book for what it is, whatever that is. They weren’t daunted by the 4,356 genres included in the novel (I only mentioned a handful of them above) and instead let the story speak for itself.
Reviews have been universally very positive and readers often say, “I don’t usually read books like this.” Oh yes, you do,” I cry in reply. It’s because TimeStorm is a seafaring action adventure thriller, time slip, science fiction, fantasy, gritty political/police/ media drama and historical romance novel. Of course you read books like this! Or at least books like one of the above. I’m just making reading choices easy for you with a one-stop, multi-genre read.
By the way, I forgot mention there is a healthy dose of humour, too. Perhaps the genre is actually Hysterical Romance…
TimeStorm: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
How easy is that? I thought. The novel follows the crew and convicts aboard an eighteenth century British navy ship as they are transported to the present day via the book’s title. It’s clearly a… wait a minute!
The event driving the story is time travel, so it must be science fiction. But it’s not hard science fiction, as the time travel element is not explained scientifically. In which case, it must be fantasy. However, the time travel portion is very brief and, though important, the story is really a fish-out-of-water or strangers-in-a-strange-land tale and grounded in, I hope, gritty reality. It’s about the characters, with the main one being a seafaring officer in the Hornblower tradition, so it’s a seafaring adventure, even an old fashioned seafaring adventure. And there’s lots of action, so it must be an action adventure, too, or a violent action adventure, if truth be told. It’s a thriller, too. I’m glad I cleared that up.
But what about the historical aspect. TimeStorm is based on the 18th and 19th century British policy of transporting convicts to Australia, so it must be historical fiction or, more accurately, historical time slip fiction. Did I mention romance? That’s in there, too, so it’s an historical romance. Television news reporting is a key element in the story, so the book must also be current affairs. It does, after all, include political machinations. Political thriller sounds good. Don’t forget the police siege… Hornblower meets Die Hard.
The publishers were gone by this time, probably shaking their heads and thanking their lucky stars they didn’t have market the novel to the public.
But finally, the wonderful Elsewhen Press came along and published TimeStorm, seeing the book for what it is, whatever that is. They weren’t daunted by the 4,356 genres included in the novel (I only mentioned a handful of them above) and instead let the story speak for itself.
Reviews have been universally very positive and readers often say, “I don’t usually read books like this.” Oh yes, you do,” I cry in reply. It’s because TimeStorm is a seafaring action adventure thriller, time slip, science fiction, fantasy, gritty political/police/ media drama and historical romance novel. Of course you read books like this! Or at least books like one of the above. I’m just making reading choices easy for you with a one-stop, multi-genre read.
By the way, I forgot mention there is a healthy dose of humour, too. Perhaps the genre is actually Hysterical Romance…
TimeStorm: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
