Stuart Aken's Blog, page 259

The Emotion Thesaurus, by Angela Ackerman & Becca Puglisi, Reviewed

I promised my wonderful and long-suffering wife that I wouldn’t buy any more book until I’d read everything on our shelves. Now, here I am buying a new thesaurus after reading only 31 of the original 188 titles awaiting my attention. Why? Well a friend (she’s a friend, and she made me break a promise to my wife?) passed on a review of this book. I’m afraid I can’t now find the link to that review, but thanks to whoever it was! It was the review that persuaded me to bend my knee and ask my lovely other half to bend the rules. Being the woman she is, she agreed, of course.So, what’s this reference work like?Well, surprisingly, it’s in the form of a thesaurus: novel, eh? There’s a short introductory section that provides a brief overview of emotion and its place in writing. A short article on avoiding common problems in conveying nonverbal emotion follows. And a short explanatory piece then explains how best to use the thesaurus. After these pieces come the listings. Now, I don’t know about you, but perhaps because I’m a man and therefore emotionally challenged, I’d have found it difficult to come up with a list of more than ten emotions. So it was something of a surprise to discover 75, yes seventy five, listed here. For each of these, the authors have provided a definition of the emotion, a list of physical signals, the internal sensations experienced, the mental responses felt, cues of acute or long-term encounters with and cues of suppressed experience of the emotion. The final piece on each is a short writer’s tip.The book sets out to enable writers to convey emotion in the time-honoured fashion of ‘showing’ rather than the easier and less satisfying ‘telling’. By equipping the writer with a variety of physical signs (body language), visceral experiences (the true and unavoidable internal responses) and degrees of response, the authors help writers to bring deeper feelings to the readers of their works. It succeeds in its stated purpose, by the way.I shall keep this book beside me as I edit in the future, ensuring I create real emotion on the page rather than allow cliché and familiar expression to convey the feelings of my characters.My thanks to the unknown reviewer and my great thanks to Angela and Becca for a super little reference book that I expect to improve my writing for years to come. I think it’s probably redundant for me to say I recommend this book, but, there, I’ve said it anyway.
Related articles The Emotion Thesaurus - an interview with Becca Puglisi Book Review Character Emotion A Must Have for Writers [image error]

Blood Wedding, by Federico Garcia Lorca, Reviewed

Described as tragedy in three acts and seven scenes, Blood Wedding is, of course, a theatrical classic. Now; plays are intended to be seen as they’re performed on stage. But, having had some small experience of playwriting and being a novelist and short story writer by nature, I enjoy the challenge of setting such works within the landscape of my own imagination.This is a work from a culture that’s alien to me and that makes it all the more challenging. It also tests its credentials as a renowned classic. If I can glean the essence of the piece simply by reading it from the page, then it clearly deserves its literary reputation.So, a tragedy: of that there can be no doubt. A sad and sorry tale of love distorted by tribal and cultural considerations that defy comprehension in a modern mind, this story reveals the ultimate stupidity that supports certain primitive codes of honour. Religion is rarely mentioned in the text, but it sweeps through the work like a mudslide invading a village. Passion drives much of the play, directing the characters and forcing them to make decisions that a moment’s quiet contemplation would quickly countermand. Various devices are employed to illuminate the tale. The ubiquitous horse clearly has a significance that largely escaped me during the reading. Though, I suppose, it might be a metaphor for a certain type of power, or it may have the sexual connotations of the dream. I don’t have the advantage of the study notes that would undoubtedly explain the play through the eyes of some scholars, and I prefer my ignorance to the pretentions of such critics.There are large passages of poetry expressed as song and these are relatively repetitious and often obscure. Such references carry more meaning for the intended local audience, no doubt. The simmering sexual tension swells through these passages, evoking those stirrings of passion often experienced by most of us in our youth. That it is here applied to more mature individuals increases the feeling that we are witnessing a primitive society.Whilst there were elements of the text that bypassed my conscious understanding, the play as a whole found its way into my heart and soul so that I felt the emotions and discovered I had empathy with the protagonists. The inevitability of the denouement did nothing to decrease its utterly senseless tragedy. I can only hope that the people for whom this was, presumably, written would leave the theatre in a state that would encourage them to examine the traditions and customs by which they lived. Otherwise, the tragedy is destined to be repeated ad infinitum.Would I attend a stage performance if it were to come my way? Yes.
Related articles blood wedding. [image error]

The Black Angel, by John Connolly, Reviewed.

I suspect that this is a very good book of its type, but I’ll never know. Sometimes, as a reader, I pick up a book and begin to read and know, very quickly that it isn’t for me. This is, obviously, a personal response.
Other readers may, however, gain value from the reasons why I failed to get past page 33 of a 596 page book. The book is described as ‘dark and powerful yet beautifully written’, by Big Issue , and that, I suspect, would have been my own assessment had I finished it. The writing is, without doubt, good. And it is a very dark piece of work. Which is why I didn’t read it.
For me, this was too dark and gave no glimmer of hope for any lightness. I’ve read and enjoyed horror, thrillers of all sorts, but I need to have some hint of lightness to balance the dark. In The Black Angel, there was no such hint. And the darkness all revolved around brutal mistreatment of women, around trading in women as objects. I find that a difficult subject to deal with but could have continued had there been even a sprinkling of lightness, perhaps a touch of humour here and there. But, when all is darkness, I find the text depressing. And depression is something I can do without.
We all have our own peculiarities: my own is that I can write very dark material, but always add lightness. I can’t read dark material that lacks such a touch. I’ve probably missed out on a very good book. The writing is generally good and I’ve little doubt that the author can tell a tale. But this one wasn’t for me. I hope this is of use to some potential readers, but stress that this is a very personal response.
Related articles John Connolly: 'All you have is language. It's an act of respect' [image error]

Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 31

If you haven’t started reading Breaking Faith, the reviews under the 'My Books' tab may persuade you to give it a try.
To those making the journey, I say, ‘Enjoy the ride.’
I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number.
If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html
Read, enjoy, invite your friends along.
Chapter 31
Sunday 4th July
‘Just two more questions, please?’‘I can’t be bothered. Anyway, you know the bloody thing off by heart. Give it a rest, Fay.’I’d been preparing all week for the driving course by reading the Highway Code and getting everyone to test my knowledge. Netta was right; I did just about know it by heart. But Leigh had impressed on me the importance of passing the driving test and I didn’t want to let him down.‘Ready?’ Leigh emerged from the studio, where he was trying to complete a rushed job for a small tool catalogue. The photographer they had originally commissioned had failed to produce work of the required quality but the company had already booked the job with the printers. They’d asked Leigh at the last minute and he was desperately trying to complete the shoot by the deadline.Mum had taken me to Dad’s the day before and returned me to Longhouse that morning so I could pack. But Leigh insisted on taking me to the station himself, in spite of his workload. Mum had returned to Dad, grateful for a chance to be alone with him. I hoped she would remember Eric loved him as well.‘Have you finished at last?’‘No.’‘What now, then?’‘I’m sorting Faith.’‘You promised you’d spend the day with me when you’d finished.’ Netta actually stamped her foot. I had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing.‘I haven’t finished. When I have, I’ll keep my promise…’‘Well, what’re you doing, then?’‘Taking Faith to the station, of course.’‘Let her go by taxi. It takes ages to the station and you promised …’‘I’m not sending Faith off on her very first train journey, to a strange place for a week by making her get a taxi to the station. In any case, by the time it got here, she’d miss the train.’‘Why can’t Mum take her?’‘Matilda’s with David. So, are you coming with us, Netta?’‘No, I’m not! I’m going for a fucking walk. And don’t expect me to be here when you get back!’‘You’ll be arrested!’‘I don’t fucking care!’But I heard her climb the stairs to get something suitable for her walk.Leigh picked up my case. ‘Come on, Faith. We’ll be late.’His concentration on my needs over Netta’s wants gave me the most wonderful feeling and I almost kissed him. Then I felt guilty for being happy about it and worried whether she’d be safe on the fells on her own.‘She’ll be fine. Heacham’s out of commission and Merv’s not about to follow her again after what I did to him.’It amazed me that Leigh could read my mind so easily.‘You shouldn’t be so surprised. I know how you think, Faith.’‘You do?’‘Most of the time anyway.’There was something at the back of my mind that I knew was important. I’d been about to say something just before he’d surprised me with his comment. Now I couldn’t fish it out from the anxiety and excitement of my trip.I was to stay at the school where they held the course. Leigh was a bit vague about the arrangements and the promised leaflet hadn’t arrived in time. It was going to be an adventure. There were many things I could have worried about but my only real anxiety was whether I would pass my test.There was no one on the platform of Garsdale station when we arrived. Sunshine baked the concrete as we sought vainly for shade. We sat on the hot wooden slats of a bench together, Leigh burning the backs of his legs exposed by his shorts. I learnt from his mistake and perched on the edge with my mini tucked under my thighs to protect my skin from the fierce heat.Then it came to me. ‘Leigh! I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered, Heacham isn’t locked up any more. They let him out yesterday. I meant to tell you but in the excitement and the rush, I forgot.’‘No matter.’‘But, Netta’s out there on her own...’‘Shit! I’d better go, though the silly bitch doesn’t deserve my concern. Sorry, Faith, see you when you get back. Phone me with your arrival time; I’ve booked both ways but I can’t remember what time you’re due back. I’d better dash.’ And he kissed me very quickly and was off to his car.‘Bye, Leigh. Good luck.’I watched him vanish round the corner at the end of the platform. The station felt so empty as I sat there waiting, alone.‘Sorry, Faith, nearly forgot. Good luck. I know you can do it.’ He reappeared and I stood because he wanted to hug me. He handed me a small package, kissed me again and then stepped back and looked at me. ‘You look bloody gorgeous. Behave yourself.’ He took me in his arms and kissed my mouth. All the way along the platform, as he returned to the car, he kept turning round to look at me. I remained standing until he was out of sight, certain he wanted to see me that way.I sat and looked at the gift-wrapped parcel, smiling at his thoughtfulness and the way he’d kissed me goodbye.Dad had explained a lot of things about men; things I would never have guessed. He wanted to warn me, he said. ‘You’re far too trusting and vulnerable in your naivety.’So, he told me about men and sex and love and vanity and tricks and pride and risks and rivalries. The more I considered, the more it seemed that Leigh was an unusual man; an unusually good sort of man, in spite of his promiscuous nature and his obsession with women’s bodies.‘You’ll discover he’s not at all unusual in that respect, simply more honest and open about it than most men. Even I, your sick and aged father, enjoy feminine beauty. And Matilda’s demonstrated I’m not past it when it comes to sex, after all.’ He grinned at my surprise. ‘It’s all right, Faith, children are universally disgusted at the idea of their parents engaging in and enjoying sex.’‘I’m not disgusted, Dad. I think it’s lovely. I just wonder you have the energy and the opportunity.’He winked and there was more information in that gesture than I could fathom, but I knew he’d said a great deal and would say no more.The train pulled into the station, clanking and hissing. Only one passenger disembarked from the dozen or so carriages and I boarded by the nearest door. My seat was booked but I had no idea where I was supposed to be sitting and many of the seats were empty. Leigh, however, had made it clear I must find the right seat. ‘First class, so it’ll either be right at the front or right at the back, not in the middle.’I made my way to the front of the train as it set off. It was awkward in the corridor with my case and I was getting hotter as I struggled through the airless carriages. At last, I found the right compartment and slid the door open. There was one other person in there, a man a bit older than Leigh. His back to the engine, he was asleep with his head against the window. I checked my ticket against the slip fastened to the back of the opposite seat as Leigh had advised and then tried to put my case onto the luggage rack. It was too heavy and eventually I gave up and plonked it on the seat beside me.I noticed a paperback book on the floor at the man’s feet and bent to pick it up. It was a copy of a novel I’d heard Netta talk about; something called ‘Fear of Flying’ by Erika Yong. I stood, intending to put the book near the back of the seat beside him. The train was travelling very fast and swaying quite a lot and I had to place my feet apart to keep upright. I leant forward to place the book beside him and, as the train braked fiercely, I was thrown off balance. To my horror, I was pitched across his lap with my knees on the seat, either side of his legs. I had to stretch my arms out in front to stop my head hitting his. The sudden jolt woke him at once, as I was floundering and trying to move away and get back to my seat. He opened his eyes to find me almost astride him with my chest lifting from his face. I suppose it must’ve looked quite funny but I felt terribly embarrassed.‘Great idea! But you might’ve woken me first.’‘I’m sorry, the train...’ I tried to pull myself away but he grasped my hips and urged me down onto his lap.‘No need to apologize, sweetie. Girlies throw themselves at me all the time. Must be my animal magnetism.’I wrenched myself free and sat down, blushing and flushed with rage. ‘I wasn’t trying to do anything to you! I’m not in the least interested in you. The train jerked and made me overbalance, that’s all. I was trying to put your book back. It’d fallen on the floor, if you must know.’He studied my body without a word for a while. ‘Read it, have you? Is that what gave you the idea? Shouldn’t start something if you’re not going to finish it, you know.’‘I haven’t read it and I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’He stared into my eyes and I felt it was important for me to stare back until he looked away. At last, he did but his eyes wandered down my body, stopping at my breasts and my pubic area. I folded my arms, crossed my legs and looked out of the window.‘Suit yourself, sweetie. But you’re missing out on a really good time. I’m always able to find that little button that sends you girlies wild; clit tickling’s a speciality of mine. You won’t be left wanting and we’re quite alone, you know.’I decided to say nothing.He leant forward and put his clammy hand on the skin of my knee, clasped it and started to massage it. ‘Come on, sweetie, it’s hot and so are we. Let’s have a little f..f..f..fun, shall we?’I kicked his hand away, hard.‘Sorry.’ He sat back and sulked. ‘My mistake. Don’t look like a lesbian.’I knew he intended it as an insult, but I wasn’t sure enough of what he meant to argue. I continued to stare out of the window and ignore him.‘Dildo or mutual tongues your thing?’I had only a vague idea of what he meant but I was sure he was being personal and rude so I just refused to acknowledge his presence.‘Or maybe the odd root vegetable? A candle? Banana? Or just fingers? I’m only curious. We men don’t get to know what you girlies get up to together.’I remained silent. And at last, it worked. My refusal to answer or even acknowledge him seemed to make him lose interest.‘Frigid, then. Shame with those tits and thighs.’He said no more after that. When the ticket inspector came, he lifted my case onto the luggage rack for me after he clipped my ticket. He looked at the man on the other seat. ‘If this gentleman can’t help you take it down when we get to Kings Cross, you just wait here, my dear, I’ll come along and give you a hand.’‘Thank you.’‘Not your case I want to take down, though, is it sweetie?’The ticket inspector reappeared almost at once and stared hard at the man. He smiled at me. ‘If you need me at all, Miss, I’m just at the end of the carriage, within easy calling distance.’‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’‘Pleasure.’He gave me a lovely smile, glared at the man, and left. The man just shrugged and turned his stare out of the window.Leigh had said the food on the train would be expensive and might not be very good. I was hungry, however, so I made my way to the buffet car and bought a cheese sandwich and a can of coke. The drink was cold, the sandwich about as tasty as its wrapper.When I returned to the compartment, the man had gone. Just as I was about to sit, I noticed something off-white on the seat. Fresh chewing gum was stuck there. I used a tissue to remove it and dropped it into the small bin. It would have ruined my black skirt, if I’d sat on it and I wondered at his carelessness.The train journey seemed to go on interminably and I fell asleep to the sound of the wheels on the rails. When I woke, he was back and watching me with a look like Mervyn’s. I straightened my skirt and made sure my blouse was buttoned.Outside, houses, factories and office buildings had replaced hills and fields. Everything looked grimy and the air coming through the window seemed stale and used. Other trains crashed past at speed or crawled along beside ours or over it on raised lines. We entered dark smelly tunnels where the sound of the train hammered back through the open window, deafening and ugly. The sunlight was blinding as the train emerged. And still the man looked at my body. I ignored him.At last, we approached the station and drew slowly to a halt. There were people waiting on the platform and others going past along the corridor, carrying their cases. I stood to get my case and suddenly he was behind me, his body so close to mine I could feel his hardness pressing against me. He thrust his arms under mine, brushing the sides of my breasts with his palms as I reached up for my case.‘Such a shame. Lovely tits, great arse. All that way we could’ve done sweet things to each other.’ He lifted my case down and put it on the seat as the train shuddered to a halt.He rocked and swayed against me. I turned to make him move away but he stayed close and I felt frightened for the first time. I glared at him and he took a step back and held up his hands. ‘Why did you put chewing gum on my seat?’‘I … stuck up little tart. Bloody tease, you are. Advertising it but not putting out. Shouldn’t display what’s not available.’ And he departed, leaving me confused by his accusation.I was struggling from the doorway when the ticket inspector arrived to help. ‘Glad he decided to do the gentlemanly thing after all.’ He took my case and carried it onto the platform for me.‘Thank you for being so kind.’‘Pretty girl like you; some men don’t know how to treat a woman like a lady. Pleasure to be of service, Miss.’I remembered the woman in the ladies’ toilet and took some change out of my purse.‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Miss. Pleasure to help a pretty woman.’ He touched his cap and got back on the train, leaving me flushed with pleasure. I set off in the direction everyone else was moving.The underground was a blur of noise, confusion and smell. I asked a dozen unhelpful people before an elderly lady put me on the right tracks for Liverpool Street. Once there, the train was easy to find, as was my seat in another first class compartment, empty this time.A man met me at Colchester station with one of the school’s cars. He was a little older than I. Polite and helpful, he put my case in the boot, opened the car door for me and commented on the heat. ‘Good journey?’‘My first on a train. I’m not sure whether it was good or bad, to be honest. But I’m here, anyway.’He seemed a bit surprised and then remembered to introduce himself, again, and shook my hand. ‘Do I call you Miss Heacham or Faith?’‘Faith, I think, Simon. Heacham’s a rapist so I don’t want to be known by his name.’He seemed even more surprised and said nothing as we drove out of Colchester. I wound down the window and let the wind cool me. The air seemed fresher after London and the train. ‘Is it far?’‘Ten miles or so. You’ll be sharing with one of the other young ladies, will that be okay?’‘I expect so. It’s not a double bed is it?’‘Oh, no! Singles. I know it’s the seventies but, well, you know, we do draw the line somewhere.’‘Good. I’d hate to have a stranger in bed. Imagine all that skin touching as you turned over in the night. Ugh.’He was silent again and I got the impression I’d shocked him.The town quickly gave way to soft rolling countryside with a few very low hills and gentle inclines. Lots of trees lined the narrow winding road but I saw few sheep and not many cattle. Most of the fields seemed to be full of wheat and barley, with an occasional acid yellow patch of a crop I hadn’t seen before.‘What’s that yellow stuff?’‘Pretty isn’t it? Rape.’ He coughed. ‘Odd name for a plant.’‘I think it’s horrible. Is that what I can smell?’‘Pungent, isn’t it? But I do like the brightness.’‘I prefer meadow flowers and the golden yellow of buttercups.’‘A poet, eh?’I assumed he was mocking me. ‘Is the course difficult?’‘Depends how much practice you’ve had.’‘None.’‘Never driven at all?’‘Never even been inside a car until April this year.’‘You’re having me on.’‘I’m not!’‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to ... you’re serious? You are! Well, good luck, Faith. I hope you’re a quick learner.’We drove on in silence again for a while.‘Was there only me to be picked up?’‘Most of the others are coming on later trains or being driven to the school by friends or relations. You’ve travelled the furthest. You’re our first pupil from Yorkshire, Faith.’ He made me feel as if I was special to them in some way.We passed through flat green countryside, parched by the hot sun and lack of rain and I found myself homesick already for the fells and open heights, the melancholy warbling of curlews, the gentle moaning of sheep.Suddenly he turned off the road into a field, along a narrow concrete track. There were no buildings in sight and I wondered where we were heading as the track opened onto a wide concrete strip, which seemed to vanish into the haze both left and right.‘Up to you, Faith, and I shouldn’t really do this, but if you’ve never been behind the wheel before, now’s your chance for a quick trial.’‘Am I allowed to drive here?’‘Got your provisional licence with you?’I nodded.‘It’s an old airfield. We use it for the early lessons. Want a go?’It was a disaster. I crunched the gears, stalled the engine, couldn’t drive in a straight line. I was nearly in tears after that first half hour.‘Excellent. You’ve the makings of a good driver. Natural ability.’I stared at him in disbelief.‘I’m serious. I’d be very surprised if you didn’t do very well indeed on this course. Your co-ordination’s good, your spatial awareness is exceptional for a woman; no sexual sleight intended, only women don’t perceive in the same way as men, you know. Your reactions are spot on. I think we’d be expecting a bit much of you to actually pass your test, of course, but you’ll be ready after a few more lessons when you’ve finished here.’‘Oh, I have to pass. My boss is paying for me.’‘I’m not surprised, lucky bugger.’I let that pass. He got back behind the wheel and drove us off the airfield. ‘Not a word, please, Faith. I really shouldn’t have done that.’‘Why did you?’He turned and looked at me quizzically. ‘I…look, I hope you won’t get me wrong, but you’re very pretty and I was just trying to help. Okay?’‘Thank you. Would you have helped me if I wasn’t pretty?’‘I… Christ, Faith. What a question.’‘Well, would you?’‘Probably not.’‘I see.’‘Look, I don’t expect you to …well, you know.’‘Don’t expect me to what?’‘Come on; girl like you, you must get men trying it on all the time.’The phrase was new to me but I suddenly grasped what the conversation was all about. ‘Oh, you mean sex. I see. Well, I won’t be letting you have sex with me, if that’s what you were expecting.’‘Are you always so… so direct?’‘Leigh says I’m too honest for my own good. So does Mum.’‘Leigh’s your boyfriend?’‘Good Heavens, no. I don’t have a boyfriend.’‘And I always thought Yorkshiremen were supposed to know a good thing when they saw it.’‘It’s not that they don’t try. I’m just not interested in anyone but Leigh.’‘But he’s not interested in you?’‘Not as long as my sister’s giving him all the sex he wants. But, in time, he’ll probably get fed up of her. That’s what Ma says, anyway. And Old Hodge says Leigh doesn’t know what he’s missing and one day he’ll wake up and discover me. I love him, so I can wait.’‘God, if he’s not interested in you, what’s your sister like?’‘You really shouldn’t blaspheme, you know. Netta’s very beautiful and she’s had sex with so many men she knows how to please them. That’s what Mum and Leigh say, anyway. She certainly knows what to do to make a penis stand erect, by all accounts. And Leigh says her vagina’s always moist and ready. I think sex is for marriage, though, don’t you?’He turned to look at me, his eyes wide with wonder and then he suddenly remembered he was driving and had to turn the steering wheel quickly to avoid hitting a tree.‘Far out.’ He was silent for the rest of the journey but he kept turning to glance at me as if I was some sort of creature he’d never seen before. I spent the time looking at the countryside.The school was in a large country house with beautiful gardens and an outdoor swimming pool, tennis courts and something that turned out to be a croquet lawn.My roommate, seven years my senior, spread jars and bottles over the surface of the dressing table and was surprised I had no make up with me. ‘Got to look your best for the examiner, you know. Short skirt, bit of cleavage, winning smile, you can’t fail.’‘You don’t think they test you on your driving, then?’Shirley’s smile was condescending. ‘Really are from the sticks, dear, aren’t you? No man can resist a sexy woman, unless he’s queer, of course. Pushovers, the lot of them.’Dress was informal and I was sticky after travelling all day. I showered before changing into a light summery dress. She watched me curiously as I left the bathroom and brushed my hair before I slipped my clothes on.‘I’d have bet money on you being shy, but you don’t mind wandering about in the nuddy, do you?’‘Nuddy?’‘You know, without your clothes.’‘Oh. Should I? Is it wrong? I mean, there are no men to see, are there?’‘Interesting. Come on then, my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.’‘Am I all right wearing this?’‘Up to you, dear. If I had boobs and a bum like yours, I’d wear as little as I could get away with. If you’ve got it, flaunt it, I say.’There were a dozen of us on the course. Four women and eight men. Most were between twenty and thirty but a couple of the men were older. We sat at a large table with the instructors, again more men than women.After Ma’s cooking, the food seemed no more than okay to me. It certainly wasn’t as wonderful as Shirley seemed to think. Wine and beer were served in the evenings, but no alcohol was available during the day.They issued us with the Highway Code and I said nothing about my well-thumbed copy lying in my bag. We were given a programme for the following day and then, full of food and wine, they gave us a quick written quiz to test what we already knew about the rules of driving.‘The winner, with not a single question wrong, is… Faith! Well done, Faith.’I had to walk up and collect a prize; a pair of sunglasses for driving. I’d never won anything before, never even entered any sort of contest, and it felt wonderful to collect my prize and gain the praise and respect of the tutors.‘There’s your challenge, then. See who can beat Faith in the quiz on Thursday night, the night before you’ll all be taking your tests!’We were told it would be an early and challenging start to the day; early to bed was the recommendation.‘Do you always do as you’re told, Faith?’ Shirley came up at last, when I was already in bed and falling asleep.I just nodded, hoping she’d go to bed herself and let me sleep. I was tired and wanted to be fresh for the morning.‘Mind if I smoke?’‘If you must.’‘God! Don’t you have any vices?’ She lit up a pale pink cigarette, opened the window, and puffed out a long stream of slightly perfumed smoke.‘Apparently, my biggest vice is that I tell the truth.’‘Dangerous. No, I mean, really?’I obviously wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep just yet. I sat up in bed and shrugged. She stared at me and then turned away.‘Sleep starkers, too?’‘Of course.’‘You one of that nuddy lot?’‘I don’t think so. I don’t know what you mean by nuddy lot.’‘Christ, Faith. Nudists, naturists, I think they are.’‘Oh. No, I’m not. Why would anyone wear clothes in bed in this heat?’‘Well, I mean, I …yeah, good question. Why would you, especially, as you say, in hot weather like this? To hell with it. I think I’ll join you.’For an awful moment, I thought she was actually going to get into bed with me but she just meant she would also sleep naked.I yawned. ‘I’m very tired.’‘Sorry, Faith, forgot you’ve been travelling all day. Tell you what, though, you’ve made a killing down there with the boys. They’re drawing lots to decide who gets to teach you.’‘Why?’‘Come off it, Faith, we’re girls together. No need to play the coy one with me…Christ! You really don’t know, do you?’ She started to get undressed as she spoke, flicking ash from her cigarette all over the floor and leaving her clothes where they fell.‘Don’t know what?’‘You’ll be telling me next you’re a virgin.’She seemed to feel awkward, naked, so I looked away.‘I wasn’t actually planning on telling you, Shirley. Does it matter?’She came to stand beside my bed. ‘Look at me, Faith.’I turned.‘What do you see?’I shrugged. ‘A pretty young woman. What am I supposed to see?’She smiled at that. ‘Am I pretty?’‘I think so. Leigh would say you could afford to lose a bit of weight and firm your muscles a bit, but he’s a man, and a photographer at that.’‘Leigh. Would he, now?’‘Oh, he likes his women perfect. I take no notice of him, to tell you the truth. His ideals are beyond the realms of normal, natural women. I think my younger sister, Netta, gets about as close as is possible. He certainly takes a lot of photographs of her, anyway.’‘Screws her, as well, does he?’‘All the time. It amazes me where they find the energy. But then Leigh likes his women. On his birthday, a few weeks ago, he had sex with Abby, Netta, Zoë and my Mother. I wish he’d just settle down a bit and make up his mind what he wants.’She looked at me in disbelief. ‘This guy you work for is shagging half the neighbourhood and you work for him but you’re still a virgin? What sort of deal is that?’I shrugged. ‘I’m ever so tired, Shirley. Do you mind if we go to sleep now?’‘Sleep. She wants to go to sleep just after she tells me she works for a major stud who has let her stay a virgin. Christ, Faith, if he hasn’t shagged you and you’re that bloody sexy, what are these other women like? They must be bloody amazing.’‘Well, Leigh obviously likes them and they seem to like him. No one ever complains anyway. But I think it’s something you should save until you’re married, don’t you?’‘Faith, you’re something else. Just one more question. Is this stud of yours an attractive guy? I mean what does he look like?’I sighed and yawned and then pictured Leigh so I could describe him, and found myself smiling with affection at the picture. ‘He’s tall, over six foot. Shoulder length dark brown hair that’s slightly wavy. The most amazing dark brown eyes that just look at you as if you’re the only person in the room. He has a full beard, which he keeps short and away from his lips, which he kisses with in a way that makes me tingle all over. He’s got lovely white even teeth and he’s well built without being too muscular, you know? His penis is a bit bigger than average but Mum says it’s not huge and she and Netta both say he knows how to use it. I’ve never seen it erect, of course, but it’s bigger when it’s flaccid than Mervyn’s is when his is erect. Mind you, he’s always playing with his, so I’ve never seen his flaccid. Of course, Mervyn only needs a picture of a woman to make his go stiff but Leigh says it takes more than that to get him excited. He’s with naked women so much, often without his own clothes, I suppose it’s a good job he isn’t that easily aroused. He’s got the most amazing bottom; I just want to put my hands on it and hold him close to me all the time. Oh, I’m sorry. Forget I said that.’She stared at me in utter disbelief for a few moments. ‘Jesus, Faith! You’re obviously in love with this hunk but you haven’t had sex with him? But you’re clearly not a lesbian.’‘I don’t think I am. A man on the train said I was. What is it?’‘You really don’t know, do you?’I shook my head. It seemed this could be important.‘Do you fancy other women?’I thought about it. I knew what she meant by the term but I had no personal experience of the feeling she meant. ‘Am I right in thinking you’re talking about sexual attraction, Shirley?’‘You can’t be for real. Christ! You are though, aren’t you? Yes, I mean sexual attraction.’‘No. I only feel that for Leigh.’‘So. You work for him. You love him. He’s gorgeous. You want to have sex with him. But you never have. Why?’‘We’re not married.’She stood there with her mouth open and gaped at me. Then she went to her bed, shaking her head in what seemed like utter confusion. ‘I believe you, Faith. I don’t know why, but I do. By all means, sleep. Don’t worry about me lying here panting as I fantasize about this Leigh guy.’‘Good night.’ I pulled the cover over me.‘Jesus! Far out!’Her shock amused as much as it puzzled me but I was tired and sank slowly into peaceful sleep with the sound of her soft gasping fading into the background.

###
If you're impatient for the next chapter, you can buy the book in paperback or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.
Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAkenRead on Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4234877.Stuart_AkenStumble with me: http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/stuartakenPin with me here: http://pinterest.com/stuartaken/Buy my ebooks via Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stuartakenUSA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)Join my professional connections on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/stuart-aken/22/1b6/aaa
Related articles Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 30 Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 29 Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 28 Read This Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 27 [image error]

Seeking Readers’ Views on Matters of Fantasy.

Those of you who’ve followed this blog for any time will know I’m in the process of completing an epic fantasy trilogy. I’ve written the first 2 volumes and edited book one to the point where it’s ready for publication. Book 2 is currently undergoing the penultimate edit and book 3 is yet to be written, though I know where it’s heading, more or less.
So, how can you help?
Well, I’m seeking the opinions of readers on various aspects of the fantasy genre:
My book is an adult tale, containing references and descriptions unsuitable for those under 15 years of age. Would that concern you? (there’s no erotic content, but there are sexual references).
The major theme of the whole work is hypocrisy in organised religion, though this is very definitely thematic and doesn’t push the story, which is largely character driven, with the actions of those characters resulting in the drama and adventure of the tale.  Clearly, I’m not about to alter the theme, but I’d like to know if the very fact of it would deter you from sampling the book.
Book 1 is 216,000 words, or around 680 pages of a standard paperback. The other two volumes will be around the same length. Assuming the story and characters carry this length, as a reader, does this excite, inspire, worry or inhibit you?
Clearly, publication of such a tome is likely to be difficult to sell to a traditional publishing house. Would you be likely to try such a book as, A, a paperback, B, an ebook, C, both of these, D, neither, if self-published?
What sort of price would you expect to pay for such a work?
The story needs maps to allow the reader to enjoy the location of the fantasy. I’ve drawn the main map on a sheet of A1 (approx. 60x80 cms) and had it scanned electronically so I can produce it both in full and in parts to suit the story as it ranges over the wide territory imagined. How would you feel about the inclusion of such maps in an ebook? And, would you like a ‘fold-out’ map in a paper book, if possible?
I’ve decided not to publish volume 1 until volume 2 is ready for publication and volume 3 is already underway. Would that decision help you decide whether or not to sample the first volume? I know it’s not uncommon for fantasy writers to start a trilogy and then abandon it before it’s finished. I want to avoid falling into that trap and, by taking this action, wish to assure my readers that I’ll give them the full tale.
Later in the process, I intend releasing short tasters so that readers can have an idea of the quality of the writing and some clues regarding characters, theme and storyline. Would you welcome such samples?
That’s it for the moment. Later on, I’ll explain some of the techniques used in the writing, introduce some of the major characters and give clues about the imagined land I’ve used as a setting. Watch this space.
Thank you for your help in this process.
Related articles Discover Fantasy Blog Tour Stop Fantasy Series Fatigue [image error]

The Best After-Dinner Stories, by Tim Heald, Reviewed.

A book better presented than compiled, Tim Heald’s The Best After-Dinner Stories is a special edition available through the Folio Society (£19.95). As is often the case with such books, the text is illustrated, in this case by Paul Cox, who does an admirable if somewhat cosy job of work with the material offered.
There’s an underlying tone to the collection and the introductory passages which will undoubtedly appeal to those of a clubbish or socially elevated nature. I found it complacent, self-satisfied and smug and not at all attractive. In fact, I was tempted to stop reading after a short while because of this slightly snobbish and superior tone. I’m glad I didn’t.
In the collection, Tim Heald introduces readers to such luminaries as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Churchill, Samuel Johnson, Horace Walpole and Her Majesty the Queen, amongst others. A few less elevated entertainers jostle for space within the pages, including Joyce Grenfell, Eric Idle, Gyles Brandreth, John Mortimer and Joanna Trollope, again, amongst others.
Of course, the very title of the book should have warned me of the probable approach: after dinner stories are, after all, mainly the province of establishment organisations such as Oxbridge, Gentleman’s clubs and various scholarly or exclusive societies. It is telling that the book was published by the Folio Society, a book club specialising in high end quality book production, where all volumes are hardbacks and most editions are presented in slip cases specially designed for the organisation. You’ll find it available on Amazon, but only in the form of the original publication; sometimes offered as ‘new’, when it is clear that it’s a book passed on to the seller by a society member.
Apart from the social snobbishness that drives the text, there’s an intellectual snobbishness that presents certain references, likely to be familiar only to scholars, as if these were common knowledge amongst common readers.
So, why did I continue to read? Well, the simple fact is that some of the stories presented were very amusing. Some. There was a good deal of comedy I could enjoy, though there was as much that left me cold due to its class basis. I skipped large portions, bored by the pretentions of the narrator. But I also learned the true sources for a number of lengthy jokes that have become popular through re-telling and clearly attributed to the wrong creative minds by that reprocessing.
I obtained the book as a returning member of the Folio Society, an organisation that attracts those of us who love real books. It was part of a free introductory package. I’m glad I didn’t pay for it but also glad I stuck it out to the end. Would I recommend it? That depends on the reader, really. The old-fashioned, club members, Oxbridge dons and graduates, and those who consider themselves upper-middle or upper class would undoubtedly enjoy a number of the ‘in’ jokes. For the rest of us less elevated readers, the pleasures are less obvious. If you enjoyed Punch, you’re likely to find something to amuse you here.
[image error]

Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 30

If you’re new to this blog, or haven’t started reading Breaking Faith, perhaps the reviews under the 'My Books' tab may persuade you to give it a try.
To those continuing the ride, I say, ‘Enjoy the journey.’
I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number.
If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html
Read, enjoy, invite your friends along.
Chapter 30
Sunday 6th June
Netta healed quickly and, ultimately, completely. But she grew more possessive over the days of her recovery and, whilst she tolerated Matilda deputizing in her absence, she made it clear she’d object to any other woman, especially Faith, sharing my bed. But I was eager to have her back, the imposed separation having increased my passion for her. So I was grateful when Matilda offered to drive Faith to David’s on Saturday, allowing me more time with Netta.‘Be gentle; I’d like a nice slow screw.’ She’d remained upstairs when they left and met me on the landing as I returned to see if she needed anything.Slowly turning on the spot for me, she displayed the broken skin now healed, leaving bruising in multihued bars and bands across her body. I took her hand and led her to my bed, eased her gently down and began by kissing her from toe to head, back and front.She forsook her sick bed and returned to my room. Once again, she took to wandering the house wearing a shirt. Over those days, I watched the colours fade, saw the yellows, greens, blues and reds merge and melt into her normal honey colour. She emerged from her beating as physically perfect as if it had never happened and I became again obsessed with her beauty.I barely noticed Faith, even after I learned the origins and reasons for the picture I’d removed from Merv’s bedroom wall. One part of my mind couldn’t accept that she’d done that for me but the image of Netta kept getting in the way and, though I thanked her, I failed to express the amazement and admiration I actually felt for what she’d done.I was only vaguely aware of her growing attachment to David. Even Zizi’s birthday would have passed me by had not Faith reminded me in time for me to buy and post her a present. On the day, she was again my diary and I called and made the right sounds, but my heart wasn’t in it and Zizi could tell.Each weekend, Faith was at her father’s and each time I took her, Netta grew more jealous of my time away, sulking. When the mood took her, she would inexplicably run off into the hills alone for hours, risking her well-being and, perversely, depriving us both of the opportunity for unbridled sex.By coincidence, a partial, future solution to this problem presented itself when I took Faith one Friday night in mid June and discovered it was Eric’s seventy-ninth birthday. That recalled Faith’s approaching birthday and David and I managed a quiet word about how we might mark it. I was delighted by his generosity and happy to make my contribution.So it was that the following week saw me walking Faith and Netta to the local pub in the early evening. It was a good walk; two miles or so, over fields high with meadow grass and wild flowers awaiting the first silage cut. I pictured the pair of them, together and singly, as they waltzed through the colours. Netta was wearing the minimal needed for decency; a tight yellow muslin boob tube that shaded with the underlying colour of her nipples and areolae and a sky-blue micro skirt that hugged her lovely bum so closely it was a second skin. Faith was quietly pretty in the cotton print dress I’d bought her in York. She hadn’t worn it off the shoulder since that night and I wished she would.‘I want you to learn to drive, Faith.’ I’d brought the first drinks to the table outside and was sitting next to Netta, my hand stroking her thigh.‘Why?’It was what I’d expected. ‘Because I want you to be able to visit David under your own steam and I’d like you to do the local deliveries for me.’She could accept that. ‘I’ll book some lessons, then.’‘No need. I’ve already booked you a week at one of those new intensive driving schools. You stay at the school and have lessons and take your test all in the space of a week. It’s hard work but I’ve no doubt you can do it.’‘I want to learn!’‘Faith’s my Girl Friday and my printer; I’ve a good business need for her to drive, Netta. How could I justify paying for driving lessons for you to the tax man?’‘I’m your lover, do it for me as a present.’‘Maybe. But not just now. One at a time, I think, don’t you?’‘Meanie!’‘I’ll be free to bed you every weekend, okay?’ I left it at that and turned to Faith. ‘How’s that sound?’‘Where do I have to go?’‘Sorry, there’s nowhere local. It’ll have to be down south. Essex. Place near Colchester.’‘Is that very far?’‘Far enough. Train to King’s Cross, underground to Liverpool Street and another train to Colchester. They’ll pick you up and take you to the school; it’s near an old disused airfield, apparently, that they use for the initial lessons. Nice country house and all food provided.’‘When?’It was typical of Faith to be concerned about practicalities. ‘Next Sunday. I’ve booked your seat and got your ticket. Hope you don’t mind.’‘If it’s for the job, I can’t complain. Any case, it’ll be useful being able to drive. I might even save up and buy myself a little car. I fancy one of those Minis; a red one with a white roof.’‘Excellent. I knew you’d be pleased.’‘Will I be able to see Dad on the Saturday before I go?’‘Of course.’‘What about me?’‘What about you, Netta?’‘What am I going to do for company whilst she’s away and you’re out at work?’‘Not just out at work but in the darkroom as well. Now I don’t have a printer, other than Faith, I have to spend time in there myself. Shame I lost such a good printer in Merv. Such a pity he had to spoil things by making that unprovoked attack on you, Netta, my love.’I was curious to know whether she would admit her duplicity in the light of what Ma, Old Hodge and Merv himself had told me about the incident.‘Yeah, shame. Perhaps you ought to take him back so he can actually rape me this time?’Faith was puzzled by my tone and in sympathy with Netta’s response. I knew I was on a loser and Netta knew I had no proof to support my suspicions. ‘Of course, I don’t want the cretin back, Netta, whatever gave you that idea?’Faith was relieved but I’d stung Netta and she was determined to have a go even though she knew I suspected her. ‘You seem to doubt his attack was unprovoked, that’s all.’‘Do I? Sorry, that’s not the impression I’m trying to convey.’‘What impression are you trying to convey?‘I should’ve thought that was obvious, my sweet. If I were convinced he’d been led on or tricked into trying it on, I’d be forced to look at the situation anew. Under those circumstances, I’d have to get rid of the real guilty party. But, since we all know exactly what happened, there’s no point in discussing it, is there?’Netta’s silence and the fleeting fear that crossed her face were enough to convince me she was less than innocent. It was a measure of my obsession for her that I allowed the probable injustice to remain. But I again revised my feelings for her, liking her less than I had and conscious that my fascination with her body was in danger of making a fool of me.‘Now, Faith, I know you’ll do your best on this driving course, but I want you to know it’s costing me a small fortune, so no messing about, okay?’‘Since when did Faith mess about?’ Netta was pleased to be off the hook and eager to keep the conversation away from what was a worrying subject for her.‘You’ll be away from home for a whole week, Faith, amongst strangers who may well try to lead you astray. I just want to make sure you understand it’s important you concentrate on the job in hand.’‘And you don’t want some good looking driving instructor poking about in there before you’ve had the chance.’ Netta had hit the point.I had to defend myself, from both of them. ‘Faith knows how I feel about her and she knows I don’t have that sort of design on her.’‘Why not?’ Faith’s question startled me.‘In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask you, Leigh, why you didn’t take me back to Longhouse and have sex with me after our trip to York. I was willing enough.’Netta, surprised at this news, turned away from her sister and waited for my response.‘You’d had a lot to drink, Faith. Gentlemen don’t take advantage of women who aren’t in control, that’s all.’‘So it wasn’t because I’m not sexually attractive to you?’‘Absolutely not. I think you’re a very sexy young woman.’‘But you’re not going to have sex with me?’The line of questioning was now agitating Netta and I smiled at both of them in turn, mollifying Netta and attempting to reassure Faith.‘Faith, I’d love to have you in my bed. But you wouldn’t come unless I swore to be exclusively yours. Something I’m not ready to do. In fact, I doubt you’d entertain the idea unless we were actually married.’Netta relaxed.Faith looked at me so directly I was forced to ask. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’‘Perhaps. For the moment.’‘Make that moment last, Sis. I’m not going to share him with you.’‘I wouldn’t share him, Netta. Leigh’s right about that. If I ever make love with him, it’ll be as his only lover. I’ve no intention of being part of his harem.’‘Cow.’But Faith’s comment hadn’t nettled her; there was no venom in her reply.‘Anybody ready for another drink?’ Faith released the lace, holding the top of her dress in a soft scoop around her neck, and let it fall round her shoulders before she stood and retied the knot.I thought how very lovely she looked with her shoulders bare and that confident smile on her pretty face. It struck me it was the first time she’d offered to buy a round of drinks. Faith was growing up before my eyes and becoming more attractive with each new phase of development.Netta, jealous of my attention, had to make a comment to make her sister feel ill at ease. ‘Letting them swing free at last, Sis? Not worried the men might ogle your nipples anymore, then?’Faith stood straight and actually thrust her breasts against the fabric, displaying exactly as Netta had accused. ‘Like you’re always saying, Sis. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’ And she stared across the yard to the open door of the pub.Not to be outdone by her sister, Netta moved my hand from her thigh and urged my fingers under her brief skirt. ‘I’ll have a Black Velvet, sis. And I know what Leigh wants. But, then, I always know what Leigh wants, don’t I?’She did. Or, at least, she thought she did. I was no longer sure as I watched Faith move with naturally sensuous grace across to the bar.

###
If you're impatient for the next chapter, you can buy the book in paperback or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.
Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAkenMy website has links to 100s of other sites of interest: http://stuartaken.co.ukRead on Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4234877.Stuart_AkenStumble with me: http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/stuartakenCome Digg with me: http://digg.com/stuartakenPin with me here: http://pinterest.com/stuartaken/Buy my ebooks via Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stuartakenUSA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)         
Related articles Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 29 Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 28 Read This Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 27 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 26 [image error]

Reading to Write

Writers need to read, in the same way that painters need to visit galleries, plumbers need to visit home improvement shows, computer programmers need to keep up to date with online developments and pianists need to listen to music. We gain our knowledge of what works best by soaking ourselves in the best that’s out there. But, if we don’t read the work of others, how can we know what is best, how can we understand whether our efforts are poor, mediocre, good or bloody wonderful by comparison? It’s very easy, and very lazy, to believe that we, as creative artists, can exist outside the work of others. That our work exists in isolation, untainted by contact with other creative minds. Not only is this lazy, however; it’s crap. All art is derivative. If you don’t think that’s true, you haven’t read enough.
There is a saying that there are only three, five, seven or nine plots, depending on which ‘scholar’ you consult on the issue. I think that’s an oversimplification, but the general idea is right. There are a limited number of ways in which a story can be told.
What each of us as individual writers brings to our own stories is our voice; a combination of experience, education, style, point of view, personality, location, and tone. Boy meets girl is, of course, the most frequently told story. But that basic premise is changed by each writer who approaches it. The tale told by a pessimistic, misogynist, right wing, catholic priest living on the edge of a swamp in Louisiana will be entirely different from the tale told by an optimistic, philanthropic, liberal brain surgeon living in a penthouse overlooking the River Thames. And that is so even if both writers are restricted to the same characters, settings and even incidents.
But, and this is where reading comes into it, the same story told by very similar people with similar experiences, even siblings and identical twins, will be different due to subconscious influences imparted by exposure to different authors. A writer who has dwelt in the world of the classics will write an entirely different story from the one who reads nothing but contemporary romance. Reading informs us in so many different ways. The best writing educates as it informs and entertains. Writing in the absence of reading, far from enabling originality and novelty, actually stunts the writer’s mind and leaves him wallowing in the false world of his own limited imagination. It might be a safe and exciting place to be; living inside your own mind, with your own ideas. But is it a place others will want to share? Is it a place that others will find enticing, exciting, enriching? You can’t know if you don’t read the work of others. Your judgement is inevitably skewed by your prejudice against anything that isn’t what you believe to be your own invention.
Many writers cite the fear of unconscious plagiarism as a reason not to read. This is understandable but mistaken. Unless a writer actually copies the words of another writer (and such does happen, though what these people hope to gain is uncertain) he is unlikely to plagiarise. He may take an interesting idea from another work. But his own voice will alter the tale and make it his own. He may discover a wonderful character, but his own experience will subtly alter that protagonist and, by placing the character within a different frame, the person on the page will be different from that first admired.
One other reason for a modern writer to read is, of course, the need to know what is currently being read in the field of interest or the genre in which the writer operates. It’s impossible to keep up with the multitude of books published daily, whatever type of fiction you produce. But it’s perfectly possible to gain a feeling for what is now being read, by reading what is now being written. I don’t mean the ‘latest’ or ‘best-selling’ books. I mean reading those works that are ‘of the age’, and that can include timeless works that have become classics as well as more modern works that have caught the imagination of the reading public. The timeframe for what is happening ‘now’ in any field will be wider than merely this year, this decade and, in some cases, even this century. Clearly, science fiction is subject to events that occur almost daily. But that doesn’t mean that a scifi story has to include the latest developments. It may mean, however, that a story on a given theme is no longer something that attracts readers. By reading, writers become attuned to what is uppermost in the minds of readers.
Theme is the aspect most affected by the passing of years. So, a modern writer would find it difficult to sell a piece that treated western women as goods and chattels, although the same story set in many contemporary Arabic cultures could be perfectly acceptable, since the customs and traditions in those lands remain locked in a past the west abandoned long ago.
But the single most important reason for a writer to read is that of judging the quality of his writing. Without the work of others with which to compare his output, the writer exists in isolation with only his own standards and limited knowledge and experience to filter his judgement. He must reach a distorted verdict on his own work; it’s inevitable.
So, if you want to write with a sense of certainty that your work is brilliant, with a confidence that will never be questioned by your own ego, don’t read the work of other writers. You’ll likely never sell much and only your family and friends will praise your work. But you’ll live in a falsely elevated state of self-delusion and will be forgotten by posterity, if you were ever noticed, that is.
If, on the other hand, you’d like real readers, real reviewers, real critics to enjoy your work and tell the reading world about them, you’d best read the work of others and learn from the excellent and the dire. Without such benchmarks, your inner critic has no reliable sources with which to make comparisons and you are destined to fail. Unless, of course, you really are a genius.
A great source of information about which books are worth reading, is the excellent online readers’ community, Goodreads. I recommend it to you all.
Related articles The relationship between writers and readers The Writer's Life

Bedroom Farce, by Alan Ayckbourn, Reviewed.

Alan Ayckbourn, in Bedroom Farce, has written another in his series of very funny and insightful farces. A play, of course, is intended to be seen in order to be fully appreciated, but, as a playwright myself, I have an interest in reading the scripts.
This one is staged using three sets that appear together: three bedrooms, which allow the action of the interrelated couples to indulge in the farce of the title. However, what could so easily have descended into smut and exploitation of sexual mores, is instead a complex and well-observed comedy about English suburban life. Ayckbourn is a superb recorder of the idiosyncrasies of his family of English characters. He portrays them with love but doesn’t hold back in showing them for what they are. Often silly, sometimes selfish, frequently lacking in understanding, but never stereotypical, boring or trite.
He uses his sets to make points, giving the locations roles that place them as mute characters on stage to comment silently on the peculiarities, peccadillos, personalities and preferences of his flesh and blood characters. Imagination permits the reader to experience the text in much the same way as the theatre-goer might experience the performance. Though this is not to say that talented actors fail to raise more and greater laughs from the audience than the reader can develop from imagination alone.
Should this play be produced on a stage near me, I shall certainly attend and watch as the text is brought to life by performers who will undoubtedly enjoy the experience as much as the audience. And I’d recommend you to do the same. It’s a play full of laughter for the audience and brimming with under-stated and sometimes subtle asides at the characters. Well worth the reader’s and the viewer’s attention.
Related articles Ayckbourn to direct 'Sugar Daddies' at Seattle's ACT in 2013 Surprises, Stephen Joseph Theatre, Scarborough, review Entertaining Ayckbourn's Confusions Rob Brydon to make West End debut in Ayckbourn's A Chorus of Disapproval

Time Slips By So Easily.

On 7 June, I blogged about procrastination; probably the writer’s biggest barrier to success. In that post, I mentioned I was keeping a chart to log my activities and see where I really spent my time. That time chart ended when I’d completed it for 68 days. Why 68 days? I just felt I’d acquired enough data for the purpose and that it was time to evaluate it.
The first shock came when I realised how little time I devoted to actual writing-related activity. I have a part time ‘day’ job that allows me to put food into the mouths of my family and keep a reasonable roof over our heads. In common with 98% of writers, I have yet to reach the stage where my writing can support rather than supplement. The day job, including attendance and travel time, takes up about 25 hours per week.
Here’s the table of results I gathered:                                                                                                Hours   Per cent68 days                                                                                    1632    100%Sleep (about 7 hours per night)                                                   476      29%Domestic (eating, shopping, home maintenance, personal stuff,)   336      21%Office (attendance & travel to day job)                                       239      15%Relaxation (TV, music, films etc)                                                 189      12%Marketing (FB, Blog, Twitter, Pinterest,)                                       89        5%Emails (everything that’s not Twitter or Pinterest)                           74        5%Fitness (walks, bike rides, rests)                                                    66        4%Reading (novels, magazines & other books)                                   52        3%Editing (editing, formatting, submissions)                                 38        2%Artist (morning pages, photography, drawing)                                37        2%Technical (computer updates, security, internet research)               20        1%Writing (short stories, blog posts, reviews)                              16        1%                                                           
We go through life making certain assumptions. I style myself a ‘writer’; it’s how I visualise myself, how I aim to lead my life. It came as a shock to discover how little time I’d spent in actually writing. A salutary lesson, and one I’ve taken to heart already. I’d persuaded myself I spent much of my time in front of the keyboard and screen actually placing words in documents to produce new writing. If I tell you that the time chart revealed that I spent no more than 5%, that’s FIVE per cent, of my available writing time in actually writing, I think you’ll understand my shock and dismay.
This is the modified version of the table as it relates to writing activity:
Marketing (FB, Blog, Twitter, Pinterest,)               89        27%Emails (everything that’s not Twitter or Pinterest)  74        23%Reading (novels, mags & other books)                 52        16%Editing (editing, formatting, submissions)       38        12%Artist (morning pages, photography, drawing)      37        11%Technical (comp updates, security, int research)   20        6%Writing (short stories, blog posts, reviews)     16        5%
Total time for writing activities (34 hours per week) 326      20%

(sorry the tables aren't aligned - Blogger uses different code from MS Word and I'm damned if I know how to correct this!)
So, my total working week involves 59 hours; hardly that of a sluggard, I think.
I was completing Julia Cameron’s course, The Artist’s Way, at the start of the measuring period; in fact the course was a material influence on my decision to carry out the assessment. So, thank you, Julia! She suggests a series of writing exercises, called ‘morning pages’ and also says all creatives should make an artist’s date with themselves for at least 2 hours per week, which is why those activitiesare included in the table.
I don’t need to explain the rest; it’s patently obvious. But it seems I had fallen into that trap so much lauded on the internet by various groups, organisations and ‘experts’: A writer must develop an ‘Author Platform’ on the web in order to become visible.
Most of my valuable writing time had been spent in building that platform, using social media such as Twitter(3,570 followers), Facebook Author page (244 ‘likes’), Facebook itself  (1,524 friends), Goodreads (1,491 friends), LinkedIn(1,926 connections),  and, more recently, Pinterest (278 followers). The activity to sustain a presence on these sites is time-consuming and some, especially Pinterest, can be addictive (be warned!). Had this time resulted in substantial book sales? The simple answer is, ‘NO’. Add to this, my other activities on such sites as Digg, a site under significant re-development, StumbleUpon (242 connections), and Klout a system intended to measure influence on the web, but one I find confusing and not at all user friendly, and where I have a score of 50 (the average is 20, apparently).  I’m also involved in Foursquare (12 friends) and Tripadvisor (970 friends). Enough said!
So, to the outcome. It’s always been my aim to write something new every day. Not always easy, as I have to rise at 06:30 Monday to Wednesday in order to get to the day job on time, and mornings are by far my most creatively productive times. I suffered from ME for 8 years and am still in the recovery phase, so I need to rest after physical activity, and that includes attendance at the office. So, I’m occasionally restricted. But that’s no excuse for not writing as a priority. What’s happened is that priorities have become distorted by activity undertaken to build a presence on the web.
The solution?
I’ve developed a new time chart, measuring only those activities to do with writing, so that I can keep a constant eye on where my time goes. I’ve decided, and this post is an example, to make writing my first activity every day that I enter my study. So far today I haven’t looked at my emails and my only activity online has been to obtain links for this post. Will the discipline, combined with a new awareness, allow me to spend more time on those writing activities that really matter: creating, editing, submitting and reading? Only time will tell. And I’ll let you know in a couple of months how I’m getting on. I invite you to undertake a similar assessment and see whether you’re using your available time to best advantage. It might surprise, shock or delight you; who knows?
Those uninterested in the technical aspects of the exercise can stop here. For those who want to emulate the process, however, please read on:
I’d set up my time chart on MS Excel, with columns for date, activity name, activity code, start time, end time and, using a simple formula, time spent. This allowed me to modify the spread sheet so that I could create totals for each of the specific tasks I’d nominated. I had headings to cover Domestic, Office, Marketing, Email, Fitness, Reading, Editing, Artist, Technical and Writing. These were ‘group’ headings that allowed me to include all those various jobs we undertake in our daily lives. I’ve attached a sample below to indicate what this actually looked like. If you decide to do something similar, and I strongly advise you to do so, this might act as a guide for you.
I’m no expert with MS Excel, so it took me a little time to understand how I could use formulae to work out how much total time had been spent on each of the specified tasks. But the Help menu actually came to the rescue on this occasion (it appears that, when trying to total ‘time’ the straightforward ∑ autosum function won’t work, it merely returns a value that states a time of day. To arrive at the total time, you use ∑autosum and then right click on the cell where the total will be created, select ‘format cells’ then ‘custom’ from the drop down ‘number’ list and pick ‘[h]:mm:ss’ from the list presented.  I hope that helps!
Dissecting and evaluating the data was a little tedious, but worth the effort, I think. And here’s the promised sample of my original spread sheet.  Good luck.



Related articles Procrastination Is The Thief of Time Writing for Pinterest: Why it's important and how to do it