Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 105

The Five Year Plan

Indie author Kait Nolan was talking about Five Year Plans over on her blog the other day, and it got me thinking. You see, I've never been big on five year plans. I'm the type of person who'd go to an interview, and when asked where I saw myself in five years time, would say "I don't really mind as long as I enjoy what I'm doing." It sounds like I'm not ambitious, like I don't really care about my future, but I am and I do. I wouldn't be trying to carve out a career as a writer if I had no real interest in where I end up - nor would I be studying for a PhD in Film Studies with the eventual intention to be lecturing. But when it comes to long term goals, I'm far less specific. So long as I'm happy, or enjoying what I'm doing, or doing something that contributes towards my success in those fields about which I DO care, then I consider that to be successful.



Why am I so vague about something I should probably put some thought into? Well, this time five years ago, I was still a receptionist at an architectural practice in south London, I was single, and I was just pratting about writing the occasional short story for submission to magazines - and failing at it. I've come so far since then, but I don't think I would have seen myself where I am now if I'd thought about it back then. Would I have ended up somewhere different if I'd HAD a Five Year Plan? Most probably. Would I have an actual published book, and be studying for a PhD? Maybe, maybe not. Would I spend some of my weekends running around haunted buildings with my boyfriend, investigating the boundaries of the paranormal? I doubt it. Either way, that's where I am now, and I'm happy with it.



So do I have a Five Year Plan now? Yes and no. Yes because most of those five years will heavily revolve around my PhD, but no, because you never know what curveballs life will throw at you. I prefer to stay flexible, since what's right for me now might not be what's right for me in two or three years, let alone five. I think I'll stick to my current methodology - I'll set my goals, I'll work for the things I want, and I'll see how things go...



Stay tuned!

[Review] Beginnings, Middles and Ends

[image error] At first glance, writing a book specifically about beginnings, middles and ends might seem a bit odd. After all, a story contains all three, so surely that's just a book about, well, books? Well yes, and no. Despite the fact I was familiar with the three act structure from my academic work in film studies, I hadn't really stopped to consider beginnings, middles and ends as separate entities in fiction until I read James Scott Bell's book, Plot & Structure (highly recommended, by the way). I wrote my own series on beginnings, middles and ends over on Fuel Your Writing, so I couldn't help but be curious about how a whole book on the subject might actually work.



Nancy Kress is no stranger to creative writing books, having also written Dynamic Characters: How to Create Personalities That Keep Readers Captivated and Characters, Emotions and Viewpoint. My edition of Beginnings, Middles and Ends was published in 1999 (although a newer version is available), and in some ways, the text has dated. The book places more emphasis on writing short stories that will be "mailed" to various magazines, while novels are intended to be submitted to agents. Still, don't let that put you off - after all, there's a lot to be said for submitting shorter works to magazines or journals (although most are now online) and despite what certain people say, agents can still be very useful people in your writing career. But I digress.



While at first it seems odd to focus on the three parts of a story separately, it's actually a very logical approach. After all, most writers struggle with one of the three. They may write stellar beginnings, but run out of steam, or they may write lacklustre material that is entirely redeemed by a spectacular ending. Personally, I find the beginning and ending exciting, but I worry about how to maintain pace in the middle. Considering the majority of the book seems to be given over to beginnings, I'd wager that's the area with which Kress herself has the most problems.



It is a very interesting book, and its particular emphasis on developing a through-line for the novel/story to keep you on track and on theme is a valuable one. The book also highlights the importance of coherence, and keeping each segment of your book closely aligned with those preceding and following, in order to prevent any of those annoying "What the hell is that?" moments. Kress uses a fictional example story involving a problem family to demonstrate ways in which the plot can be developed, and ways in which it probably shouldn't, as a way of showing writers how endings should grow organically out of beginnings. Each section is broken down into chapters aimed at specific problem areas, including exactly where to begin, how to get past a block when you get stuck, and how to nail that stellar ending. In addition, Kress provides exercises at the end of each chapter, aimed at getting you to work on the specific area of your work that you've just covered in the book.



My biggest problem with the book is that it does feel slightly dated, and the information in both Plot & Structure and the recent Story Engineering by Larry Brooks seems more useful. Perhaps the book would be more useful if you're very new to writing and you'd like things to be more clearly broken down, but if you've been writing for a while and you want to better investigate story structure, then either of the titles I've just mentioned will probably be better for you. Of course, if you're solely a short story writer, then I highly recommend Beginnings, Middles and Ends as both Plot & Structure and Story Engineering are more aimed at novelists. Even then, as a novelist, you may find something useful in the book...but try to borrow it from a library instead.



Three blunt pencils out of five

Eighty Nine Launch Day

Today is Launch Day for the latest Literary Mix Tapes anthology, Eighty Nine. My story, Thirty Years in the Bathroom, is online now, but only for the next 24 hours.

This is the third LMT anthology I've been in, having also had stories appear in the first Deck the Halls collection in 2010, and the Nothing But Flowers anthology released earlier this year. The thinking behind Eighty Nine was to collect stories inspired by or based on songs released in 1989. Each author nominated a song, and titles were assigned following a random draw. I nominated Bon Jovi's Lay Your Hands On Me, which went to Adam Byatt, while I got 30 Years In The Bathroom by The Wonderstuff, originally suggested by Dan Powell.

As you can imagine, the song title doesn't immediately suggest many story possibilities. I had a few ideas involving someone literally spending thirty years in a bathroom but when I tried to set up a story structure using this plot, I found it nigh-on impossible to get the narrative framework to stand up. On the one occasion that I did, I realised the plot was too similar to that of Blast From The Past for it to work. Luckily a lot of swearing and lateral thinking ensued and I came up with my story, involving the Batman premiere, Greek mythology, and a mixture of Faust and Dorian Gray.

You can read it here until tomorrow, or you can buy a copy of the anthology here in the UK, or here in the US! We also have a Facebook event here, so get involved!

Photo Prompt 56

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 56th prompt is Hermit Crab.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees![image error]

The Guns of Retribution launch!

Thursday night saw the first launch party for The Guns of Retribution! I hired the back room of Bob Trollop's, a small pub on Newcastle's Quayside, a room I chose based on the preferences of Grey O'Donnell, the protagonist of Guns. I know that probably sounds extremely weird, but Grey does make his presence felt from time to time, most notably while I was writing the book (see here for more) and he's even come through on a ouija board during a paranormal investigation to say hello. It only seemed right that I chose a location I thought he would like, and Bob Trollop's has something of a vintage atmosphere. The back room in particular is vaguely reminiscent of a saloon, or perhaps an illicit bar in a rundown homestead out on the open plain, attracting outlaws and farmers alike, as they seek the solace offered only by Madam Moonshine. Indeed, the front room of the pub inspired an entire scene in the sequel.



Well luckily I managed to sell some books, and naturally sign them, and I really hope those who bought them enjoy the books! The book has been getting good reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, and I hope that those who enjoy pulp fiction will enjoy the book as being exactly that. I really enjoyed the night, and look forward to being able to introduce Grey to more people!



If you haven't already bought a copy and would like to, it's available for both the Kindle, and in paperback. Amazon US links are Kindle and paperback, and UK links are Kindle and paperback.

Friday Flash - The Stripper

"Poor love doesn't know what she's letting herself in for," said Penny.



She looked down the length of the table at Yasmin. The bride-to-be tossed her hair and accepted another Cosmopolitan from the waitress. Women stared across the bar at the blonde wearing the plastic tiara and nylon 'bride' sash. The men stared at Yasmin's skimpy leotard and implants.



"You still have your suspicions about Brian?" asked Viv, turning her attention back to her friend.



"I can't think of any other explanation. He goes out at night, won't let me go with him, sneaks out to the conservatory to take phones calls, started going to the gym - he's even listening to that chart music now instead of Radio 4!" replied Penny. She fiddled with the plain gold band on her ring finger.



"Have you said anything to him?"



"Not yet. He's been very affectionate towards me and things have improved in the bedroom, so I feel bad saying anything. Like I should be grateful he's feeling guilty." Penny grimaced.



"But you're not happy."



"No. I didn't think Brian would cheat on me, but then I guess you never really know a person, do you? I suppose I'm just lucky we don't have kids. Makes thinking about divorce easier."



The waitress placed two fresh jugs of cocktails and a tray of glasses on the table. The rest of the women whooped as Yasmin motioned for them to enjoy the bounty. The waitress paused to congratulate Yasmin. The bride-to-be beamed, showing off the rock on her engagement ring.



"Eleven years ago, that was me," said Penny.



"God, eleven years already?"



"Yeah. Though I didn't have anything as naff as this." Penny gestured to the cheap decorations and the ballerina costumes Yasmin forced them all to wear.



"Don't know about you, but I feel like mutton trussed up as lamb in this get up," said Viv. "When was the last time you saw a ballerina with crow's feet and a grey streak?"



"Don't look now, but it's about to get a whole lot worse," said Penny.



She pointed down the table. One of the waitresses deposited a tape deck near Yasmin. A dance remix of the main theme from Ridley Scott's Gladiator blared out of the speakers. The lights in the bar dimmed, and a male figure strutted across to the hen party. A spotlight fell on him, and the women cooed over his leather straps and fake sword.



"You got me a stripper!" screeched Yasmin. She bounced up and down in her seat, clapping with delight.



"Well that's historically inaccurate for a start. Gladiators never wore helmets like that," said Penny. She pointed to the plastic helmet. Its red plume wafted in the breeze from the air conditioning.



"Er, Penny, I don't think it's the helmet you should be looking at," said Viv.



Penny's gaze slipped down several inches. She took in the strong nose, the brown eyes, the dark eyebrows peppered with grey, the cleft chin –



"Brian!" screamed Penny.



Embarrassment flared on the stripper's face as his wife recognised him. Brian made a "Not now" gesture with his hand, and launched into his routine. Penny refused to watch, fiddling with her mobile phone. Brian gyrated in front of a clapping Yasmin. Viv averted her eyes as Brian got down to his thong.



He pulled a rose out of the red plumage of his helmet with a flourish. He handed it to Yasmin as the song ended and the house lights came up. The hen party broke out in a round of applause, calling for more. Even the other customers in the bar joined in the applause.



The waitresses distracted the rest of the hen party with more cocktails as Brian slipped out of the bar. Penny glared after him.



"You know, even if I was a betting person, I would never have put money on him doing that," said Viv. "But at least you know he's not cheating on you."



"Do I? How do I know he doesn't hand out freebies to the brides-to-be at the end of the night?" snapped Penny.



"Oh come on, you can't assume he'd do that just because he's stripping," said Viv.



"Viv, do you mind giving us a few moments?" asked Brian.



He appeared beside them, now dressed in a casual jacket and jeans. The other women ignored him, not recognising him without the helmet and leather. Viv nodded and wandered up to Yasmin's end of the table. Brian slipped into the empty seat beside Penny.



"So this is what all the bodybuilding was for. You get your kicks parading your arse about in front of women half your age. God, what will my mother say?" said Penny.



"You've got it all wrong," said Brian.



"Well that's how it looks!"



"Will you just let me explain?"



Penny opened her mouth to reply but closed it again. Her curiosity proved too strong.



"I know I can be a bit distant at times, and I'm not as loving as I should be. You've put up with a lot from me over the years, and I wanted to do something to show you I do appreciate you. But second honeymoons aren't cheap, you know," said Brian.



"Second honeymoons?"



"Yes, you silly mare! Dave suggested I take up stripping to earn a few extra quid. I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise."



"Well it was certainly a surprise," said Penny.



"So how about it? How do the Seychelles sound?"



Penny gazed into Brian's eyes. He smiled, and Penny remembered the first time he'd smiled at her like that. She felt the same gooey feeling then, too.



"The Seychelles sound perfect," replied Penny.



"Excellent. I'll get something booked then. I love you, Mrs Dempsey."



"I love you too, Mr Dempsey."

The Lost Art of the Letter

On Monday night, I watched an item on BBC News about a new Van Gogh biography that attempts to explode the legend that the troubled artist committed suicide. The primary research materials have been the thousands of letters left by Van Gogh and it got me thinking. So many biographies rely on correspondence either written to, by or about the figure in question, and letters usually provide the largest body of material due to their inherent "keepsake" nature. Call me a Luddite, but there's something irresistable about the letter. Emails don't make that satisfying "thwap" sound on the doormat. They don't have the same tangible feel, and they don't feature random doodles. The lack of handwriting makes them so impersonal.



It did make me wonder exactly what form future biographies will take. Will they quote casual tweets as an indicator of a person's mental wellbeing? Will access be granted to inboxes to allow researchers to comb through years of spam and Facebook notifications? Will blog posts become the favoured means of communication, replacing the personal correspondence of a beloved or notorious figure? As our private lives become increasingly public through the use of social media...will there even be a place for the biography?

Looking for Conflict

Writers are forever being told that good stories rely on conflict or drama. "There is no story if the protagonist has to problem to solve!" cry the experts. Apparently the world isn't full of enough conflict, and we need to inflict yet more arguments, high stakes and the like on our lovely readers. Hell, I'm as guilty as anyone - I managed to cram a train robbery, two shoot outs, a hanging, a horse chase and a fist fight into The Guns of Retribution .



But what if you're one of those really nice people who gets on with everyone, and is a joy to be around due to your sunny disposition and caring attitude? Where do you find your conflict?



Personally, I recommend that you take a look at PassiveAggressiveNotes.com. It's a blog that features notes written in a passive aggressive tone that are left for others. Some of them are downright hilarious, though if you're as fastidious about spelling and grammar as I am, then you might teeter on the edge of annoyance. Still, I can't help thinking that if you were to browse through some of these, you'd easily find some conflict that you could spin into a story...and who said stories full of conflict couldn't be funny?

Photo Prompt 55

New prompt available!



If you want to use the prompt, all I ask is that you include a link to this entry and a credit to me for the photograph, and that you post a link to your story in the comments box below so I can see what you've come up with! If you don't comment on this entry, then I can't comment on your story.



The 55th prompt is Dog Leap Stairs.





All photo prompts are my own photography - you can find more of it on Flickr. You can also buy my prints from Deviantart. 20% of all proceeds go to charity - the other 80% go towards my PhD fees!

Friday Flash - Late

I left the house at 7:30am. I hauled the front gate shut, wincing as the hinge squealed. I glanced up at the window, worried the noise might have woken Barbara. The curtains hung untouched, and the room beyond stayed dark. I heaved a sigh of relief, and checked my watch for what felt like the fortieth time that morning. I had twenty nine minutes to catch my train. Perfect.

Mist hung heavy in the late December air. A bus rolled past, its yellow lights cutting a swathe across the road. A handful of people sat in their bus seats, dead eyes staring into space. Early mornings will do that to you. I'd often thought that the apocalypse would begin during that eerie pre-dawn, witnessed by no one but lonely commuters.

A shuffling in the darkness broke my train of thought. I'd heard that sound before, and I crossed the road to avoid one of the town's growing homeless population. I didn't have time for pleas. Not today.

The shuffling followed me, and a figure loomed out of the mist. Dozens of horror movies crowded my mind, and I gripped the handle of my briefcase. It was empty, except for my lunch, but I figured it might catch someone off guard.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you have the time?"

A voice floated through the quiet morning air, and the figure became a hunched old man. Eyes the colour of dark chocolate peered out of his pale brown face, and grey curls lurked in his tight crop of dark hair. The man carried a briefcase of his own, and a white label adorned the top corner. 'J R Coker' sprawled across the sticker in childish scrawl. His white shirt showed through holes in his threadbare brown jacket, and the battered briefcase matched his scuffed shoes.

"Sorry, I'm running late."

"Hehe, sorry, sir, I meant to ask if you know what time it is?"

"It's 7:45."

"Thank you, sir."

The man's accent threw me. He sounded American - Deep South, most likely. Not the sort of accent I heard in Surbiton.

"No problem." I moved forward but the old man blocked my path.

"You're awful kind, sir. Say, where is it you're hurryin' off to at this hour?"

"What?"

"You seem awful keen to get some place. You got somethin' important to do today?"

I thought of the stack of unpaid bills, and the train timetable floated in front of my eyes.

"Yes, I do, so if you don't mind, I'll just be on my way."

I made a show of looking at my watch, but the old man just pursed his lips at me.

"You young 'uns, you're all alike. Always so busy, always in a hurry. You ever jus' gone for a walk? You ever stopped to see how beautiful the world is at this time in the mornin'?"

"I'm sorry, I really wish I could stop and chat, but I have somewhere I need to be."

"Yes, you do, child. You won't believe me, but you'll get there." The old man smiled, his skin wrinkling around those puppy dog eyes. My face returned the smile before I could stop myself.

"It's been a pleasure talkin' to you, Mr Johnson."

The old man shuffled away down the street. I watched him go until the mist swallowed him up, and I was left alone in the darkness.

Another bus rolled past, sending dry leaves skittering in its wake. I snapped out of my trance and looked at my watch. I was running late. I didn't even realise that I'd never told Mr Coker my name.

I broke into a run and careered headlong through the empty streets. I reached the bridge as the train trundled along the rails below. Not just the train – my train. I watched the carriages disappear from sight, and looked down at the empty track. I was too late.

An electronic chirp sounded in the depths of my coat. I yanked off my right glove and fished around in my inside pocket. My fingers found my phone and I looked at the screen. I didn't recognise the number. The old man's warm smile drifted before my eyes, and I pressed 'Accept'.

"Hello, is this Eddie Johnson?" A female voice, vaguely familiar.

"Yes, it is."

"I'm so sorry for calling you this early, but it's Stella, from JR Creatives? You came in for an interview a couple of weeks ago?"

I remembered. Stella was a bubbly, welcoming director at an advertising company. I thought the interview had gone well, but two weeks and three days passed without a word.

"Yes?"

"I'm so sorry for not calling sooner but things went a bit manic in the office. I just wanted to say we'd love to hire you, if someone else hasn't snapped you up since we met!"

My lips refused to form words. I stared at the railway line below, mute with shock.

"Mr Johnson, are you still there? Do you still want to come and work with us? Oh please say yes, I think you're just what we're looking for."

"Yes, yes, I do. Sorry, it's just a bit of a surprise."

"That's alright! Listen, are you busy today?"

"No, nothing I can't postpone."

"Would you like to start this morning?"

"I'm on my way."

"Great! See you soon then!"

Stella hung up. I stared at the phone, and then my empty briefcase, and I sighed. I could finally stop lying to Barbara about going to the office every day. She'd never need to know that I'd spent my days at the JobCentre. Something white caught my eye, and I spotted a feather at my feet. I picked it up, and twirled it between my fingers.

I looked down at the tracks and tried to remember when the next train to London was. I stuck the feather in my buttonhole and smiled.

I was glad I'd missed my train, and glad I hadn't jumped.

* * *

JR Coker is a character I've worked with before, and he appears in my short story, The Strangest Comfort, which you can find in The Yin and Yang Book![image error]