Alex Laybourne's Blog, page 96

ROW80: A Belated Check-In

To be honest I have nothing to report. I finished the first draft on the Highway to Hell Sequel on Monday night and feel fantastic about it. I love the promises it makes for the third book, and the scenario it puts into place for the battle of good and evil.

Since then I have done nothing. I am treating myself to a short holiday – until after the Sinterklaas festivities are over which is December 6th – after which comes editing and a bit more editing.

I am doing nothing more strenuous than a few blog posts. It feels nice to slow down for a bit. I am also searching for a piece of cover art that captures everything that happened in the book… or will happen I guess, as the cover is seen before people read it.

I am catching up on a bit of reading although with illness and three kids, not to mention building the 'Surprisen' for the celebration of Sinterklaas. I drew my Father-in-law this year so have to make a big colourful decoration to hide his gifts in. This year I made him a giant Rolling Stones Logo. While my wife made her brother a big guitar. We then get together with my in-laws and open the 'surprisen' as they are called. We had a budget of 15 euros per person. It is a really fun night. We have made it a family tradition. Pictures of the Surpisen will follow I promise.

Well that's about it. In fact, I find myself so far ahead of schedule I am going to plan out my goals for the next round, as well as my next 4 novels in the coming period. Very high level you understand, but I have had a few interesting ideas for all four and don't want to forget.

With NaNo officially over, I want to send out HUGE congratulations to everyone who took part. Win, Lose or Draw, you all did a fantastic job. You gave it your best, and I for one salute you. My respect it yours.

Thanks for dropping by.

Support versus Tolerance

As writers, we seek the approval of others for what we do. We may say that we write for fun, or because we love it, and that is all true. A writer writes because they have to, but we publish because we want to share our work, and in doing so we hope for good great reviews and the respect of our peers.

If you talk to any successful person, they will invariably say that they have a wonderful family who supported them the entire way. Just watch any Oscar speech and you will see what I mean. This is also true, and say what you like about successful businessmen or actors. I cannot see another profession that takes quite the toll on friends and family as that of a writer.

We live in worlds inside our head, worlds that not even our nearest and dearest – unless they happen to be writers themselves – could ever understand. We are moody and brooding when writing because we want to write more or need to work out a particular kink in the mechanics or arc of the story, or we are grumpy and moody because we are not writing at that moment in time. We write down and take a sometimes perverse interest in the crazy things that happen around us because it could be a good story idea at some point down the line. Yet our loved ones stick by us. They support us every step of the way.

I have a friend who is really into these self-help books… or as I like to call them – common freaking sense. However, one point that comes across again and again is to surround yourself with people who love and support you. It is supposedly some big secret to success  (sorry the RANT will stop and I'll get back on topic now).

What got me thinking was, how can you tell the difference between support and tolerance. Those loved ones that smile and nod their heads when you talk about your writing or sit there plotting, writing and editing. Yet on the inside, just below the surface they are  thinking… "You fool. Oh well, at least it keeps them quiet. Stops them from causing trouble"

Can you still count that as support? Are they a positive influence in your life? They support your writing, but when it comes to promotions, and you want to invest some money or a chunk of time during the day to promoting, they put their foot down and refuse. Where does that leave you?

I am lucky enough to have the important people in my life supporting me, but there are a few that I know merely tolerate my dalliances with the written word, and view my attempts to carve a name for myself as nothing more than folly. They are waiting for me to grow up, to start pushing myself hard in other avenues… whatever they may be… please, send all answers to me on a postcard, because I draw a blank here.

This post is dedicated to these people. The silent partners who suffer us writers and support our every step, without ever truly understand what it is we do, and why. It is also a swipe at those who merely tolerate our actions. You all know who you are, and fellow writers, you probably know who they are too. You may not understand why we do it, and you don't have to. You should support us unconditionally. We are not asking you to do it for us, nor are we demanding you buy 500 copies of our book to make us feel good and give us a rankings boost. We are merely asking that you believe in us. Smile and nod when we talk about our work, even if it is just like the approach taken by John Wemmick with the Aged P in Great Expectations. We are the ones putting ourselves out there, you have absolutely nothing to lose.

 

 

ROW80 – A Difficult Week

This has been the most challenging week so far in my ROW adventure. Not because of writing problems or a lack of creative flow, but rather because of busy work schedules and sickness.

Thanks to two days of zero words, I am behind my weekly target for the first time all round, and still working on that pesky final scene. I have it all planned out in my head now at least, and don't think it will take more than a couple of days, depending on how much time I get to actually write it in. It seems that the closer I get to the end, the more restrictive my time gets. Then again, better that than have no time at the start then all the time in the world once I have written the final sentence.

Sunday: 283

Monday: 0 – I cannot remember why I didn't write on Monday. Either an internal confidence crisis – I am prone to those - or it was because my Monday is now ridiculously busy.

Tuesday: 1050

Wednesday: 1065

Thursday: 927

Friday: 0 – My wife, our eldest son and I were all sick. Luckily it was just a 24 hour sort of thing and come evening we all felt 99% recovered.

Saturday: 817

On the days I did write I surpassed my daily goal, so I am not concerned. Disappointed that I haven't finished yet, but not concerned. I will easily have the book finished by the end of the week, and that is well ahead of my target so I will not complain.

I am starting to see the NaNo winner certificates surface and want to take a moment to say Congratulations to every one of my friends and writing colleagues who have taken part this year. If you haven't reached that magic 50,000 yet, don't even begin to worry. You still have plenty of time to reach your goal.

Thanks for stopping by and have a great Sunday everybody

Doubt: A Writer's Worst Best Friend

Doubt: Noun

1. A feeling of uncertainty: an undecided state of mind.

 2. An inclination to disbelieve.

3. an uncertain state of things

Doubt is a word that every writer knows about. We have all had a moment in our lives where that creepy little bugger rears its ugly head and sends our world into a spiral of self loathing. If you ask me, I like to think of doubt as a nasty little Imp that will perch on our shoulders and whisper into our ears. Kind of like this little guy.

Not only is Doubt a mean-spirited chap, he is also rather intelligent. He will never waste an opportunity, and will always strike with a ruthlessness that will leave your head spinning.

For me, this always comes at the end of the first draft. Ironically the place where I am right now. I spent the most of last week lost on a doubt fuelled quandary.

It is always the same, that's another one of Doubt's strengths. Even if you see him coming, there is nothing you can do to stop it. Like trying to not jump when Carrie's hand comes out of the grave.

Whenever working on the final scene of my novel, the doubts come. Doubt starts small, throwing jabs at us, working out what are defences are like.

'Are you sure this is it, it's a bit weak' He will say,

'It's fine, I know the weak points and will work on them once it comes to editing.' We tell him. It silences him, for a while. He retreats, studies us. He sees another spot, and jabs again, a little harder now.

'Why are you saying that. That's pointless, nobody's going to read that.' He will jab, and then follow up with the hard 'That's weak'. It shocks us, we reel a bit, but we recover."

'It's not weak. It is setting [xxx] up for later on, it's part of the character arc. Just trust me, I know what I'm doing.' We pushed back, standing out ground.

Doubt however is crafty. He feigns an injury, lulls us into a false sense of security and then, just as we lease expect it he pounces. Charging us down like Jonah Lomu hurtling towards the try line.

'You know this is weak, nobody will like it. What are you playing at. Look at what others are writing, read their sites. They are writers, you are just a hack. How many copies have you sold then… hey?' He bellows as he reigns down self-confidence denting blows.

By the time this little bastard is finished with us, we are broken and curled up into a ball, afraid to even think about our manuscript without that black wave of despair enveloping us.

 Luckily, while Doubt is resourceful, writers are resilient. We have had people telling us all our life that we are dreaming, that we should concentrate on real life. Ok, we may take a knee, and even the odd standing eight count, but at the end of the day, we stand back up, we seek out doubt and bring the fight to him. Because you can't stop being a writer and more than you can stop breathing. It is in our blood. We cannot read a newspaper article or over hear a conversation without having it stored away for future use.

Regardless of the success we achieve, Doubt will always be our companion. He will sit beside us in the passenger seat and offer his comments as he sees fit, but… being a writer is a lonely profession, so maybe a bit of company is a good thing. Maybe Doubt really is a writer's worst best friend.

 

 

It's Time to Edit, Let's Run for the Hills

It is getting to that time of the writing process when I once again need to start changing the hat from writer to reader. That;s right, I am preparing to edit. As with many writers I know, the mere word, edit, is enough to make us cringe, suck our thumbs and crawl under the desks. Or to coin a British image, to put underpants on our head, pencils up our nose and cry Wibble. (Please enjoy the video at the end of this post.)

I have read a lot of articles on editing, and the main thing I notice is this…. they are all the same. Strip away the filling, and they all boil down to a few basic points.

- Remove the grammar errors

- Round out any plot holes

- either add or remove descriptions (depending on how flowery you were in the first draft)

- ensure correct pacing

I know, this is nothing new, but then again, when it comes to finalizing the written word, what is new?

The reason for this post is not to outline the editing process, or to give a list of do's and dont's. Nor, is it just a good excuse to share one of my favorite Blackadder moments. (honest… really.)

The reason for the post is to ask a question.

How do you edit? Do you go through your manuscript once for each bullet point you have listed? Do you just go through and tackle it all in one go? Do you read the whole manuscript through without so much as looking at a red pen?

Me, I tend to go through twice, once to iron out the plot holes, characters and pacing, in one go, as I find they often go hand in hand. Then I leave it to rest, only for a week or so. I then go through and check the grammar. Finally I cheat make use of the resources that are available and have the whole things checked for grammar one more time by a professional.

I understand that there is no secret formula to editing, there is no single simple answer to this stage of the writing process, and no do I hope to stumble across one. I am simply eager to hear how others approach this stage of the game.

For some reason I cannot directly upload the video I reference above, but here is the link to it. It cracks me up every time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2DCExerOsA

ROW80 : Weekly Round Up

The week started well, but has fizzled out somewhat since then. My lack of writing this week is down to the same reasons as my lack of Social Media activity, book promotion and blogging. It is a combination of a busy working schedule, children waking at 1 am and refusing to sleep anymore until 3am or so, and a Dutch to English translation project I was asked to work on by my Brother-in-Law.

However, that is done, well I just need to type up the handwritten translation but that is nothing too strenuous. So I can now return my attention the fictional side of my life.

I have actually reached the end of my novel. Well, I am working on the last scene as we speak. I think this was another reason for my lack of real progress this week. I do not like writing endings. Beginnings I can do. I have a whole host of great opening lines and paragraphs that just grab attention, but endings… you need to round everything off. That's fine, I can do that, but being a trilogy, I need to round off what has happened so far, and set up the third installment which will not only continue the main plot, but alter the course of the already developed relationships. I know what I want to do, but just want to take my time getting it written down. I am about 5 weeks ahead of schedule so I figure I have the time. I want to get this first draft finished by the end of the month, so that gives me 11 days to write about 5000 words. I can do it.

Bearing in mind all that has happened this week, and the place I am at with my WIP, I am very happy with my figures, because I sat down and wrote something every day without pushing myself any further in exhaustion than I normally would, and I can see that on the worst days of the week, my un-forced productivity was rather consistent.

Sunday: 809

Monday: 1261

Tuesday: 765

Wednesday: 1212

Thursday: 454

Friday: 649

Saturday: 423

This gives me a grand total of 5573 words this week and 49,588 for the round so far.

On other front, I read finished reading Kimberly Kinrade's Bit's of you Pieces of Me and have started reading Plato. It's a large step out of my comfort zone but is a long-term project. I will read other novels around this work.

Thanks for reading,

 

 

ROW80 : Mid-Week Check-in 16/11/2011

It's the middle of the week, the worst parts are already over and it's all downhill now to the weekend. I've had a crazy busy week, but seem to have found my way back to the top of the pile at work, and should be fully caught up by the end of the week.

My writing is still going strong, I am now onto the final scene in Highway To Hell: Trials and Tribulations. It stands at 89,000 words so far, and I expect to finish around 95,000.

When it comes to editing, much like my friend and amazingly talented writer Lauralynn Eliott I tend to add words in the first round of editing. I go through and add more detail and flesh out the scenes that I struggled with the first time around.

But anyway, time for the figures :

Sunday: 809

Monday: 1261

Tuesday: 765

Wednesday: I am currently hovering around the 1000 word mark, and hope to add a few hundred more before I call it a night.

My goals for this round were to finish the first draft of the novel, and if I stick to my plan I am hoping to finish the first draft next week. This will give me plenty of time to let the novel rest before I start editing it.

Thanks for dropping by, and I wish you all the best in your writing endeavours.

Dirty

The locker room was empty, yet Max Shepherd moved cautiously along the row of lockers. When he found the one he needed, a sharp twist of the lock was enough to force the door to open.

If his partner caught him snooping there would be repercussions for both of them. Not to mention questions. Ones that Max just didn't want to answer; wasn't prepared to answer… not yet.

Still, he had seen too many strange happenings recently to let the issue rest without at least checking things out in the station. He had known his partner Joe Lopez since their first day on the force. Both had been green and in need of some serious training before they were ready to take to the streets. Once it was all said and done however, they had quickly become an unbeatable team.

It was for this reason that Max hoped he was wrong. Hoped that his (until now) infallible instinct was on the fritz, and had sent him barking up the wrong tree. Like most of the lockers in the station, the inside of the door was covered with photos of children, wives' and the obligatory semi naked model. Hanging inside the main body of the locker was a spare uniform, a requirement for all officers, and the civilian clothes they both arrived and left work in. On the small shelf above the hangers, was a flashlight, two reserve batteries, a hat, a bunch of pens and three pads of tickets and encounter forms. Max sorted through everything; he patted down the clothes, rummaged through the shelf, checked inside the hat, between the pages of all the forms. He found nothing, and felt relieved.

He went to close the locker door, and that was when he saw the bag, pushed right into the back of the locker. It was almost completely buried beneath the regular backpack that Joe carried with him. Most people checking the locker would either have not seen it, or not given it a second thought, but Max had a nose for things. He pulled out the bag and his heart sank when he opened it and saw the two large cubes of white powder sitting atop a wad of bills which, if counted would have been higher than both their annual salaries combined.

Max heard footsteps behind him. He spun around just as Joe came into view.

"Hey, how did you get in here?" He asked, staring at the dog he had trained since a pup. "It doesn't matter. We got a job. There's been a break in at the school. Come on." Joe whistled and patted his hand against his leg.

Max stared at him, his head cocked, eyes accusing yet filled with loyalty that could not be bought. Joe turned and left, and Max trotted after him.

 

ROW80: Weekly Round Up 13/11/2011

On Friday a colleague of mine came up to me and asked what I had planned for the weekend. I told him that my wife was going out for a girls night and so Friday I would spend the night writing, and the weekend would be entertaining the kids, during the day and writing and relaxing with my wife.

He looked at me and said "Don't you ever get tired of writing?" I looked at him and said "No." I thought it a strange question, and of course I didn't say this to him, for it is a question I get asked a lot by people. I guess that people who don't write won't ever fully understand how it works. The voices and ideas that fill your head and simply must be written down, regardless of how tired we feel or how many words we have already written that day.  This is not a new discovery, and I have read about it in several posts over recent weeks, but it was a moment of my week that stood out.

Anyway, here are my figures for the week. I am delighted with them, and with the ease with which they appeared on the page.

Sunday: 720

Monday: 759

Tuesday: 0 (This day shall now be known as the Day of the Meltdown.)

Wednesday: 1846

Thursday: 2021

Friday: 2559

Saturday: 1570

This gives me a grand total of 9475 words for the week, and all of that with a day of no writing at all. Granted, it's not NaNo speed, but as I'm not taking part this year I am delighted. Not to mention quietly confident that had I NaNo'ed I would have easily been able to push the word count even higher.

I cannot recall if I mentioned this in my mid-week update, but I have now lowered the price of Highway to Hell to just 99 cents on all platforms. At least until the new year, by which time I hope to have researched enough about sales to launch a successful campaign.

I hope you have all had equally good weeks with your writing, and to all of my friends who find themselves mid-way down the NaNo trail, keep your chins up, you are almost over the hump and then every day is one day closer to the end that it was to the start. Keep going, I know you can all do it.

Thanks for reading.

Sinterklaas – A History

This is an old article that I wrote and had published in an Expat Magazine when I first moved to Holland. It earned me a whole 200 Euros and I was delighted.

Today is the day that Sinterklaas arrives in Holland, and the holiday period officially begins. In a later post I will talk about the Traditions of Sinterklaas and the way it is celebrated, but for now, please enjoy my article.

 

Sinterklaas – A History

Although it may sound like a foreign pronunciation of Santa Claus, Sinterklaas and the feast that celebrates his are different in many ways to the Santa Claus that we know in Britain.

Sinterklaas was a real man, whereas Santa in merely a fictional creation who came about hundreds of years ago after worshipping saints was banned by the same Church to which Sinterklaas dedicated his life. Sinterklaas (an amalgamation of his real name Saint Nicolas, or Sint Niklaas) is nonetheless the man on whom the myth of Santa was eventually based.

Young Priest

Nicolas was born into a wealthy family in 271 AD in Myra (modern-day Turkey) and until his parents died during an epidemic, he lived the life of a rich man. It is only after this incident that he begins to become the person that we all know in some form today. Nicolas decided to dedicate his life to the Church and became the youngest ever recorded priest at the young age of 19. A generous man, he distributed his wealth amongst the poor.

Gold Coins

Perhaps the most famous episode of his generosity was when he came to the aid of a local nobleman, who had three daughters but not enough money to offer any dowry. Nicolas heard about this man's woe, visited his house in the middle of the night and placed a pouch filled with gold in the shoe of the eldest daughter. (It is thought that perhaps this act gave rise to the Dutch tradition of the children placing their shoe by the radiator the night before the Sinterklaas feast, to find chocolate gold coins inside when they wake up.) In the morning, this gift was discovered and the money served as ample dowry for the daughter to marry. Nicolas then made two further visits to the house, each time leaving a sum of gold. The gold was well-received and all three daughters were eventually married, and able to avoid living a life of shame. After the third visit, the nobleman caught Nicolas and demanded to know who his mystery benefactor was. Once Nicolas revealed his identity he made the nobleman swear an oath not to tell a living soul as long as Nicolas was alive.

Patron Saint

Tales of Nicolas' generosity soon spread, though whether by the nobleman or not it unclear. Soon everyone was praying to Nicolas for aid. Falsely imprisoned people prayed for help and saw the prison walls allegedly crumble around them. Crews on ships that were lost in storms prayed for help and witnessed how the seas calmed and the ship was guided to a safe harbour. While Nicolas' direct influence in this is doubtful, the people themselves believed in it.

Another tale regarding Nicolas says that he saved the lives of three boys who had been kidnapped by a farmer and his wife. The boys had been dissected and placed in various pickling barrels around the house. Nicolas came to the farmhouse and charged the couple with the murders and the boys apparently rose from the grave completely restored of life. It is because of these events that he became the patron saint of sailors and merchants, and more importantly to his legend, the patron saint of children.

Turbulent Life

Despite being celebrated now for his generosity, Nicolas endured a turbulent life within the Church, and was actually imprisoned and tortured along with many other devout Christians during the violent years under the reign of Emperor Diocletian. Nicolas in fact remained incarcerated until the Church was reinstated by Constantine.

Low Countries

The legend of Sint Nicolas was easily adopted in the Low Countries, Holland and Belgium, as both nations were heavily involved in sea travel and navigation. The Dutch alone were so taken by the legend of Nicolas that they built 23 individual churches dedicated to his memory. Amsterdam even declared Nicolas the patron saint of the city itself.

Throughout Holland, the feast of Sinterklaas is still celebrated, more so than Christmas. Yet it was not the Dutch that set the dates for the feast, it was Rome and the date was set to mark the date of Nicolas' death, December 6th.

Steam Boat

 

The figure of Sinterklaas arrives in Holland around November 20 on a large steam boat from Spain. The reason he lives in Spain throughout the year is not actually known, but this is what is inferred in the songs the sailors used to sing about him. Sinterklaas sits on the boat atop his white horse Amerigo and is surrounded by his helpers, called Zwarte Pieten. The origins of Zwarte Piet are also a mystery, but one possible conclusion is that they were slaves, possibly taken from the African countries that were under Dutch control.

Zwarte Piet

 

Zwarte Piet has dark skin, but is played by Caucasian people who have their skin cosmetically darkened. They have curly hair and wear a brightly coloured beret with a feather in it, as well as red lipstick and golden hoops in their ears. However, despite possibly being a slave, Zwarte Piet is a happy fellow, who sings and dances wherever he goes, and is often seen doling out sweets and small cookies to the children who turn out to see him and Sinterklaas – and unlike the elves who are the equivalent for Santa Claus, the scores of Zwarte Pieten are involved throughout the entire holiday, helping Sinterklaas hand out his gifts.

To this day, there are still protests in Holland about the supposed racist message that this festive time presents to the young and impressionable children who follow it so closely. Nonetheless, over the centuries, it has never proven to give the children the wrong idea about people of a different colour. How could it, when Zwarte Piet is such a happy-go-lucky and generous fellow?

Upholding a Belief

It takes some careful planning to uphold the belief that Sinterklaas visits all children in one single night. The smart children, still naive enough to believe in the holiday but fully aware of the limitations of time travel, are told that the real Sinterklaas only delivers gifts to the houses in the town where his ship moors and that the rest of the country is dealt with by helpers who dress like Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet. This tends to be readily accepted by all but the most inquisitive children.

Not a Religious Holiday

Despite the time of year and the career path of the person it celebrates, the holiday is not actually a religious one, though Sinterklaas still appears in a red mantle and mitre, holding a large gold bishop's staff, cutting a rather different and statelier figure than his plump, jolly counterpart.

Poem

Another way that this holiday differs from the one celebrated in Britain is in the lack of commercialisation and self-centeredness. The gifts given (which are exchanged on December 5th) are very carefully chosen, with the emphasis being on the thought rather than the monetary value. A great deal of thought is also given to the wrapping of the gift; traditionally it also comes with a challenge, either a riddle or possibly a treasure hunt before it can be opened. This not only adds to the occasion but also means that the holiday can be celebrated and enjoyed by people of all ages. A common theme is to make a 'Surprise' which is an elaborate creation within which the gift is hidden.

Last year my Brother in Law made me a huge typewriter, and my wife made a giant SpongeBob. You can see other examples here (just click on the links to see the surprise)

Another important aspect is the accompanying poem; one filled with originality, composed by the giver of the gift, using any information that can be obtained about the recipient, making it a no-holds-barred biography of the person. Nothing is off-limits, the more embarrassing the better, whether it is from mother to daughter or employee to employer.

Personally, I find Sinterklaas to be a very different experience. The whole occasion seems to be more family-oriented than the traditional Christmas many people are used to, which only serves to make the whole season more enjoyable.

Magic

There are many places in the world that claim to house to bones of Saint Nicolas, including the Italian cities of Venice and Bari. However, their true final resting place is believed to be in his home town of Myra. The area itself has been thoroughly excavated, but the bones have long since turned to dust, meaning that their real location may never be revealed to the world.

Personally I feel that it is best that their location never be discovered, as whatever festive figurehead you choose to follow at this time of year, the real 'truth' is that the gifts really are brought down our chimneys or left in our shoes – and if we stop believing this truth and try to prove what really happened, then we are all simply empty and lost. The real magic of the season comes from our own imagination, and it is best kept that way.