C.J. Flood's Blog, page 8
February 23, 2012
How to push up your daily word count...
So, a couple of months ago, fellow Lucky13 member L. R. Giles sent us an email recommending this article: How I went from writing 2,000 words to 10,000 words a day.
It is a great article, and I read it enthusiastically, hoping to increase my comparitively low word count. At the time, I was writing only a guaranteed 700 words of fiction a day. Unbelievably low for somebody who claims to be a professional writer.
In the article, its author, Rachel Aaron talks in detail about her theory that KNOWLEDGE (know what you're writing before you write it) + ENTHUSIASM (get excited about what you're writing) + TIME (track productivity and evaluate) = LOADS OF WRITING.
Since reading the post, I've been tracking my own productivity and evaluating it. I've been trying to find a writing routine that works for me. Findings so far?
Mondays are always productiveIf I write a lot one day, I often can't think what to write the nextOnce writing, it's best to stay writing for as long as possible as interruptions (including making pancakes, reading, watching films, listening to the radio, the dreaded, ignoble, wonderful Internet) tend to be permanentWorking from home for too many days in a row leads to increased napping and guitar playingWorking in pyjamas for too many consecutive days can lower self-esteem and increase risk of nappingIf I don't write first thing, I don't write at allI've also been reading the wonderful On Becoming a Writer by Dorothea Brande (1934). She, too, advises observing ourselves in order to find out under what circumstances and in what environments we write best. It was partly down to her that I found out the above things. I also discovered this, my favourite discovery by far:
I CAN WRITE TO MUSICIt has to be carefully chosen music, and every song must fit, but then, it is the perfect - and easily the most enjoyable - way to write. I wrote 3,000 words during one listen to Radiohead's The Bends this week. This discovery is one of the highlights of my life as a writer so far. I have always thought music a distraction, because I get too into it, I get caught up in my own emotions and nostalgia. But when perfectly chosen for the scene and characters, it is magic.
So, how have these findings improved my wordcount? From typically 700 words in a sitting, I'm now writing about 3,000 in the same amount of time: between one and two hours. It still isn't every day, but that's because I still don't have a concrete plot for my novel. I'm getting to know my characters and discovering themes (there are too many competing at the moment) and working out setting.
Once I have the plot sorted I feel sure, in a way I never have before, that I will be able to write 3,000 words a day. At least. I feel certain, by continuing to pay attention to my own writing habits, and how various factors effect these, I will be able to write more than that.
So, how about you? What is your typical daily word count? How do you write best? Do you think you could ever get to the point of writing 10,000 words a day? Would you even want to?
It is a great article, and I read it enthusiastically, hoping to increase my comparitively low word count. At the time, I was writing only a guaranteed 700 words of fiction a day. Unbelievably low for somebody who claims to be a professional writer.
In the article, its author, Rachel Aaron talks in detail about her theory that KNOWLEDGE (know what you're writing before you write it) + ENTHUSIASM (get excited about what you're writing) + TIME (track productivity and evaluate) = LOADS OF WRITING.
Since reading the post, I've been tracking my own productivity and evaluating it. I've been trying to find a writing routine that works for me. Findings so far?
Mondays are always productiveIf I write a lot one day, I often can't think what to write the nextOnce writing, it's best to stay writing for as long as possible as interruptions (including making pancakes, reading, watching films, listening to the radio, the dreaded, ignoble, wonderful Internet) tend to be permanentWorking from home for too many days in a row leads to increased napping and guitar playingWorking in pyjamas for too many consecutive days can lower self-esteem and increase risk of nappingIf I don't write first thing, I don't write at allI've also been reading the wonderful On Becoming a Writer by Dorothea Brande (1934). She, too, advises observing ourselves in order to find out under what circumstances and in what environments we write best. It was partly down to her that I found out the above things. I also discovered this, my favourite discovery by far:
I CAN WRITE TO MUSICIt has to be carefully chosen music, and every song must fit, but then, it is the perfect - and easily the most enjoyable - way to write. I wrote 3,000 words during one listen to Radiohead's The Bends this week. This discovery is one of the highlights of my life as a writer so far. I have always thought music a distraction, because I get too into it, I get caught up in my own emotions and nostalgia. But when perfectly chosen for the scene and characters, it is magic.
So, how have these findings improved my wordcount? From typically 700 words in a sitting, I'm now writing about 3,000 in the same amount of time: between one and two hours. It still isn't every day, but that's because I still don't have a concrete plot for my novel. I'm getting to know my characters and discovering themes (there are too many competing at the moment) and working out setting.
Once I have the plot sorted I feel sure, in a way I never have before, that I will be able to write 3,000 words a day. At least. I feel certain, by continuing to pay attention to my own writing habits, and how various factors effect these, I will be able to write more than that.
So, how about you? What is your typical daily word count? How do you write best? Do you think you could ever get to the point of writing 10,000 words a day? Would you even want to?
The joys of pushing up your word count and writing to music...
So, a couple of months ago, fellow Lucky13 member L. R. Giles sent us an email recommending this article: How I went from writing 2,000 words to 10,000 words a day.
It is a great article, and I read it enthusiastically, hoping to increase my comparitively low word count. At the time, I was writing only a guaranteed 700 words of fiction a day. Unbelievably low for somebody who claims to be a professional writer.
In the article, its author, Rachel Aaron talks in detail about her theory that KNOWLEDGE (know what you're writing before you write it) + ENTHUSIASM (get excited about what you're writing) + TIME (track productivity and evaluate) = LOADS OF WRITING.
Since reading the post, I've been tracking my own productivity and evaluating it. I've been trying to find a writing routine that works for me. Findings so far?
Mondays are always productiveIf I write a lot one day, I often can't think what to write the nextOnce writing, it's best to stay writing for as long as possible as interruptions (including making pancakes, reading, watching films, listening to the radio, the dreaded, ignoble, wonderful Internet) tend to be permanentWorking from home for too many days in a row leads to increased napping and guitar playingWorking in pyjamas for too many consecutive days can lower self-esteem and increase risk of nappingIf I don't write first thing, I don't write at allI've also been reading the wonderful On Becoming a Writer by Dorothea Brande (1934). She, too, advises observing ourselves in order to find out under what circumstances and in what environments we write best. It was partly down to her that I found out the above things. I also discovered this, my favourite discovery by far:
I CAN WRITE TO MUSICIt has to be carefully chosen music, and every song must fit, but then, it is the perfect - and easily the most enjoyable - way to write. I wrote 3,000 words during one listen to Radiohead's The Bends this week. This discovery is one of the highlights of my life as a writer so far. I have always thought music a distraction, because I get too into it, I get caught up in my own emotions and nostalgia. But when perfectly chosen for the scene and characters, it is magic.
So, how have these findings improved my wordcount? From typically 700 words in a sitting, I'm now writing about 3,000 in the same amount of time: between one and two hours. It still isn't every day, but that's because I still don't have a concrete plot for my novel. I'm getting to know my characters and discovering themes (there are too many competing at the moment) and working out setting.
Once I have the plot sorted I feel sure, in a way I never have before, that I will be able to write 3,000 words a day. At least. I feel certain, by continuing to pay attention to my own writing habits, and how various factors effect these, I will be able to write more than that.
So, how about you? What is your typical daily word count? How do you write best? Do you think you could ever get to the point of writing 10,000 words a day? Would you even want to?
It is a great article, and I read it enthusiastically, hoping to increase my comparitively low word count. At the time, I was writing only a guaranteed 700 words of fiction a day. Unbelievably low for somebody who claims to be a professional writer.
In the article, its author, Rachel Aaron talks in detail about her theory that KNOWLEDGE (know what you're writing before you write it) + ENTHUSIASM (get excited about what you're writing) + TIME (track productivity and evaluate) = LOADS OF WRITING.
Since reading the post, I've been tracking my own productivity and evaluating it. I've been trying to find a writing routine that works for me. Findings so far?
Mondays are always productiveIf I write a lot one day, I often can't think what to write the nextOnce writing, it's best to stay writing for as long as possible as interruptions (including making pancakes, reading, watching films, listening to the radio, the dreaded, ignoble, wonderful Internet) tend to be permanentWorking from home for too many days in a row leads to increased napping and guitar playingWorking in pyjamas for too many consecutive days can lower self-esteem and increase risk of nappingIf I don't write first thing, I don't write at allI've also been reading the wonderful On Becoming a Writer by Dorothea Brande (1934). She, too, advises observing ourselves in order to find out under what circumstances and in what environments we write best. It was partly down to her that I found out the above things. I also discovered this, my favourite discovery by far:
I CAN WRITE TO MUSICIt has to be carefully chosen music, and every song must fit, but then, it is the perfect - and easily the most enjoyable - way to write. I wrote 3,000 words during one listen to Radiohead's The Bends this week. This discovery is one of the highlights of my life as a writer so far. I have always thought music a distraction, because I get too into it, I get caught up in my own emotions and nostalgia. But when perfectly chosen for the scene and characters, it is magic.
So, how have these findings improved my wordcount? From typically 700 words in a sitting, I'm now writing about 3,000 in the same amount of time: between one and two hours. It still isn't every day, but that's because I still don't have a concrete plot for my novel. I'm getting to know my characters and discovering themes (there are too many competing at the moment) and working out setting.
Once I have the plot sorted I feel sure, in a way I never have before, that I will be able to write 3,000 words a day. At least. I feel certain, by continuing to pay attention to my own writing habits, and how various factors effect these, I will be able to write more than that.
So, how about you? What is your typical daily word count? How do you write best? Do you think you could ever get to the point of writing 10,000 words a day? Would you even want to?
February 8, 2012
The house that I grew up in...
I grew up (from age 8 anyway) in the best house in the world. It's called Brook Farm and I love it more than all the other houses. Seeing as how I'm now a technical genius and can upload photos from my camera to my computer (I know, I'm incredible!) I thought I'd show it to you.
Nice, isn't it?
My first novel, Infinite Sky, is set in this magnificent ramshackle place. In the book it's called Silverweed Farm. To give you an idea of how cold this beloved house is in the winter, here's a photo of my bedroom window a few mornings ago. The ice is on the inside. That's right: where I am.
Leggings + pyjama bottoms + two jumpers + a hoody = still really f***ing cold actually
And talking of the book, I have my first author event coming up. It's at the 2012 Derbyshire Literature Festival. I will take part in a Q and A session with fellow YA author and Lucky 13, Emma Pass, whose debut novel ACID is out in early 2013 from Random House Children's Books, and poet Helen Mort, whose debut poetry collection Division Street is being published by Chatto and Windus, also in 2013. Recent Derbyshire Poet Laureate River Wolton will chair the event, so come and see us! Hear what we have to say...
And to continue the grand tradition, here too are some of my fairly inane Paris diaries. With pictures.
13 Janvier
J'aime ca ici! Is that how you say I love it here? I love it here! Eating carrot salad and taboulah in the park overlooking Notre Dame and having thoughts. I saw a scabby pigeon and my heart bled and I saw an even scabbier man and my heart bled even more. He shuffled head down, clasping a baguette like a microphone that he dribbled down. I can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible.
I've been writing in the library at Shakespeare and Co. It's the perfect place to work (I also sometimes sleep in here). There was no need for all that traipsing yesterday. My shift in the shop was great: the books, the smell, the people that come in to look at the books and smell the smell. I love all of it!
Shakespeare and Co. sexy library
Nice, isn't it?My first novel, Infinite Sky, is set in this magnificent ramshackle place. In the book it's called Silverweed Farm. To give you an idea of how cold this beloved house is in the winter, here's a photo of my bedroom window a few mornings ago. The ice is on the inside. That's right: where I am.
Leggings + pyjama bottoms + two jumpers + a hoody = still really f***ing cold actuallyAnd talking of the book, I have my first author event coming up. It's at the 2012 Derbyshire Literature Festival. I will take part in a Q and A session with fellow YA author and Lucky 13, Emma Pass, whose debut novel ACID is out in early 2013 from Random House Children's Books, and poet Helen Mort, whose debut poetry collection Division Street is being published by Chatto and Windus, also in 2013. Recent Derbyshire Poet Laureate River Wolton will chair the event, so come and see us! Hear what we have to say...
And to continue the grand tradition, here too are some of my fairly inane Paris diaries. With pictures.
13 Janvier
J'aime ca ici! Is that how you say I love it here? I love it here! Eating carrot salad and taboulah in the park overlooking Notre Dame and having thoughts. I saw a scabby pigeon and my heart bled and I saw an even scabbier man and my heart bled even more. He shuffled head down, clasping a baguette like a microphone that he dribbled down. I can laugh about it now, but at the time it was terrible.
I've been writing in the library at Shakespeare and Co. It's the perfect place to work (I also sometimes sleep in here). There was no need for all that traipsing yesterday. My shift in the shop was great: the books, the smell, the people that come in to look at the books and smell the smell. I love all of it!
Shakespeare and Co. sexy library
February 4, 2012
Blog stats and Paris diaries 2
So, I've become obsessed with my blog stats. I never looked at these until yesterday. Since yesterday (pm), I've looked at them seven times.
This is what they look like (that little dark green guy is where I am!):
United Kingdom - 86United States - 24Spain - 3France - 3Australia - 1Brazil - 1Germany - 1Israel - 1India - 1
Could it be possible that they are real? How do you stop checking your stats? Anyway, now I know about this element of blogging, the gamey element, I'm probably going to be doing a whole lot more of it.
So, Paris diaries 2 for your bemusement:
12 Janvier
As ever, when faced with total freedom, I feel an intense need to plan. I must put restrictions on myself immediately. Why is this? No one knows. But here's the plan:
EVERY DAY YOU MUST... write [this is your priority, dickhead, don't forget]; learn some French; take a bottle of water out with you; eat fruit; walk; take photos [when your camera arrives].
*
Strange night's sleep. Couldn't get up to wee (no toilet in library) so spent a lot of time battling with my psyche/bladder. You do not need a wee, I told them. They wouldn't believe me. Could hear the bells of Notre Dame. The novelty wore off. Got up at 8, washed, packed everything away, helped open the bookshop, went to get coffee and pain au chocolat with another tumbleweed. Needed to say, This guy is next, in French. Instead, stood there like a moron gesticulating weirdly. Today, LEARN SOME FRENCH.
*
Ha! Been walking Paris for an hour, looking for somewhere to stop and have a drink. Trop cher! (with an e? who knows?) In the end, after thirty windows, each one making me feel like a freak or subspecies who definitely didn't belong, I found a bar. I now have a pint!
The strangest thing is that before I got to this place, as I walked around, I had a million thoughts and nearly all of them were self-hating or world-hating. Soon as I sit down, in a warm place, with a drink I am entirely happy. All that anger, was down to me wanting my basic needs met. Is this normal? Unlikely. [Maybe in our part of the world]
Wow, I really don't have a brilliant mind.
Here is what a real writer, Henry Miller, has written in their diary while in Paris [actually, a letter to Anais Nin]. The contrast is astounding.
"...a writer could... baffle a psychologist: not only that, but [a writer] is more of a psychologist than the other since he ramified the mysteries, extended them, developed them, and left the answers to go hang, because the answers weren't important, it was the drama, the mystery, the undecipherable pattern that was essential."
Perhaps I should address my diaries to Anais Nin?
This is what they look like (that little dark green guy is where I am!):
United Kingdom - 86United States - 24Spain - 3France - 3Australia - 1Brazil - 1Germany - 1Israel - 1India - 1 Could it be possible that they are real? How do you stop checking your stats? Anyway, now I know about this element of blogging, the gamey element, I'm probably going to be doing a whole lot more of it.
So, Paris diaries 2 for your bemusement:
12 Janvier
As ever, when faced with total freedom, I feel an intense need to plan. I must put restrictions on myself immediately. Why is this? No one knows. But here's the plan:
EVERY DAY YOU MUST... write [this is your priority, dickhead, don't forget]; learn some French; take a bottle of water out with you; eat fruit; walk; take photos [when your camera arrives].
*
Strange night's sleep. Couldn't get up to wee (no toilet in library) so spent a lot of time battling with my psyche/bladder. You do not need a wee, I told them. They wouldn't believe me. Could hear the bells of Notre Dame. The novelty wore off. Got up at 8, washed, packed everything away, helped open the bookshop, went to get coffee and pain au chocolat with another tumbleweed. Needed to say, This guy is next, in French. Instead, stood there like a moron gesticulating weirdly. Today, LEARN SOME FRENCH.
*
Ha! Been walking Paris for an hour, looking for somewhere to stop and have a drink. Trop cher! (with an e? who knows?) In the end, after thirty windows, each one making me feel like a freak or subspecies who definitely didn't belong, I found a bar. I now have a pint!
The strangest thing is that before I got to this place, as I walked around, I had a million thoughts and nearly all of them were self-hating or world-hating. Soon as I sit down, in a warm place, with a drink I am entirely happy. All that anger, was down to me wanting my basic needs met. Is this normal? Unlikely. [Maybe in our part of the world]
Wow, I really don't have a brilliant mind.
Here is what a real writer, Henry Miller, has written in their diary while in Paris [actually, a letter to Anais Nin]. The contrast is astounding.
"...a writer could... baffle a psychologist: not only that, but [a writer] is more of a psychologist than the other since he ramified the mysteries, extended them, developed them, and left the answers to go hang, because the answers weren't important, it was the drama, the mystery, the undecipherable pattern that was essential."
Perhaps I should address my diaries to Anais Nin?
February 1, 2012
Home at last (and a Paris diary entry)
So, I'm back from Paris, and at my desk. It's a bright day outside, and freezing. I've stocked the wood burner up, and the cats (who hate each other despite being mother and son) are curled up on opposite sides of the room. I've written 2000 words today and have more to write later. The novel is finally coming together. Thank the universe. Also, I just heard an extract from my script: STAGS got shortlisted for a BBC Writers Room thing.
I still haven't received my edits for Infinite Sky, so a trying to get as much work as possible done in the peaceful interim. It is going to be very strange working on two novels, at wildly different stages, at the same time. Something I haven't done before. Though this was why I wanted to take a two-book deal if it was offered. I require the pressure (though having a deadline did freak me out a little at first).
So, anyway, Paris. I wrote a lot when I was there, but it was mainly notes about Paris and Shakespeare and Company and the people I met there, rather than real work on my book. I read even more: Flour Babies by Anne Rice, The Sea, The Sea, by Iris Murdoch, Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman, some of The Coward's Tale by Vanessa Gebbie, various poems by poets whose names I unfortunatly didn't write down.
But what did I get up to in Paris, precisely? What did I do all day? It's a good question. I'll flick through my notebook and see if there's anything worth sharing (not going to reflect very well on me if there isn't...)
Okay, there's some stuff! I'll post a diary entry with every new blog post for your enjoyment.
11 Janvier
Travelling alone is a revelation! All the single travellers speak to each other! The man sitting next to me on the plane takes a picture of us together when I tell him I'm a writer. A woman on the RER into Paris tells me everything about her husband's diet [he will not eat porridge or halloumi]. The man in the falafel shop tells me that he loves England, especially the new king and queen who, like him, hate the smell of stinky death food (meat). I am friends with the world!
The bookshop is full of young people. Terry, who works there, knows my friend Sam Riviere. In my head, I kind of think he is Sam Riviere. He's Leeds Sam Riviere. You can tell they like a lot of the same things. When Terry stands up, he is the same size as me. He manages to get this into the conversation before he stands up. I think this is so it isn't as much of a surprise. It's still a surprise!
Everybodies French is better than mine. Everybody enjoys doing the accent. I'm pretty good at saying, C'n'est pas possible, and c'est possible. My accent, for this phrase, is pretty excellent.
The other tumbleweeds are from America and Israel. They're much younger than me. Does this mean I am late to mature? One of the tumbleweeds is 19. What was I doing at 19? Why wasn't I living in a bookshop in Paris? The tumbleweeds, when asked, say they wouldn't call themselves writers, but they write a little and love books. One tells me that her talent lies in love letters. How gorgeous is that?
It is so expensive here. (Take a bottle of water everywhere!) Not many struggling artists/writers could afford to live here now. (Which capital city is the cheapest to live in these days? Where is the new Paris? Find it and move there.)
I still haven't received my edits for Infinite Sky, so a trying to get as much work as possible done in the peaceful interim. It is going to be very strange working on two novels, at wildly different stages, at the same time. Something I haven't done before. Though this was why I wanted to take a two-book deal if it was offered. I require the pressure (though having a deadline did freak me out a little at first).
So, anyway, Paris. I wrote a lot when I was there, but it was mainly notes about Paris and Shakespeare and Company and the people I met there, rather than real work on my book. I read even more: Flour Babies by Anne Rice, The Sea, The Sea, by Iris Murdoch, Pigeon English by Stephen Kelman, some of The Coward's Tale by Vanessa Gebbie, various poems by poets whose names I unfortunatly didn't write down.
But what did I get up to in Paris, precisely? What did I do all day? It's a good question. I'll flick through my notebook and see if there's anything worth sharing (not going to reflect very well on me if there isn't...)
Okay, there's some stuff! I'll post a diary entry with every new blog post for your enjoyment.
11 Janvier
Travelling alone is a revelation! All the single travellers speak to each other! The man sitting next to me on the plane takes a picture of us together when I tell him I'm a writer. A woman on the RER into Paris tells me everything about her husband's diet [he will not eat porridge or halloumi]. The man in the falafel shop tells me that he loves England, especially the new king and queen who, like him, hate the smell of stinky death food (meat). I am friends with the world!
The bookshop is full of young people. Terry, who works there, knows my friend Sam Riviere. In my head, I kind of think he is Sam Riviere. He's Leeds Sam Riviere. You can tell they like a lot of the same things. When Terry stands up, he is the same size as me. He manages to get this into the conversation before he stands up. I think this is so it isn't as much of a surprise. It's still a surprise!
Everybodies French is better than mine. Everybody enjoys doing the accent. I'm pretty good at saying, C'n'est pas possible, and c'est possible. My accent, for this phrase, is pretty excellent.
The other tumbleweeds are from America and Israel. They're much younger than me. Does this mean I am late to mature? One of the tumbleweeds is 19. What was I doing at 19? Why wasn't I living in a bookshop in Paris? The tumbleweeds, when asked, say they wouldn't call themselves writers, but they write a little and love books. One tells me that her talent lies in love letters. How gorgeous is that?
It is so expensive here. (Take a bottle of water everywhere!) Not many struggling artists/writers could afford to live here now. (Which capital city is the cheapest to live in these days? Where is the new Paris? Find it and move there.)
January 13, 2012
Je suis in Paree
So, here I am in sexy Paris. I'm staying in Shakespeare and Company, a beautiful English book shop right in the city centre. It faces Notre Dam. In fact, yesterday I closed a window to keep the bells of Notre Dam out. Who would do a thing like that? Only a gen-u-ine Parisien, which is what I am as of Janvier 11.
Here it is, the glorious Shakespeare and Co.
The first things I notice is that everything is so wonderfully gothic and mysterious. Even the trees look gnarled and bewitching. Winter definitely suits Paris. Leaveless trees make the city look like the set of some kind of twisted fairytale. Unfortunately I forgot my camera, so for the moment I will have to feed your mind's eye with other people's pictures, stolen from google images...
Oh. 'paris gnarled trees' brings up nothing like what I want to show you. Imagine black bark, and amputated branches, planted in rows. Spooky, isn't it?
The second thing I notice, a bit later, maybe around the same time I realise that I will never be able to afford to live in a city such as this, is that everyone looks so Parisien. This is a bit unnerving, and makes me fear that the place has turned into a museum or even worse, a shop, selling Paris. (This opinion might be warped by bitterness. Not only can't I afford it here, I also feel very unchic, and although I was previously unaware I was aiming for chic - in fact I hadn't even used the word before, it popped into my head on arrival - I resent being made to feel this way. Trying on clothes in a shop earlier, I thought, It is not my clothes but my body that is unchic.
Who's to blame for this terrible self-hating thought? Me? You? Paris? Exactly. Paris. Oh look, off it skips, all nonchalant and wearing those thick rimmed angular spectacles...
In hindsight, maybe the centre of Paris wasn't the best place to come to write. I haven't got many new words since arriving. But to read! I feel such a fool for packing books! This place is full to the brim with intriguing and marvellous novels and poetry. It smells incredible too. I feel such a fool for packing shower gel! Without it, I too, could now smell wonderful, like antiquated books.
Part of the deal of staying here, is that 'tumbleweeds' which is what us boarding writers are called, have to help out in the shop for a couple of hours a day. This is basically brilliant, as you get to be overwhelmed by the amount of books that people have managed to write since time began, and how you will never ever, no matter how fast you go, get through even a tenth of them, plus, when you have to and cannot cannot resist, you get to simply stop sorting and have a little browse.
Today and yesterday I rearranged the poetry section, and was delighted to reread some much-loved poems by friends: Tim Cockburn and Sam Riviere, and to find new poems by poets I hadn't heard of before: Nikki Giovanni and Daljit Nagra.
Right now, I can hear the bells of Notre Dam as well as somebody playing the Shakespeare and Co. piano and a fellow tumbleweed struggling to open the door to the library. (There is only one key for us, and to make sure we don't lose it, it is kept on a piece of wood that you could eat your dinner off. This makes opening doors noisier and more of a challenge.) Later, I will eat Japanese food.
So, oui, Paris, you pretentious swine, je t'aime.
Here it is, the glorious Shakespeare and Co.The first things I notice is that everything is so wonderfully gothic and mysterious. Even the trees look gnarled and bewitching. Winter definitely suits Paris. Leaveless trees make the city look like the set of some kind of twisted fairytale. Unfortunately I forgot my camera, so for the moment I will have to feed your mind's eye with other people's pictures, stolen from google images...
Oh. 'paris gnarled trees' brings up nothing like what I want to show you. Imagine black bark, and amputated branches, planted in rows. Spooky, isn't it?
The second thing I notice, a bit later, maybe around the same time I realise that I will never be able to afford to live in a city such as this, is that everyone looks so Parisien. This is a bit unnerving, and makes me fear that the place has turned into a museum or even worse, a shop, selling Paris. (This opinion might be warped by bitterness. Not only can't I afford it here, I also feel very unchic, and although I was previously unaware I was aiming for chic - in fact I hadn't even used the word before, it popped into my head on arrival - I resent being made to feel this way. Trying on clothes in a shop earlier, I thought, It is not my clothes but my body that is unchic.
Who's to blame for this terrible self-hating thought? Me? You? Paris? Exactly. Paris. Oh look, off it skips, all nonchalant and wearing those thick rimmed angular spectacles...
In hindsight, maybe the centre of Paris wasn't the best place to come to write. I haven't got many new words since arriving. But to read! I feel such a fool for packing books! This place is full to the brim with intriguing and marvellous novels and poetry. It smells incredible too. I feel such a fool for packing shower gel! Without it, I too, could now smell wonderful, like antiquated books.
Part of the deal of staying here, is that 'tumbleweeds' which is what us boarding writers are called, have to help out in the shop for a couple of hours a day. This is basically brilliant, as you get to be overwhelmed by the amount of books that people have managed to write since time began, and how you will never ever, no matter how fast you go, get through even a tenth of them, plus, when you have to and cannot cannot resist, you get to simply stop sorting and have a little browse.
Today and yesterday I rearranged the poetry section, and was delighted to reread some much-loved poems by friends: Tim Cockburn and Sam Riviere, and to find new poems by poets I hadn't heard of before: Nikki Giovanni and Daljit Nagra.
Right now, I can hear the bells of Notre Dam as well as somebody playing the Shakespeare and Co. piano and a fellow tumbleweed struggling to open the door to the library. (There is only one key for us, and to make sure we don't lose it, it is kept on a piece of wood that you could eat your dinner off. This makes opening doors noisier and more of a challenge.) Later, I will eat Japanese food.
So, oui, Paris, you pretentious swine, je t'aime.
December 5, 2011
The Lucky 13s
I am part of a new about-to-dominate-the-world gang of debut YA authors. We're called The Lucky 13s (because like all the most exciting writers we debut in 2013) and can be found HERE.
There are excellent posts about getting a book deal, receiving editorial letters and how to take them, and soon there will be posts about other YA books that we love. Best of all, there are blurbs about all of our books. Have a look!
In other news, HBO have commissioned a follow up Ian Palmer's magnificent documentary, Knuckle, about Irish Traveller clans and their tradition of bare knuckle boxing.
Still from KNUCKLES
Even more exciting is the fact that HBO have employed Irvine Welsh to help write the series.
There are excellent posts about getting a book deal, receiving editorial letters and how to take them, and soon there will be posts about other YA books that we love. Best of all, there are blurbs about all of our books. Have a look!
In other news, HBO have commissioned a follow up Ian Palmer's magnificent documentary, Knuckle, about Irish Traveller clans and their tradition of bare knuckle boxing.
Still from KNUCKLESEven more exciting is the fact that HBO have employed Irvine Welsh to help write the series.
November 14, 2011
Infinite Sky...
is the new title of my book! What do you think? Hmm? Hmm? It's from a line in the book formerly known as SILVERWEED where a perfectly hopeful Iris thinks: "The sky was blue and infinite." About a minute before all the drama begins. Poor girl.
It also reminds me of this passage from a beautiful e.e. cummings poem (I've deleted a God bit):
"For this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes."
Yes!
It also reminds me of this passage from a beautiful e.e. cummings poem (I've deleted a God bit):
"For this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes."
Yes!
November 5, 2011
Floppy hair and green eyes
Nothing much is happening with my book's progress at the moment. I still haven't thought of a title. Gypsy Summer? Trick? The Lost Boys? All the good ones are gone! Writing the new novel is also on hold while I finish up my last copywriting job, so really I'm just reading...
I read so much YA now that I really notice the same old things cropping up again and again: unbelievably perfect boys; book-loving female protagonists who are obviously beautiful but don't realise it; whacky best friends.
Nearly all male love interests have green eyes and hair that falls over their eyes! Whose fault is this? Is it Edward Furlong in Terminator II? Is it Jason Priestly in Beverly Hills 90210? Women, everywhere, cannot forget this hair. I cannot forget this hair.(Lovely Trick has this hair, though I managed to change his eyes from green.)
Just finishing Ali Lewis's 'Everybody Jam', which is quite rightly longlisted for the Carnegie. Maybe it's because the setting is different (Australia), or because the protagonist is male (I tend to read female) but it stands out as special. Though the main character seems waaaaaay younger than 13. I thought he was about ten before I read his actual age. But perhaps that's because he lives in the middle of the outback...?
I read so much YA now that I really notice the same old things cropping up again and again: unbelievably perfect boys; book-loving female protagonists who are obviously beautiful but don't realise it; whacky best friends.
Nearly all male love interests have green eyes and hair that falls over their eyes! Whose fault is this? Is it Edward Furlong in Terminator II? Is it Jason Priestly in Beverly Hills 90210? Women, everywhere, cannot forget this hair. I cannot forget this hair.(Lovely Trick has this hair, though I managed to change his eyes from green.)
Just finishing Ali Lewis's 'Everybody Jam', which is quite rightly longlisted for the Carnegie. Maybe it's because the setting is different (Australia), or because the protagonist is male (I tend to read female) but it stands out as special. Though the main character seems waaaaaay younger than 13. I thought he was about ten before I read his actual age. But perhaps that's because he lives in the middle of the outback...?
October 27, 2011
More on peer reviews...
So, the peer review thing. I've been thinking more about it, and I would definitely be particularly excited if my book was being reviewed by someone I knew, however well. But I would also struggle to believe what they'd written. If it was generous, I'd think they hadn't admitted to what didn't work for them. If they gently admitted to a couple of things that didn't work I'd think they were going easy on me. If they hated it, I'd believe them, and wonder why they bothered to review it if they couldn't say anything nice.
Joke!
I have all of this ahead, if I'm lucky. My book will get reviewed, and not everybody will like it. Some people might even hate it. Those brutes! What did I ever do to them. But it means they will be reading it, so it's basically one of those good problems...
Anyway, Bloomsbury are sending me a copy of The Coward's Tale and Vanessa has told me to say what I think, and I will, or what's the point? The end.
Joke!
I have all of this ahead, if I'm lucky. My book will get reviewed, and not everybody will like it. Some people might even hate it. Those brutes! What did I ever do to them. But it means they will be reading it, so it's basically one of those good problems...
Anyway, Bloomsbury are sending me a copy of The Coward's Tale and Vanessa has told me to say what I think, and I will, or what's the point? The end.
