In a long forgotten book about writing fiction, I read a piece of advice that has stayed with me ever since I decided to write a novel.
Now prepare yourself, as I am going to share this with the world.
Here goes:
Write the first draft with your heart and the second with your head.
It is certainly a piece of advice that I have taken to heart. Before I began my 52 week writing plan, I was the living embodiment of prognostication being the thief of time. I was responsible for more drafts than the army in World War Two.
Unfortunately, my drafts seldom made it past the first few chapters. The equivalent of the Allied Fleet on D-Day making it out of Portsmouth Harbour and then thinking, “We’ll give that another go soon” and then promptly becoming distracted by Crosby & Hope’s latest Road film... You get the idea.
The problem was that I was stopping too often to check that I wasn’t contradicting myself and that the plot was tighter than a pre-ghosts Scrooge. I was so far from writing with the wind in my hair, that a level of dust only previously seen on a student’s Alcohol Free Drinks Guide, had begun to build up on my book.
And then I read that quote...
It was a real epiphany. For the past 11 weeks, I have done just that and the result has been a revelation. This morning, nestled on a corner table in Starbucks (why is it that writing with a laptop isn’t the same in a Mark One cafe?), I finished chapter 17. That’s 10 chapters in 10 weeks.
Of course, I’m not saying that they are flawless - in fact, they have more “flaws” than a tower block - but the simple fact is that they are there.
As Kate Mosse says in week 11’s tip, book editors these days do not expect to edit; they expect the manuscript to arrive in near-perfect condition. Fine. But that is what the second draft is for. That’s the time to write with your head.
In the heady days of the first draft, put your foot on the pedal, open all the windows, and drive at full speed.
There are no speed cameras on First Draft Highway.
Friday 30 November 2007
Saturday 24 November 2007
Week 10 - My Space
When you tell people you’re a writer, the classic question you always get asked is: where do you get your ideas from? It’s a question most writers dread - and I’m going to treat it with the disdain it deserves (or I could offer my usual reply: a PO Box in Dorset).
Instead I am going to focus on a question I’m often asked, once the typical opener has been deftly side stepped.
Where do you work?
It never fails to surprise me that people have such wide ranging ideas of what my workspace should look like. Some - usually the more romantic - have a decidedly “Garret” idea. You know the thing: some poorly lit attic apartment, furnished with a rickety chair and a woodworm-infested table and probably with a view of the Eiffel Tower.
When I crush their Parisian Artists Fantasies, I almost feel a little guilty.
Then there are the business types, who seem to think I set up a “word processor” on the kitchen table and tap away while warming my feet on the Aga, only to promptly clear away all my mess once someone who has a proper job returns home.
When I crush a garlic clove into their drink, I seldom feel guilty.
As to the answer to the question, the truth depends on who you’re asking.
I know writers who can pop along to their local park, take out a notebook, and chapters flow like cider at an under 17s school disco.
Then there are the ones who have a study that is filled to bursting point with all the electronic wizardry needed to send a man to Mars. They tap at their multi screen set up and revel in their dedicated space.
Whatever works best for you is the way to go (bearing in mind your choices may be limited by family, money and power points).
Personally, I have adapted a second bedroom into a study of sorts, but still have to manoeuvre my way through ironing piles, bags of old newspapers and a collection of shoe boxes that seems to magically reproduce whenever my wife goes anywhere near a high street.
Kate Mosse’s tip number 10 is to find somewhere right for you. It’s a good point - I think most would agree that a dedicated space is the ideal, but whatever is available, even if it’s under the stairs (not in a Harry Potter way, of course), then go with that.
It’s exactly in such a space that I have just completed my next chapter. After 10 weeks of writing, it feels like the place I go when I need to write; and when I’m not writing, it sits there making me feel guilty.
A writer’s space should be a cocoon - even if it is not physically separate from the rest of the house. It’s a place to write; it’s a place to think; and possibly most of all, it’s a place to avoid people who ask you where you get your ideas from.
Instead I am going to focus on a question I’m often asked, once the typical opener has been deftly side stepped.
Where do you work?
It never fails to surprise me that people have such wide ranging ideas of what my workspace should look like. Some - usually the more romantic - have a decidedly “Garret” idea. You know the thing: some poorly lit attic apartment, furnished with a rickety chair and a woodworm-infested table and probably with a view of the Eiffel Tower.
When I crush their Parisian Artists Fantasies, I almost feel a little guilty.
Then there are the business types, who seem to think I set up a “word processor” on the kitchen table and tap away while warming my feet on the Aga, only to promptly clear away all my mess once someone who has a proper job returns home.
When I crush a garlic clove into their drink, I seldom feel guilty.
As to the answer to the question, the truth depends on who you’re asking.
I know writers who can pop along to their local park, take out a notebook, and chapters flow like cider at an under 17s school disco.
Then there are the ones who have a study that is filled to bursting point with all the electronic wizardry needed to send a man to Mars. They tap at their multi screen set up and revel in their dedicated space.
Whatever works best for you is the way to go (bearing in mind your choices may be limited by family, money and power points).
Personally, I have adapted a second bedroom into a study of sorts, but still have to manoeuvre my way through ironing piles, bags of old newspapers and a collection of shoe boxes that seems to magically reproduce whenever my wife goes anywhere near a high street.
Kate Mosse’s tip number 10 is to find somewhere right for you. It’s a good point - I think most would agree that a dedicated space is the ideal, but whatever is available, even if it’s under the stairs (not in a Harry Potter way, of course), then go with that.
It’s exactly in such a space that I have just completed my next chapter. After 10 weeks of writing, it feels like the place I go when I need to write; and when I’m not writing, it sits there making me feel guilty.
A writer’s space should be a cocoon - even if it is not physically separate from the rest of the house. It’s a place to write; it’s a place to think; and possibly most of all, it’s a place to avoid people who ask you where you get your ideas from.
Saturday 17 November 2007
Week 9 - Early Humbug?
They’re starting to do it. I have lost count of the times I have read interviews with authors who have said that their characters have taken on a life of their own. Whenever I read this, I always think, “Oh come on, how precious can you get?”
Well, what do you know? There I was writing the introduction for one of the two main characters in my book. I always knew when they would first appear within the novel (about a quarter of the way in), but I assumed that they would say what I wanted them to say.
As I was typing the initial description of my character, I started to get a weird nagging feeling. A bit like when you have headphones on and the music is blotting out the rest of the world, but you suddenly get the feeling that someone is talking to you.
As my fingers tapped away at the keyboard and I approached the first lines my new character would speak, a voice in my head was saying, “I wouldn’t say that, I would be more likely to say this…”
The really odd thing is that the voice was right.
So, the second of my two main characters is now in the novel and is already thinking for himself. This is even stranger because my other main character is quite happy for me to get him to say whatever I want.
This raises an interesting question: does this mean the second character is a stronger/better character?
Only time will tell.
In the meantime, I am continuing to try to write a chapter a week. But how and when?
When I started this blog nine weeks ago, I was writing at the weekends and tying up loose ends in the week. Since then I have noticed that my writing week is changing. I am tending to write almost every day - with perhaps one day off a week - and this seems to be working.
I would be interested in finding out what sort of writing weeks others have: email me at: jimmymac53@googlemail.com and let me know!
This was prompted by Kate Mosse’s Tip Number 9: Don’t Spend Your Ideas Too Freely. In essence, this means the more you talk about something the less effective it will be when you come to write about it, as the mystery will have been revealed.
This is especially interesting for me as I am writing a mystery novel. When my wife asks me how I am doing, can I give away any plot developments, or will this lessen their impact?
It’s a moot point, because I am not telling her anything: she will have to read this blog! It’s the only place where I will be revealing elements of my story as I progress.
Kate should be proud - I am not just avoiding spending my thoughts too freely, I am turning into the Ebenezer Scrooge of Ideas!
Well, what do you know? There I was writing the introduction for one of the two main characters in my book. I always knew when they would first appear within the novel (about a quarter of the way in), but I assumed that they would say what I wanted them to say.
As I was typing the initial description of my character, I started to get a weird nagging feeling. A bit like when you have headphones on and the music is blotting out the rest of the world, but you suddenly get the feeling that someone is talking to you.
As my fingers tapped away at the keyboard and I approached the first lines my new character would speak, a voice in my head was saying, “I wouldn’t say that, I would be more likely to say this…”
The really odd thing is that the voice was right.
So, the second of my two main characters is now in the novel and is already thinking for himself. This is even stranger because my other main character is quite happy for me to get him to say whatever I want.
This raises an interesting question: does this mean the second character is a stronger/better character?
Only time will tell.
In the meantime, I am continuing to try to write a chapter a week. But how and when?
When I started this blog nine weeks ago, I was writing at the weekends and tying up loose ends in the week. Since then I have noticed that my writing week is changing. I am tending to write almost every day - with perhaps one day off a week - and this seems to be working.
I would be interested in finding out what sort of writing weeks others have: email me at: jimmymac53@googlemail.com and let me know!
This was prompted by Kate Mosse’s Tip Number 9: Don’t Spend Your Ideas Too Freely. In essence, this means the more you talk about something the less effective it will be when you come to write about it, as the mystery will have been revealed.
This is especially interesting for me as I am writing a mystery novel. When my wife asks me how I am doing, can I give away any plot developments, or will this lessen their impact?
It’s a moot point, because I am not telling her anything: she will have to read this blog! It’s the only place where I will be revealing elements of my story as I progress.
Kate should be proud - I am not just avoiding spending my thoughts too freely, I am turning into the Ebenezer Scrooge of Ideas!
Tuesday 13 November 2007
Week 8 and a bit...
It had to happen. Life finally caught up with me this week and the plan to complete last week’s chapter was left in tatters as real life intervened and sent my weekly plan to life’s shredder.
I suppose I should not complain. The reason I was unable to produce my quota was that I was involved in a book launch – one I had edited, as opposed to written – and the ever-stretching elastic that normally contains all the things I need to do in a week, finally gave up the ghost and snapped.
Come Sunday night – my normal deadline – I had only written 700 words of the 2500 I was aiming for. I had to raise the white flag of authorship and switch off the computer, skulking shamefaced to bed.
As if I needed a lesson in the importance of deadlines, once I accepted I was not going to hit my word length, it all went pear shape. I didn’t write another word for two days.
While not exactly up there with the day J.D. Sallinger decided he’d had enough of the whole “publishing your work to widespread critical acclaim” thing, it was still a localised disaster.
Or was it?
As it turned out, when I did finally get down to finishing the chapter, I found that I was writing with a renewed vigour. It’s amazing what a break – even just a few days – from a predefined routine can do for the creative juices.
It turns out that missing a self-imposed deadline once in a while, is not quite the calamity it initially seemed.
Of course, as the monk said to the tailor who was showing off his new horsehair cloth, probably better not to make a habit out of it.
I suppose I should not complain. The reason I was unable to produce my quota was that I was involved in a book launch – one I had edited, as opposed to written – and the ever-stretching elastic that normally contains all the things I need to do in a week, finally gave up the ghost and snapped.
Come Sunday night – my normal deadline – I had only written 700 words of the 2500 I was aiming for. I had to raise the white flag of authorship and switch off the computer, skulking shamefaced to bed.
As if I needed a lesson in the importance of deadlines, once I accepted I was not going to hit my word length, it all went pear shape. I didn’t write another word for two days.
While not exactly up there with the day J.D. Sallinger decided he’d had enough of the whole “publishing your work to widespread critical acclaim” thing, it was still a localised disaster.
Or was it?
As it turned out, when I did finally get down to finishing the chapter, I found that I was writing with a renewed vigour. It’s amazing what a break – even just a few days – from a predefined routine can do for the creative juices.
It turns out that missing a self-imposed deadline once in a while, is not quite the calamity it initially seemed.
Of course, as the monk said to the tailor who was showing off his new horsehair cloth, probably better not to make a habit out of it.
Saturday 3 November 2007
Week 7 - To Cut Or Not To Cut
Ah, the pain of cutting loose those precious words.
One of the most agonising parts of writing a novel is when you get a phrase or paragraph which stands out as a shining example of why you should be at the top of the best seller's list, instead of sitting in a malodorous box room tapping away at a keyboard and drinking endless cups of cold coffee (you always forget it's there until it's cold - it's a law of nature).
Anyway, you finally produce a beautifully created section of text and you sit back in your woodworm-infested chair to admire your handy work. You start to visualise it on the back of your book's dust jacket as the perfect way to pull in millions of readers. You're filled with a warm glow that can only be replicated by gorging on Reddy Brek and you start to mentally draft your acceptance speech for the Booker...and then...
...and then you realise that however wonderful that section of perfect prose is, it doesn't bloody fit! Like a see-saw occupied by an elephant and a super-model, it has tragically over balanced the whole chapter. However you try to cut other sections, you realise that you need them to propel the plot or place that cunningly disguised clue. Your heavenly half a page simply does not work.
Finally, you're left with a simple but painful choice: you can leave it in and see the rest of the book collapse under its weight, or you can cut it out. Clearly, there's really no choice at all and this is the only thing that lessens the pain.
Kate Mosse suggests a scrapbook for these sacrifices at the alter of the scissors icon. You never know when they might come in handy, but more than likely they will form the debris on the road to success.
It's painful, yes; but it's also what separates successful writers from those who drown in the slush pile of the writing life.
After all, if writing is something that you intend to make a living from, it's better to be ruthless than roofless.
One of the most agonising parts of writing a novel is when you get a phrase or paragraph which stands out as a shining example of why you should be at the top of the best seller's list, instead of sitting in a malodorous box room tapping away at a keyboard and drinking endless cups of cold coffee (you always forget it's there until it's cold - it's a law of nature).
Anyway, you finally produce a beautifully created section of text and you sit back in your woodworm-infested chair to admire your handy work. You start to visualise it on the back of your book's dust jacket as the perfect way to pull in millions of readers. You're filled with a warm glow that can only be replicated by gorging on Reddy Brek and you start to mentally draft your acceptance speech for the Booker...and then...
...and then you realise that however wonderful that section of perfect prose is, it doesn't bloody fit! Like a see-saw occupied by an elephant and a super-model, it has tragically over balanced the whole chapter. However you try to cut other sections, you realise that you need them to propel the plot or place that cunningly disguised clue. Your heavenly half a page simply does not work.
Finally, you're left with a simple but painful choice: you can leave it in and see the rest of the book collapse under its weight, or you can cut it out. Clearly, there's really no choice at all and this is the only thing that lessens the pain.
Kate Mosse suggests a scrapbook for these sacrifices at the alter of the scissors icon. You never know when they might come in handy, but more than likely they will form the debris on the road to success.
It's painful, yes; but it's also what separates successful writers from those who drown in the slush pile of the writing life.
After all, if writing is something that you intend to make a living from, it's better to be ruthless than roofless.
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