Scheduling Time

It’s pretty sad when you have to schedule time to write.  But I am, it is the only way I will stay sane.

The house we moved to is bigger, which in one way is good, but in others, it definitely isn’t.  It means more cleaning, more time spent doing tasks that I didn’t have to worry about before – on the plus side, no more mopping the entire house!  This house has carpets, but it still means vacuuming, and three times a week according to the schedule.

So, I scheduled my jobs into my day.  Pretty sad, yes.  But if it means I can get my jobs done in the morning, then the afternoon is mine to do with as I see fit, visit friends, critique stories, WRITE MY OWN!

I have been doing this for three days now, not counting the weekend.  Wednesday I split up all the jobs I do around the house (dusting, vacuuming, cleaning, (dishes and laundry are done everyday anyway, so they aren’t really factored in), are all divided up between Monday and Friday. 

Thursday was my first day – the schedule works!  I got most of the jobs done, plus some extra’s (including cleaning the entire kitchen which hadn’t been done since BEFORE we moved in…) and Friday’s work as well (I’ll explain later) and then Thursday afternoon, I sat down with my own story and edited it, putting some of it into the computer.  Two hours where I got to do things I wanted to do.

Friday, my son had athletics day at school, and seeing as it is his first year, and he is my only son – I attended with Nanna and Poppa and had a ball.

Saturday and Sunday, we went camping, but I took the editing with me and I actually got some done while camping (yahoo!)

Monday and guess what, I have completed my Monday list of jobs and I am sitting here writing my blog!  I am so loving this!  This afternoon, what I edited will be put into the computer and I will be another chapter closer to finishing this round of editing.  I am actually starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel (and NO, it isn’t an on coming train!)

Busy Busy Busy

Blog for KiwiWriters, thought I would share it here too…

While some people are doing NaNoWriMo, others of us are still plodding away at our other projects.

My husband, although supportive of my writing, would not understand if I tried to write two novels a year.  Although in saying that, my son is now at school, so I have time in the day to write that I didn’t have before.

But then, with my son at school, where did my time go?  I thought I would have all of this time to write at my leisure, which would probably happen if, I was in fact writing.  Unfortunately, I am editing, which seems to take almost five times as long as the actually writing itself did.

And not only do I have writing to do, but in the 6 hours my baby is at school, I also have to organise tea, get the house tidy and keep it tidy, unpack boxes (we moved a month ago… damned boxes just don’t go away) and try and catch up with friends. 

If I sit down at the computer to write, I, all of a sudden, develop a guilt complex.  So instead of writing, I will go and unpack a box, make a bed, vacuum the floor, wash the floor, empty the rubbish, hang the washing out, get the veges ready for tea, tidy my son’s room, tidy my room, clean the bath, clean the toilet, put more washing on, bring the washing in because it starts raining, put it back out again, because it was only a passing shower, try and find where exactly I put the stapler the last time I used it, try and contact someone for work, answer the phone for the tenth time today…  And by the time I have finished all of that, it is nearly 3pm and I have to head down the road to pick my boy up…  Scary stuff when you think about it.

A writers job is never done, especially if you’re a wannabe writer with family commitments too.  )

Life interfering again…

Funny how life deals you blows when you are kind of expecting them, but then they are bigger than you thought.  Strange way to start a post, I know, but once again, life has interfered with my writing.  Just when I thought I was starting to ease myself back into it.

Last Wednesday, my Mum rang me to tell me my Great Uncle Ray had died.  That might not seem like much to everyone, great uncles die all the time.  Well, Great Uncle Ray was special to Mum, and therefore to me.

Uncle Ray was married to Aunty Mary, who was my Nanna’s sister, and Mum often boarded or stayed with them when she was younger.  She was the nearest they got to having children, Aunty Mary could not carry a child passed the three month mark, so after many heart breaking miscarriages, they decided to not have children.  So as a result, Aunty Mary and Uncle Ray were the last of their line.  Aunty Mary died a couple of years ago, and we visited with Uncle Ray last year on our way home to the Burt Munro Memorial Weekend (or whatever they call it.)  We had lots of laughs and plenty of fun with Uncle Ray, who was 92 when he passed away.  He was still living at home until 6 months ago when he finally went into care because he could not look after himself any more.

Apparently he excluded a lot of people from his life because of the way Aunty Mary was (she had mental issues… she is not directly related to me…) and so they became reclusive, except to Mum.  He had a niece – Noeleen and her husband Ken in Dunedin who did a lot for them, and they were the only other ones really, who were in the loop.

On Saturday, we attended a beautiful, simple service for Uncle Ray, and it really brought home to me how precious family are, even if they are distantly related. 

Mum was fortunate enough to meet up with Uncle Ray three weeks ago, he was deteriorating, but blamed it on old age (he didn’t want to get chained to the walker…) and Mum is very thankful that she went when she did.  Apparently he was starting to wander and suffer from dementia.  In a way, we believe he went with a bang because he would not have liked not being fully there.  Uncle Ray was an intelligent person, very intellectual with a dry wit, which was still apparent right up until the end (when the Doctor asked him if he knew where he was he replied “why?  Don’t you know where you are?”)

While away, I was twitchy and fidgety and it was because I wanted to write.  Uncle Ray was a painter, and when he wasn’t painting, he was rather anxious.  I think I can understand that, and I am pleased to have called such a talented painter (who gave up painting when he moved into respite care) my Uncle.

Rest in Peace with your beloved Mary Uncle Ray.

Back into it then…

After what seems like YEARS (but in actual fact is only approximately 4 weeks ?!!) I finally managed to edit a scene last night.  It doesn’t really sound like something major, but to me it was.  When I don’t write, I get restless, and quite antsy and I spend a lot of time on the internet and facebook wondering what is going on with me and why I can’t get rid of the itch.

So I edited – or finished editing a scene in the 5th Chapter, one that was kind of lagging and I had been putting off.  But a few weeks off, and fresh eyes, allowed me to make some alterations to the chapter which now makes it seem more credible, and no longer just a space filler.  While it hasn’t inspired me to start heavily editing again, it was the kick in the bum I needed.

But what I have been doing, which I really enjoy doing, is critiquing others work at the moment, and I have become a beta reader for a NZ who has finished her story to quite a high standard and wants to get it out there before the end of the year.  I also critique for two other writers, we all write very similar works, so we enjoy swapping our stories between us and looking at each others style.  I know that I really don’t take on board a lot of what they tell me, but I have reached a stage with my writing where I happily listen to them and their advise and revise my story accordingly.

While I find editing quite trying, having done it for almost three months now, I really do understand why it is necessary and have started to really see my work with a more subjective eye.  It has allowed me to see how it could be improved, without being negative and dismissive about it.  A critical eye has actually improved my writing.  And that is what I am really enjoying about the editing process.  That and also seeing how far I came from when I originally wrote the story back when I was at school!

Deep thought for the week

I brought a calendar today that had old photographs from the area that I live in.  History fascinates me, and I found one picture in particular that could potentially inspire a story.  It was a saddlier in Wakefield who’s building had a large chunk removed from the middle of it in a boundary dispute with a store keeper.  It is truly a photograph that inspires thought and further investigation, but then I got to thinking.  If I researched this, would I get a proper perspective of the story, or a one-sided account of what happened?

A strange question to ask you might think, but if you stop and consider history, it is full of one-sided points of view.  Which led me to another deep thought.  What is it about the human psyche that we judge events that go on around us by our own experiences and prejudices?

Okay, we are probably getting into the realm of chicken vs egg thinking here, but it was something that really struck me, and I have encountered it before, in history class, when we were studying Edward (?) and Richard III and the Princes in the Tower.  All of the history records points to Richard killing his own nephews so he could assume the throne, and that may just be what happened.  But the historical references to this were actually written by the families own enemies who later assumed the throne (OK, so my memory for history is slightly vague, but you get the idea).  So history is full of one-sided accounts.

Why didn’t these historians put their prejudices aside and actually investigate the matter further to find out exactly what happened, even if it painted their ruler in a poor light?  Well back in those times, it was the threat of treason and having your head removed from your body, but surely, for prosterity’s sake, they could have put something in writing and concealed it somewhere?

But, why in more modern times, do we tend to believe some situations and not others?  Take the Bain Family murders the community is clearly divided over who was capable of killing the family.  People’s own prejudices tell them who they believe did it, yet without all of the evidence we make a judgement, just by the looks the potential killers, their intelligence level, state of mind, the family situation, even our own family situation can make us judge the entire situation. 

Why do our own thoughts, beliefs and prejudices colour our interpretation of the facts into the story we weave.  Is it an age-old, deep ingrained need to embellish stories that we pass on through the generations?  Or is it that the sensationalism of a misused word or misplaced fact enough to make the story more interesting, and with each telling, it changes – much like chinese whispers does.

I haven’t really answered any of my questions, because I am not a psychiatrist, psychologist, sociologist or any other mental type person who is qualified to make that answer, nor am I trying to raise debate.  What I am really trying to do, is make you consider your own humanity.  Take a look at your own perception of things and think about why you automatically make a judgement based on the few facts that you chose to accept, while discarding those that don’t fit.  Does actually reading all of the facts, listening to all of the opinions actually change your judgement?

e-fiction – hit or myth?

I have been reading a lot of e-fiction lately, mostly because I am part of the e-fiction book club, and I have to admit that I really struggle with sitting at my computer and reading.  I don’t have an iPod, or a reading device, or a laptop for that matter, so it makes it quite hard for me to sit and read something on a screen, and some sites really don’t help matter with tiny white print on a black background.  One site I queried about this actually put a function in so that you could increase the size of the font, which was much better!  Having to focus on the screen for an in-depth period of time is not good for my eyes (and I desperately need new glasses!).

But I wonder whether e-fiction is the way to go?  Do people read more e-fiction than books?  Don’t they prefer the good old fashion print and paper?  Or is printed literature going to become a thing of the past?  I certainly hope not!  I like to curl up in bed with a good book on a cold winters night, or tucked up on a sunny windowsill reading my favourites.  In order to do that, I have to purchase (or beg or borrow) books so that I am comfortable enough to settle down and read.  Sitting with a laptop on my lap in bed does not allow me to cocoon myself under the covers on a cold winters night.  There is no satisfaction of seeing how far I have to read in terms on the number of pages left at the end of the book (the slide bar on a computer just doesn’t have the same sense of accomplishment for me!)

I don’t have anything against reading on the computer, but I can get intimate with a book, I don’t see that happening with a laptop, or a reading device.  Actually holding a heavy book and having the satisfaction of knowing that I read it, that is something that a computer can never achieve.  Print out the story I hear you say…  You pay for ink costs and I will print it out… remember gold is less expensive than ink prices!

Web serials are another thing I have read a lot more of lately.  Are they a thing of the future – definitely yes!  I can see this being big, and interesting.  I love episodic stories, almost complete within themselves, but with a catch that keeps you reading more, and developing along with the characters.  Web serials are like the serious  reader’s version of comics, without the pictures.  (Don’t get me wrong, comics are cool!)  And I don’t really know why I think that!  Episodic stories have been around for years – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle originally produced Sherlock Holmes as a Serial in the English Newspapers (don’t ask which one, I don’t know that much information!)

Could I write a web serial – one day I might, but for now, I want to concentrate on getting published.   Whether that is through conventional means or though the internet, well, I suppose that is for the publisher to decide!

Short Story – the Jumper

Story stories aren’t something I am good at.  In fact, I really do write bad short stories.  I just can’t quite grasp the briefness of them.  I have decided that perhaps I need to start small and work my way bigger.  This is a short piece (approximately 600 words) to start with.  Please tell me what you think; good, bad or otherwise, and any helpful tips you can think of.

 

The Jumper

The smile faded on his face, and fast.  It was something he had not thought of until now.  Why now?  He didn’t know.  Someone had tried to explain it to him, but as he had made up his mind, he was not going to be persuaded not to… Until now.  Why hadn’t he thought it through a bit more?  He wasn’t a fly-by-seat-of-his-pants kind of guy, in fact, he wasn’t much of a man. 

 He had thought that this ‘leap of faith’ would be enough to impress Angela.  It had impressed him at the time.  She had smiled blandly and encouraged him, which had bolstered his confidence.  But his work colleagues were all surprised that he had made the decision.  They had tried to placate him, a couple explained what would happen.  He let them believe they had talked him out of it, but he hadn’t really heard what they were saying, and now, reality was setting in.

 He was standing on the precipice now, looking across the chasm.  It was too deep to look down, and he was scared he would chicken out if he did.  He gripped the rail in front of him so hard, his knuckles turned white and a couple of them audibly popped, much to the amusement of those behind him.  Nervous twittering told him that there were more here than he cared to think about.  He didn’t know if they were onlookers keen for a view of the carnage, or people there to provide him with support.  Either way, he felt sick with worry; he didn’t like being set apart, he preferred to be one of the crowd, now, standing on the edge he was on his own.  For once in his life, he was on his own and about to make a big decision.  To jump. 

 He tried to smile, to show he was confident, but all that he managed was a grimace.   There was a loud rushing sound and he realised it was his own breathing which had suddenly became shallow and the pounding he heard was his heart threatening to leap right out of his mouth.  He could feel it in his throat, ba-boom.  Ba-boom.  The thought of vomiting entered his head, but there wasn’t anything in his stomach, nerves had seen him eat little today.  His feet felt very heavy; his head began to spin and suddenly his head was heading towards his feet, except his feet were falling over his head and he was tumbling, falling. 

 His eyes snapped shut and he attempted to scream, a high pitched girly scream, something he had always prided himself that he would never do.  Unfortunately he did.  As he gained speed, he felt the wind whip past his face, fill his open mouth, forcing the scream back down his throat.  Adrenalin pumped through his body and was forced into his brain, trying to find ways out of the situation, but there were only two, up or down.  And he was already going down.

 The falling sensation came to a screaming halt as the wind was forced out of his lungs past his larynx and he was suddenly jerked backwards.  Now he knew he was not dreaming, this was real, he had been falling, he was now rebounding back upwards towards the platform he had fallen from.

 “Are you alright Mr Stewart?”  A voice drifted up from below him.  A vague awareness of the voice made him open his eyes; below him was a vessel in the water, a man calling out to him.  He attempted to nod, but thought his head would dislocate off his shoulders; he was upside down and bouncing around like one of those tight rubber balls that just keep rebounding off objects, except he was rebounding off air.

 “Mr Stewart?”  A question this time, still he found it hard to respond, he was too scared to speak.  He felt himself being lowered into the vessel, a smiling face peering into his own grim one.

 “How was that Mr Stewart?  Was that your first bungy jump?”

Life!

Isn’t funny how life interferes with your plans.  Just when you think you have everything all lined up, somebody or something  comes along and just blows it all away.

We have recently moved house, which is a big stressor on it’s own.  Add to it the fact that I have not been able to edit for nearly two weeks now, and you have one very stressed out cookie, about to crumble! 

I love writing so much, I love the creativeness, the flow, just expressing myself, and yet not being able to do that is really stressing me out more than the move itself!  The fact that I have lost my lovely view does not help, although it won’t take long to discover new views from the new place.

While I haven’t been sleeping at night (it is so overrated… yeah right!) I have been slowly plotting a new story that I want to create, getting ideas for how I want it to progress, still debating whether to write it as a story or whether I will web serial it… decisions, decisions.  Anyway, at night I have been plotting it, and I have some really exciting ideas for how I want it to progress, but I can’t find my notebook.  It is packed, in a carefully labelled box, and buried at the bottom of the sunroom… 

Along with all of my cooking utensils and scale – so I had to bake biscuits last night without weighing anything…  They look alright, whether they taste alright is another matter!  My cookbooks are – yes, you guessed it, also buried at the bottom of the large pile in the sunroom, and my beloved is telling me that I need to go through things and throw things away.  What does he think I did for three weeks while I was packing?  I am the one that paid for three rubbish BINS (Big drum ones, not little piddly rubbish bags!) to be removed full of junk, crap and general stuff I didn’t need.  I even got ruthless and threw away some old story information I had… no doubt that will come back to haunt me!

I will be pleased to get out the other end of this, and get back into my writing, so that I have a release for my pent up frustration.  Either that, or you will be reading headlines of a woman murdering her husband with a computer (and it’s not a laptop!)

Trilogy or novel?

Writing, for me, has always been a passion, a joy and something I love doing.  (Have I overdone that?)  Editing, on the other hand, is the exact opposite.  I hate doing it, the idea of slicing up and discarding large chunks of something I have put my heart and soul into is quite disheartening, although I have to admit that lately, my negativeness of editing is changing as I am seeing the novel as the big picture.

I wrote , what I originally intended, to be a trilogy however some of the story doesn’t quite fit with a three part story, and it definitely isn’t a duology (or whatever else you call it), so I have decided that once I have finished editing the third story, I will go back and make it one story.

What is currently a 180k trilogy (and growing) will probably end up being a 175k novel, and that actually doesn’t make me upset.  Which is strange, because the whole concept of editing is to cut out what you don’t need.  Instead, I have found that I have added at least 2k to each book as I have edited it.  Not intentionally, just reworded things here, added a new scene there, brought in new detail, tidied up a plot hole there.  It quickly adds up.

So as much as editing involves removing parts, it also requires me to tidy up those areas of the story that I was not originally happy with to start with.  It gives me an opportunity to see how my wording has changed over the course of the three stories as well, which has happened.  There is a distinct difference in the first two to the last one, which was written almost two months after the first part.

So when I put this all together, I will have to edit it down, but the exciting thing is, I know how and when I want this to happen (in the story) and it will mostly be pared back at the start, making it a punchy action packed start.  I just hope I can maintain the intenseness into the middle and ending of the novel.

So why am I making a change from a trilogy to a single, albeit largish, novel?  The fact is the middle story, while it holds the beginning and the end together, does not make a complete story on its own, and to be a real trilogy, it should not be a bridging book, it should be a story in its own right, complete enough for someone to pick it up and read it, understand where in the story they are, but still feel that they have read a novel at the end of it. 

There is no way I can make the middle section  a stand alone story and I don’t really want to tamper with it.  Sure, I might make it better doing it that way, but that is not the point of the middle of the story.  It is the getting everyone together and out there part of the story, which has rather a dramatic climax that leads into the final story.  I like it the way it is, but of course that is up for negotiation once I have worked on the start of the novel!  I could get in there, make the alterations and all of a sudden realise a wonderful way that I could make it a complete story on its own, but I don’t see that happening.

So for now, I have to continue on and finish the editing (which will happen sometime this year… what with moving and getting set up in a new place, that doesn’t have the wonderful ponderous views I currently enjoy…), then work towards combining it into one novel, working out the chapter placements and then work on the Prophesies, which will mark the start of each book within the novel.  But that is another blog!

Characters Point of View

Recently, while reviewing my story, I have noticed that I have made a mistake that many novice writers do.  I confused my point of view and switch between characters, which makes it hard to understand and follow.  See the following example:

 ”Delonia!”  He shouted angrily.  His attention focused on Delonia, he did not see the fat man from the Destroyers approach him and plunge his sword into his stomach.  Tycelon gasped, clutching at the sword as the warrior withdrew it and moved off.  He stumbled to his knees, blood seeping out of his wound and hands.  There was a collective noise from the warriors, as they surged forward, towards their leader. 

Delonia, shocked by the quickness of the action and without thinking, leapt down from the wall and ran towards Tycelon, almost stumbling onto him when she got there.  He was gasping for breath and barely able to see her.  Wiping away tears, she roughly pulled up his blood soaked shirt, revealing a large gaping wound.  She swallowed down bile and reached for his stomach, her hand pulled back momentarily unsure, but then she put it determinedly over the wound and a light flashed under her hand, dull at first, but slowly brightening to a brilliant blinding silver light.  At the same time, a light flashed across the wounds on his hands, where he had held onto his attackers sword as he had pulled it out. 

Zorek was battling his way down the stairs, trying to provide some support to the Warriors still on the desert floor when he had seen Tycelon fall and ran to the nearest steps.  He fought his way through the ascending warriors to get down to the bottom to where Tycelon and Delonia were, being surrounded by the last few Fire Warriors who were still on the ground, fending off the Destroyers who were trying to slash and cut their way through the small group.  Zorek quickly jumped over the side of the steps, deciding this was quicker than trying to go down. 

“Out of my way.”  Zorek bellowed as he ran across to the fallen man, Paseta having seen Tycelon fall also, was close behind him.  The warriors cleared a path before him, as he pulled out his sword and swung it violently above his head.  He was angry, such soul deep anger.  Some of the Fire Warriors backed off before him, thinking they were going to attack him.  Zorek reached Tycelon and slowly positioned himself between Tycelon, Delonia and the forthcoming Destroyers.  Paseta rushed up and crouched down by Tycelon, just as he gasped for breath.  He looked at the blood stained shirt, then at Delonia with wonder in his eyes.  Delonia did not notice, she was too focused on Tycelon and his recovering strength.

 There were switches between three different characters in this scene which makes it hard to follow and understand.  I now try and write from each character point of view for each scene, if I find that there is an overlap, I try to make that obvious and have a break, so that readers know there is a switch going on. 

 It is important to keep the scene clean, and I am learning this by reading through the scene.  If I find there is a conflict of POV (Point of View), I will look and see who I have written the scene primarily for, then work from there, removing all unnecessary actions, putting in subjecture, adding to the suspence of the scene. 

 I also discovered that I spent a lot of the scene, showing and not telling.  Delonia runs desperately to Tycelon, but why?  Was she upset, concerned, worried, scared?  These needed to be shown better, and what better way than by her cursing as she runs towards him. 

 Making shorter sentences also helped with the suspense and action of the scene.  Short sentences means quicker actions, creates more drama, heightens the action of the scene..

 Below is the revised version of the same scene. 

 ”Delonia!”  His attention was so focused on Delonia, he did not see the fat man from the Destroyers lunge at him and plunge his sword into his stomach.  Tycelon gasped, clutching at the sword as the Destroyer soldier withdrew it and moved off.  He stumbled to his knees, blood seeping out of his wound and hands.  There was a collective noise from the Warriors, as they surged towards their leader. 

 *   *   *

 Delonia shocked by the quickness of the action, and without thinking, leapt down from the wall and ran to Tycelon, almost stumbling onto him.  He was gasping for breath, bubbles of blood trickling out of his mouth.  Wiping away tears, she roughly pulled up his blood soaked shirt, revealing the large gaping wound.

“No!  Damn you Tycelon!  Damn you!”  She swallowed down bile and reached for his stomach.  Her hand pulled back momentarily, unsure, but then she placed it determinedly over the wound and a light flashed under her hand, dull at first, but slowly brightening to brilliant blinding silver.  At the same time, a flash illuminated the wounds on his hands, where he had held onto his attacker’s sword as he had pulled it out. 

“Come on, be alright.  Be alive.  Come on,” she breathed. 

*  *  *

 Zorek was making his way down the stairs, trying to provide some support to the Warriors still on the desert floor when he saw Tycelon fall.  He fought the remainder of his way through the ascending Warriors. He caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye in the direction of Tycelon and Delonia.  When he looked in their direction, he saw the last few Fire Warriors surrounding them and desperately fending off the Destroyers who were trying to slash and cut their way through the small group.  Losing patience, Zorek jumped over the side of the steps, landing heavily in the sand. 

“Out of my way!”  He bellowed as he ran across to the fallen man.  Paseta having seen Tycelon fall also, was close behind him.  The Warriors cleared a path before him, as he pulled out his sword and swung it violently above his head.  He was angry, a soul deep anger.  Some of the Fire Warriors backed off before him, thinking they were going to attack them.

“Let me at them, get out of my way!” 

Zorek positioned himself between Tycelon, Delonia and the forthcoming Destroyers.  Paseta rushed up and crouched down by Tycelon, just as he gasped for breath.  He looked at the blood stained shirt, then at Delonia with wonder in his eyes.

“What just happened?”  He asked.  Delonia did not respond, she was too focused on Tycelon and his recovering strength.

  What is your opinion?  Does the first one flow better or the second version?  I would appreciate your comments on this matter.