Well let’s not beat around the bush. I haven’t been writing. Hardly a thing has been extracted from my brain in the last few months. There are many reasons as to why; and in all honesty they don’t really matter. I haven’t had my head in the right spot. Now I do. I have been reading a lot; lots of fiction, lots of books on writing and even some books on spirituality (thanks to my lovely girlfriend). And it has given me some insight into what I might actually want to do/write/achieve.
So, I have devised a strategy based on the things I have been reading. They are taken from all different sources (the ones I can remember I will reference), and one is even my own. There are four key points to this strategy which I will go through shortly. I also want to say from the outset, that I don’t know what I’m talking about. This is my first attempt to seriously write something of length in an attempt to get it published. The strategy I have here is for me, it’s what I have found works best for me, so I’m not pretending to be an expert in any sense. I’m just a crazy person with an imagination that he thinks should be shared with others.
On that note...
I have read about a lot of different forms of writing that involve planning. The Snowflake Method was one of the interesting ones that comes to mind, another was to plan each chapter in dot point, and another was having a huge white board and do a time line of events. All of these are very good ideas, but that’s not what I mean by planning. For me that sort of structure would be more a hindrance than a help because of the way I write. I prefer it just to spew out and let it do what it does. That’s not say I have no idea what is going to happen, I do. It’s just always a faint idea, a guide line for me. I let the characters create the story. But, anyway, This is getting off point.
What I mean by planning is creating a structured time for me to write. I work full-time, have friends, family and an active social life. If I don’t set time aside (which I haven’t been doing) I don’t write. This needs to be a reasonable and achievable goal. If, for example, I said I’m going to get up at 5 am every morning and write for 2 hours before work. That would fail, miserably. Because there’s no way that is a realistic goal with my current life style. So for me, it will be twice a week. And each session i will aim for 1000 words, which is quite high. But in all honesty anything over 500 is fine with me. This is the first part of my strategy, planning. Time for writing doesn’t present itself; you must make time for it.
This next part has been the hardest for me to learn. I read a very broad range of books, many different genre’s; fantasy, sci-fi, romance (very occasionally), paranormal and standard contemporary fiction. And whilst I would love to write them all, I can’t even though I have tried it in small doses. So the second part of my plan is, Write what you know. This is not something I have come up with, I have read it everywhere, all over the internet and in a heap of books too. It’s true. Write what you know, for starters anyway. Once I’ve developed my writing skills and have more time, because clearly I will get published and everyone will want to buy my books, then I can explore more.
For now though, I’ll be writing what I know. What do I know? I know drugs, addicts, serial killings, post-apocalyptic worlds, sci-fi and violence. And reading that makes me question how well adjusted I am. But that’s a blog for another day.
The third point is one taken from Stephen King, a writer who has written and incredibly high number of bestselling novels. I have actually only ever read one of his books, On Writing, which isn’t a fiction novel. It’s book about his life and writing. This book should definitely be read by anyone who is interested in writing. Whilst there were many interesting and useful sections in this book the one thing that has stuck with me is this simple phrase; Read a lot, write a lot. This means exactly what it says, read lots of books and write lots of words. It is pretty simple in theory, but not for people who have real lives. Why do I have it in here then? Because it’s true, this is how you learn. The writing is covered by my planned weekly writing and the little bits and pieces I do at work and on the weekends. The reading however can take up a lot more time, so I’ve got a kindle app on my phone, a book in the bathroom, a book by my bed, a book at work and a book at my girlfriends. Though it’s only bit and piece’s here and there, it’s better than nothing.
The last point is one of my mine, well sort of, I’m sure it’s somewhere else. It’s simple. Just write. Just start writing, it can be about anything. I’ve found that when I’m stuck with ‘writers block’ I just start writing. Anything, whatever is in my head and then and direct my writing to the task at hand. Or I end up with a new piece of writing on a completely different subject. But if I just start writing I will get through it.
In summary the four key points are:
• Time for writing doesn’t present itself, you must make time for it
• Write what you know
• Read a lot, write a lot
• Just write
With these four little pieces I will attempt to complete my first substantial piece of writing. I will have regular updates posted on here. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
You Should Have Seen
An entry for The Friday Challenge
I was working late, again. Eating left over pizza for dinner, it was cold but I didn’t mind. There is something satisfying about cold pizza. It was already dark outside and most of the afternoon rush had dispersed. By that time of the night there aren’t too many people walking the streets below my office.
The fluro’s from the convenience store across the street flickered making the street, which during the day looks respectable, look decrepit and run down. Like something out of a low budget horror film. Two teenagers stood out the front smoking; both of them were laughing and pointing to something I couldn’t quite see. I think it was my desire to be young forever but I wanted see what they were laughing at. I got up from my desk and walked over to another office to a get a better view of the street.
It was a homeless man digging around in a bin. I sighed and I my shoulders sunk slightly; I always forget there are reasons behind why we grow up, one of them being so that we don’t make fun of those less fortunate than us. I looked at him for a short time wondering what had happened to him. Did he have a family? Friends? Were there underlying issues that could have been treated? I heard mental health is usually a problem with the homeless.
Just as I was turning I noticed something slightly out of place with the homeless man. His shoes were spotless. Brand new Nike sneakers, the kind of Nike sneakers I pestered my mum for me when I was growing up. Homeless people don’t often have brand new sneakers. I stood staring at him for a while longer. I began to notice other things about him that were slightly off.
His hair had blonde streaks in it. I’m no expert on the homeless, but I am fairly sure they don’t see hair stylists. The dirt on his face also looked odd. Like, it was perfect dirt. Well placed. Paint even?
Was this guy a fake?
It then became clear that this whole time he hadn’t actually been looking into the bin he was supposedly rummaging through. He was looking across the street to my building; to the level below me, the ground level. He froze.
Stared straight ahead.
He’d seen something.
Then, like startled rabbit he was off. Running towards my building, my heart stopped just for a moment. Surely he wasn’t coming in here. There was nothing in there worthwhile. I pressed my head against the glass in a vain attempt to see where he had gone. But I couldn’t. I stepped back from the window and looked at the cold pizza in my hand. At least I knew where that would be going.
I walked back to my desk and sat down looking out onto the street again. The teenagers were gone. I sighed and took a bite of my pizza. Then I heard a sound.
There was someone at the door...
I was working late, again. Eating left over pizza for dinner, it was cold but I didn’t mind. There is something satisfying about cold pizza. It was already dark outside and most of the afternoon rush had dispersed. By that time of the night there aren’t too many people walking the streets below my office.
The fluro’s from the convenience store across the street flickered making the street, which during the day looks respectable, look decrepit and run down. Like something out of a low budget horror film. Two teenagers stood out the front smoking; both of them were laughing and pointing to something I couldn’t quite see. I think it was my desire to be young forever but I wanted see what they were laughing at. I got up from my desk and walked over to another office to a get a better view of the street.
It was a homeless man digging around in a bin. I sighed and I my shoulders sunk slightly; I always forget there are reasons behind why we grow up, one of them being so that we don’t make fun of those less fortunate than us. I looked at him for a short time wondering what had happened to him. Did he have a family? Friends? Were there underlying issues that could have been treated? I heard mental health is usually a problem with the homeless.
Just as I was turning I noticed something slightly out of place with the homeless man. His shoes were spotless. Brand new Nike sneakers, the kind of Nike sneakers I pestered my mum for me when I was growing up. Homeless people don’t often have brand new sneakers. I stood staring at him for a while longer. I began to notice other things about him that were slightly off.
His hair had blonde streaks in it. I’m no expert on the homeless, but I am fairly sure they don’t see hair stylists. The dirt on his face also looked odd. Like, it was perfect dirt. Well placed. Paint even?
Was this guy a fake?
It then became clear that this whole time he hadn’t actually been looking into the bin he was supposedly rummaging through. He was looking across the street to my building; to the level below me, the ground level. He froze.
Stared straight ahead.
He’d seen something.
Then, like startled rabbit he was off. Running towards my building, my heart stopped just for a moment. Surely he wasn’t coming in here. There was nothing in there worthwhile. I pressed my head against the glass in a vain attempt to see where he had gone. But I couldn’t. I stepped back from the window and looked at the cold pizza in my hand. At least I knew where that would be going.
I walked back to my desk and sat down looking out onto the street again. The teenagers were gone. I sighed and took a bite of my pizza. Then I heard a sound.
There was someone at the door...
Friday, May 6, 2011
Can't write... Clown'll eat me
It’s not that I don’t have anything to say. Or that I don’t have any stories to tell. I have many, too many, even. It doesn’t take much to get my mind ticking over and my imagination racing. It’s just sometimes I don’t have any words. I sit and I stare and nothing comes out. The images in my head are vivid and colourful, but they are only images. Transforming them from a picture in my mind to words on a page just doesn’t always happen…
The reason?
Too much thinking.
Not enough writing.
It’s like I’m apprehensive of my own thoughts. Being nervous about what I am writing when I am my own audience. Sounds ridiculous, but I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Two words have helped me overcome this. They are always the last two words I think of before I write. A simple phrase…
‘Just write’.
The reason?
Too much thinking.
Not enough writing.
It’s like I’m apprehensive of my own thoughts. Being nervous about what I am writing when I am my own audience. Sounds ridiculous, but I’m sure I’m not the only one.
Two words have helped me overcome this. They are always the last two words I think of before I write. A simple phrase…
‘Just write’.
Friday, January 7, 2011
The Most Unforgettable Christmas Gift Ever
Christmas 1997 and an excited Watkinson lay’s in bed waiting anxiously for the rest of the house hold to wake up. That’s what you did at my house at Christmas time. Everyone in the house had to be awake before you could open your presents. I was the youngest child by ten years, so I was forever the first one awake and the first one waiting. My usual routine was to be awake at 5 o’clock in the morning and wake everyone up in the house so I could open my presents. This year I had decided to stay in bed. Mainly because my eldest brother had told me I would cop it if I woke him up this year. So fear kept me in bed and in bed I stayed.
There I lay, waiting. What was in that beautiful red pillow case? I had dreams of a Nintendo or Sega, but I knew was far from the case. It was never the case. As I grew older I learnt it would never be the case. You don’t get expensive presents in my house; you get lots of smaller ones that equal the same amount. My mother seems to have an issue with one large present, I think it’s because the Santa sack doesn’t look as jumbled. I was 6 at the time I think, but I had long known about the deal with Santa, you know the one how he’s not real. It’s actually your parents buying the stuff. When you have older brothers, nothing is sacred. While we’re on the subject, does anyone else have an issue with parents starting your life with lies? Yes I understand it’s supposed harmless, and it’s all about getting into the spirit. But I crushed a few kids in the playground by telling them the truth. Perhaps it’s how we teach our children to deal with disappointment?
Anyway, I knew where the good stuff came from anyway. Leading up Christmas I would write lists of what I wanted and leave laying around strategically. Like on Mum’s bed or next to the TV remote. You know, real subtle like. X-Men action figures, Lego, Toxic Avenger, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… the list really does go on and on.
And there I lay. I pictured a full set of the X-Men and envisioned them all lined up on my desk like an army. I saw a Lego fortresses squaring off for a battle of epic proportions. It was almost too much for me to handle. But then I heard it. Someone else was awake. As nimble as a cat I leapt out of bed to see who it was. Just my parents, but I could hear my brothers talking to each other. This was it! Truly the best thing about Christmas for a 6 year old was present time. Rushed to the lounge room and sat next to my red pillow case. To be honest my exact memories of this event are a little hazy. But eventually we were all in the lounge room and rifling through our pillow cases. Always keeping a watchful eye on what my brothers were pull out of their pillow cases. Usually what they had was not interesting at all, they were teenagers. They had things like cologne, t-shirts, CDs and books. Pfft to that I say!
So I am rummaging through my bag, finding all the little goodies. There are smaller toys coming out at the top; miniature figurines, smaller Lego and most likely a ball some description. But I knew the prize would be at the bottom. It was always at the bottom. I stretched my little arm as far as it could go. Those pillow cases seemed bottomless when I was kid. I could almost get my whole body inside them. I could feel it though. The cardboard box. The plastic shielding on the front. Only the best toys were packaged that way. I remember pulling it out slowly…
I was shocked… the pink packaging, the swirly design. I knew exactly what it. It was a Barbie. My mother had bought me a Barbie. A Barbie was definitely not on any list. Right then, that became my worst Christmas. My mother had bought me a Barbie doll for my main Christmas present. All my dreams of the amazing toys I could have gotten my hands on… down the drain. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, my brothers were making jokes about my sexuality. Many, many a joke about it.
When the shops opened a few days later Mum took me to K-Mart and let me pick my own present, thankfully. I will probably never forgive her for that, not entirely. She claims that I used to play with my cousins Barbie dolls and that is why she got me one. My theory is that she lives with too many males. Between my Dad, me and my two brothers there really wasn’t anything girly happening in the house. My eldest brother agrees with me. He says it was an attempt to either help me embrace my feminine side, or just flat out turn me gay. Unfortunately for her it doesn’t really work that way. It is the most unforgettable Christmas gift I have gotten, but probably the best story.
Entry for The Friday Challenge
There I lay, waiting. What was in that beautiful red pillow case? I had dreams of a Nintendo or Sega, but I knew was far from the case. It was never the case. As I grew older I learnt it would never be the case. You don’t get expensive presents in my house; you get lots of smaller ones that equal the same amount. My mother seems to have an issue with one large present, I think it’s because the Santa sack doesn’t look as jumbled. I was 6 at the time I think, but I had long known about the deal with Santa, you know the one how he’s not real. It’s actually your parents buying the stuff. When you have older brothers, nothing is sacred. While we’re on the subject, does anyone else have an issue with parents starting your life with lies? Yes I understand it’s supposed harmless, and it’s all about getting into the spirit. But I crushed a few kids in the playground by telling them the truth. Perhaps it’s how we teach our children to deal with disappointment?
Anyway, I knew where the good stuff came from anyway. Leading up Christmas I would write lists of what I wanted and leave laying around strategically. Like on Mum’s bed or next to the TV remote. You know, real subtle like. X-Men action figures, Lego, Toxic Avenger, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles… the list really does go on and on.
And there I lay. I pictured a full set of the X-Men and envisioned them all lined up on my desk like an army. I saw a Lego fortresses squaring off for a battle of epic proportions. It was almost too much for me to handle. But then I heard it. Someone else was awake. As nimble as a cat I leapt out of bed to see who it was. Just my parents, but I could hear my brothers talking to each other. This was it! Truly the best thing about Christmas for a 6 year old was present time. Rushed to the lounge room and sat next to my red pillow case. To be honest my exact memories of this event are a little hazy. But eventually we were all in the lounge room and rifling through our pillow cases. Always keeping a watchful eye on what my brothers were pull out of their pillow cases. Usually what they had was not interesting at all, they were teenagers. They had things like cologne, t-shirts, CDs and books. Pfft to that I say!
So I am rummaging through my bag, finding all the little goodies. There are smaller toys coming out at the top; miniature figurines, smaller Lego and most likely a ball some description. But I knew the prize would be at the bottom. It was always at the bottom. I stretched my little arm as far as it could go. Those pillow cases seemed bottomless when I was kid. I could almost get my whole body inside them. I could feel it though. The cardboard box. The plastic shielding on the front. Only the best toys were packaged that way. I remember pulling it out slowly…
I was shocked… the pink packaging, the swirly design. I knew exactly what it. It was a Barbie. My mother had bought me a Barbie. A Barbie was definitely not on any list. Right then, that became my worst Christmas. My mother had bought me a Barbie doll for my main Christmas present. All my dreams of the amazing toys I could have gotten my hands on… down the drain. Although I didn’t realise it at the time, my brothers were making jokes about my sexuality. Many, many a joke about it.
When the shops opened a few days later Mum took me to K-Mart and let me pick my own present, thankfully. I will probably never forgive her for that, not entirely. She claims that I used to play with my cousins Barbie dolls and that is why she got me one. My theory is that she lives with too many males. Between my Dad, me and my two brothers there really wasn’t anything girly happening in the house. My eldest brother agrees with me. He says it was an attempt to either help me embrace my feminine side, or just flat out turn me gay. Unfortunately for her it doesn’t really work that way. It is the most unforgettable Christmas gift I have gotten, but probably the best story.
Entry for The Friday Challenge
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)