A Writer's Process: Karen Lethlean

Karen was a runner-up in the Wild Words Writing Competition which closed in December 2015.

 

The process of creating the story Black, Red and Yellow began with a snippet I encountered while reading the work of a Sri Lankan writer, Roshi Fernando (author of Homesick).

Like trinkets a bower bird might collect the sense of remembering a trip back to a homeland stuck in my brain. But I had to find a way to make this piece mine. So after a recent trip to the Northern Territory the mesh of inland Australia was laid across those initial thoughts.

I was continually worried about the thought that my ideas belonged to Roshi Fernando.

So I needed to understand that while that trinket I first saw was written by someone else, I was not copying her, but instead using something glimpsed in a new and original manner.

A good analogy here would be that of a seamstress; she sees a design somewhere, goes out and buys unique fabric, puts the piece together and comes up with her own creation.

Being a writer means reading widely and I cannot help but be intrigued by things others have written. I am constantly making notes, putting little snippets away, and looking back later to find I cannot recall where they came from but that a tiny few words can later become an entire new story.

Working in a multi-cultural school, being aware and very interested in indigenous cultures did help the writing of Black, Red and Yellow.  I have long harboured the desire to find some Noongar blood somewhere in my family tree, so my curiosity is endless.

I also wanted to try and deal with the way children are often stereotyped, no matter what their cultural or racial group.

So giving Jenny a voice about the way she sees others and how she feels treated seemed to work. Even though with the ending and my title I cannot help but wonder if I have in fact stereotyped Jenny into becoming an artist in her adult life. Such are the concerns of a writer!

Having a very supportive husband, who settles my worries, who tirelessly does the housework and allows me time to hit the keyboard (even though I have installed a writing rule that when the lap-top needs re-charging I finish for the day) is a wonderful help to being about to work creatively. 

A Writer's Process: Jenny Alexander

My older sister killed herself when I was 23 and I always knew I’d want to write something for young people about suicide.

My first thought was that it should be a Young Adult self-help book, as I’d already written 8 self-help books for children, but my agent couldn’t get a publisher on board with it. She suggested I might write it as a novel instead.

I finished the first version of my novel, Drift, more than 10 years ago, and several publishers expressed interest in it, but they all eventually decided that the story was ‘too quiet for the market.’ They said it needed a ‘strong hook,’ that is to say, to be out-of-the-ordinary in some striking way.

But my reason for writing it in the way I had was because I wanted to help other survivors of sibling suicide to feel less alone in that already extraordinary grief. The whole point of my book was that it should feel real; it should feel like any young person’s life, suddenly disrupted by something that could happen to anyone.

I knew I had written a good book and I wasn’t willing to compromise it by sexing it up, so I shelved it and tried to forget about it, but it wouldn’t go away.

So when I got a new agent a few years later, I sent it to her. She liked it, but told me she found the most dramatic passages weirdly unmoving.

I realised then that I’d been unwilling to feel the kind of emotions I’d felt when my own sister killed herself; by creating a protagonist who was emotionally numb, I’d hoped to be able to tell her story without feeling the raw pain of her situation.

I rewrote the whole novel, this time fully inhabiting the main character, and it was the hardest rewrite I’d ever done, but the experience broadened my reach as a writer. Where previously I had invariably used humour in stories about difficult subjects such as bullying, now I found I could lay down that armour if I wanted to. It felt brave.

My agent sent the revised version out to publishers. They still found it ‘too quiet’ so I brought Drift out myself on September 10th 2015, to mark World Suicide Prevention Day. I later realised that my choice of publication date was almost exactly 40 years to the day after my sister’s death.

Drift has received wonderful reviews so far and has just been included in the list of books recommended by Cruse, the UK’s largest charity for the support of bereaved children, young people and adults. When I saw that on their website, I felt I had done what I set out to do.

http://jennyalexander.co.uk/young-adult

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/191030008X?keywords=jenny%20alexander&qid=1453380135&ref_=sr_1_6&sr=8-6 

A Writer's Process: Barbara O Donnell

Writing started out as a way of processing my teenage world. 

I’ve been keeping a journal off and on since, and find it useful.

These days, writing is imperative. I work full time, running two operating theatres, at a major London teaching hospital. Since I no longer work unsocial hours, I’m able to schedule writing time somewhat more, though I don’t necessarily write every day.

I used to think that you had to be struck with a flash of inspiration in order to write anything worthwhile.

Now, I’ve learned that the flash is only about the initial idea and it doesn’t always come.

When it does, I get it onto paper or the notepad app on my mobile.  At first it appears like a lot of scraps, but they can often become something cohesive if you can find the patience to sit with them, by leaving them aside for a while. I have found missing verses to a poem this way.

Initially, I use paper to brainstorm ideas, especially for poetry. Lots of notes in margins, redrafting using numbered drafts. Words and punctuation appear and sometimes sound different on a piece of paper in your hand versus read off the computer screen.  The space around the words can be as important as the words themselves, especially in poetry.  A computer screen can dull the edges.

In 2015, I made the exciting jump from poetry and journal to non-fiction, interviews, flash fiction, opinion pieces and editing. The next task is learning to distinguish what form would best fit a piece that I’m brewing. 

Working as an editor on the alternative Irish Arts website, The Bogman’s Cannon, has been invaluable both for creative community and learning.  

Another helpful strategy, has been finding a friendly mentor, someone you can bounce ideas around with and who may agree to look at your work, paid of course.  A good editor will see your internal narrative and help guide both individual pieces and work as a whole, in the right direction.

When looking for inspiration, I try not to restrict myself to any one medium. The Artist’s Date is another layered idea that can bring many rewards.  See a textile exhibition or a play. If you are a traditional form writer, see some slam poetry.  Do the opposite of what you might normally do.  I don’t have any formal tertiary education in writing, but this is no barrier. 

Do workshops, make friends, carve out time where you can to be creative and find your voice.  

Clarity of Ideas

I’ve been wrestling with Instinctual Creativity.

It's the synthesis of the Wild Words ideas, moved out of the realm of writing per se. A path to tracking down your vibrant, creative self.
 
I began yesterday with a raft of doubts and questions that were blocking my writing. Questions about where to go with the very rich material. Questions about the many layers of the psychological approach. Questions about how to market it.
 
Then Charles Davies took me through a process called Very Clear Ideas.
 
He proposed that I immerse myself in visualising a scenario in which I was in a place, time and psychological state where I was writing in exactly the way I would like to. Where it was flowing.  
 
I’m in a café, with the buzz or people around, but people speaking in a language I don’t understand so that the content of their conversation doesn’t disturb me. I have a cup of tea. I’m warm. I’m in a comfortable chair. I have limitless white paper, and a fine, scratchy, pen that never runs out. No one invades my space, and there is no threat of that.
 
Then he asked me a series of questions to which I gave yes or no answers. This process was repeated several times, focusing on different questions. Unravelling, clarifying, understanding.  Always answering from an embodied place.
 
I had three important realisations…
 
- I remembered that I am a natural storyteller. I know when an idea is absolutely right. And I know when it’s not right, even though I don’t always know what is wrong.
 
-I discovered that I am scared. Facing fears is a central message inInstinctual Creativity. Yet, I hadn’t realised the level of my own fear. (Isn’t it so often easier to have perspective on the stuff of others, than on our own stuff!)
 
-And horror of horrors, despite my best attempts to fool myself, I found that I was ambivalent about writing this particular book, at this particular time.
 
Even though these weren’t all messages I wanted to hear, overall, I felt a profound wave of relief wash over me. At least I now knew what I was dealing with.
 
I closed my eyes and returned to my warm, buzzing café, with the comfy chair, the scratchy pen, the reams of white paper…
 
I’m sorry to say that hot on the heels of the relief, came a dispiriting sense of loneliness. The very comfort and security afforded by envisioning holding my creative space so successfully, gave way to a profound sense of isolation. I was too alone in that writing space. Perhaps that was the source of my ambivalence?
 
Then phrases arose from a very deep place.
 
I need my writing subject to respond to me. I need the writing of my book to be a conversation with another, with my subject- the wild animal.
 
I pride myself on writing with an attitude of openness to what comes up. So, it was news to physically experience that I hadn’t been doing that, and that was the reason I felt blocked.
 
And with that, the isolation, as well as the ambivalence about the project, evaporated away.  There was a whole hearted YES. Yes, I wanted to write it. Yes, I needed it. Yes, I dreamed it. Yes, I demanded it.
 
Now this is what I have on my wall beside my desk:
 
Connect with the wild animal. Communicate. Listen. Allow it to speak.  Respond. Record.  Don’t force words into its mouth.
 
 
Find out more about Very Clear Ideas.
 
Also, from this month’s blog posts: The Importance of Feeling

The Monthly Writing Prompt

Visualise the following scenario: You are in a place, time and psychological state where you are writing in exactly the way you would wish to. It is flowing. 
 
Write about that. Make use of all your senses to describe what you experience. Where are you? What are the smells, tastes, sounds, smells, texture and colours? How does you body feel?
 
When you next come sit down to work on you poem/novel/short story or article, take a few moments to recall that scenario, before you begin your writing. Then hold it in the back of your mind, as well as in in your body, as you work. 

 
 

The Turning Year Prompt
 

I don't know about you, but in the winter, more than ever, I find myself dying to get out into the fresh air and connect with the environment through writing wild words.

These are the key dates this month:
-Full Moon Monday 22nd February 2016. Known as 'the snow moon' or 'hunger moon'. 
-New Moon: Wednesday 9th March 2016.

A Writer's Process: JW James

When I was 31 the Loma Prieta earthquake in Santa Cruz, California, destroyed my home, and two weeks later, my health.  

At the time of the earthquake I experienced a near death experience and my life was changed. I lost my career as an RN in oncology. Instead I became a dreamer and a mystic.  Waking up without an alarm clock, I began to remember my dreams and started keeping journals. 

At a time of great despair, I found the poetry of Kenneth Patchen and started copying a poem a day.  This opened up a space of light within me. I realized I also could write. 

And that was when I became a poet.

I would try to join in writers' groups but my health usually would not permit it. I applied to three universities and was accepted, but illness took precedence.  

"Beetle-black dreams are glittering.

 I know histories of unspoken grace and uneven light.

 I know histories of loss and faithlessness.

 Stones speak through me.

 They impart dark enduring histories."

 

When I saw a call for submissions from Mellen Press: Poetry as Ecstatic Vision, A book-length poem; I knew I had the book already written.  I went into my ten years of dream journals, sat down and intuitively culled pages.  

Then, I threw my journals away. A dramatic act of faith; I was ready for my future as a published poet. My work would come from the rich place of dreaming.

I received Special Mention and my book was published in 2004.  As I saw it, a gift from the Universe.  A beautiful hardcover book with a silk-screened cover, with art by my friend, Martha Burke. 

And so it was my dreams became the major part of my writing process.  Not only did I glean from the journals for my poetry, I also learned how to heal spiritually and found some peace while dealing with cancer, surgery, radiation.

"All times exist within our dreams.

 All stories are of significance...

 Inner worth accumulates

 dancing shadows from a bubbling spring."

http://mellenpress.com/mellenpress.cfm?bookid=6223&pc=9

http://www.amazon.com/gp/offer-listing/077343545X/ref=dp_olp_all_mbc?ie=UTF8&condition=all

A Writer's Process: Paula Harmon

One November day I wrote a story.  Was it razor sharp in its dissection of the human soul?  No, just silly; it had Santa in it.

I saved it on the cloud rather than the hard drive.  Don’t know why.  Next morning I couldn’t access my story without a password I’d forgotten.  All that effort and the world was safe from reading it.   

At my first job interview, I answered “where do you see yourself in 10 years” with “writing” as opposed to “progressing in your company.”  Didn’t get that job but didn’t become a writer either. 

Paying the bills, building a career, raising a family - yada yada.  This year, I decided to change.  I entered a competition, posted stories on Facebook, signed up to do Nanowrimo (write a novel in a month) and a Flashnano challenge: 30 days of short pieces.  By 2nd November, I decided I was mad.  I had my novel outline, but the prospect of writing 50000 words while working full-time, ferrying teenagers, remembering to talk to my husband and running a home seemed impossible. 

I took my laptop on train journeys, wrote in my lunch break, ignored all but the most essential housework.  On one train journey a young woman behind me read over my shoulder as I typed and started a conversation.  I was so deep in 1943 that when she spoke, I screamed out loud - just a little embarrassing. 

Originally, I wasn’t convinced I would be able to summon up one story let alone more than thirty.  But the truth is that although coming home from work after a bad day, driving offspring around, meeting my daily Nanowrimo target and trying to think up a story including the word “orange” seemed too much -

I got on with it anyway.  Meanwhile in the background drums and pianos were practised, teenagers & husband offloaded and dinners burned. 

At the end of November, with my husband's support and encouragement from friends, I’d written 50000 words (just), all 30 shorts plus a few more. I felt more relaxed and fulfilled that I have done for years. 

The flashnano challenge was over and I missed it so much I set myself a different one - an advent calendar of flash fiction.  I’ve put 25 words in a jar (candle, angel etc) and I will pull one out each day and write a little piece prompted by each one. 

I just don’t want to lose the momentum.  I have learned that all the excuses I made (too much to do, too much noise, everyone will be annoyed) were simply excuses. 

By the way - I managed to retrieve the silly story from the cloud - the world is no longer safe from it.

Being A Better Boss

When I write, I divide my inner world in two. There’s the writer, and there’s the editor. Often they have an employee-boss working relationship.

The writer writes from passion, from the whole body experience of the material, from the instinctual.
 
The editor ensures the writer’s health during the immersive process, keeping me on track, despite the many doubts and uncertainties. It keeps me safe when I’m lost from the ‘real world’. The editor is the inner voice that reminds me to get up and go to my desk. It encourages me when my enthusiasm flags. It keeps perspective on what’s being written, so that an authoritative and balanced opinion can be offered. It uses the carrot or stick approach, depending on what is needed to get the job done.
 
Mostly, these days, the editor knows to keep quiet as I actually write. As in any workplace, conversations happen in the kitchen as I (we) wait for the kettle to boil.

Editor: So how did that go for you this morning?
Writer: Not bad. Bit lacking in motivation. But it’s moving forward.
 
 Or,
 
Editor: I see you’re feeling tired. How are we going to manage that? Perhaps a twenty-minute nap now, would, overall, result in a more productive day?
Writer: That’s not a bad idea.
 
Or,
 
Editor:  You’re nervous, because you don’t know where to go with this scene, but how about, instead of a fifth cup of tea, we just get something down, and then make some hot chocolate as a reward?
Writer: Well, if we must. 

The reality of being a writer is that there is often no one else to read and comment on our work.
 

When you don’t have an external boss, then creating a kindly internal boss, has benefits.

 
This is how it came about...As a university tutor of creative writing, I have offered feedback on thousands of stories, poems and biographical pieces. What I’ve found is that, quite often, the receiver of the feedback had already spotted the strengths and weaknesses in their work. But they’d felt they needed an expert to confirm it.
 

The bottom line is that we don’t trust ourselves.

We don’t trust that we know how to tell stories innately and instinctually.
 
I decided, with my own writing, to have confidence that I knew. I saw for myself that when I trusted my whole body sense, my gut instinct if you like (as opposed to a dis-embodied, thinking-mind opinion) that I too, almost always knew what was needed to make it into the best piece it could be.  It was, what I now call the internal editor, who piped up in spirited fashion with those spot-on answers.
 
Generally, I consider my workplace team to be a successful one. We get things done. But this January, the writer has been dragging her heels, and threatening to strike. In response, the editor has come in harshly, in order to keep me at my desk.  They have been reactive towards each other, and that’s resulted in the writing feeling, at best, like trudging through thick mud.
 
The disharmony has not been pleasant. I’ve also been aware that the writer’s behaviour probably represents an organic need that is not being heard. I believe we ignore those messages at our peril. So, with workplace relations turning increasingly sour, I decided, yesterday, to be a better boss to myself. I called the two of them in a room (metaphorically speaking), and we talked.
 

I asked the writer- what do you need that you aren’t getting?

The writer spoke. At my insistence, the editor listened.  She said,
 
The editor is judging, and editing with every sentence. My words are juddering and stilted. It’s cutting off the flow. I want to be told that I’m doing a good job, that I’m doing well, that I’m a good writer. And I want the editor to stay quiet, until the first draft is done. Then, we can look together at how it’s working.
 
The editor agreed to pull back a little, and to be more validating, in return for an immediate return to work. Now, I’m pleased to say, we’re back on track.
 
 

The Monthly Writing Prompt

Write a dialogue between two characters. As I’ve done, you can use your own creative process to inspire this. You might be surprised what comes out!
 
You can also write a fictional story, about a parent/child, or employer/employee interaction.  
 
 

A Writer's Process: Rachel Contini

When my beloved childhood neighbourhood was demolished I found a story. 

It was a small run of streets in the north of Liverpool, I loved growing up there, it was a place where everybody knew everybody and you could leave your front door open.  The houses were small but warm and friendly and the people the salt of the earth.  

The demolition project was called Pathways and it would become notorious thanks to George Clarke questioning the need to rip communities apart when the existing houses could be refurbished for a fraction of the cost.  Thus began the empty houses scandal. 

The personal stories behind my old neighbourhood were heart-breaking.  People were lied to from the start. 

They were promised like for like housing which never materialised, they were given less than the value of their homes which left them financially stretched when it came to buy a new one, and when the Pathfinder scheme ran out of money mid project some residents were left adrift in the middle of derelict streets, flanked by run down houses infested with rats and a target for vandals and arsonists.

I decided their story needed to be told.

That was the easy part.  The difficult part was finding out details.  I contacted a few former residents and asked for their story but they were not really forthcoming, they were probably a bit suspicious of this lunatic who’d suddenly appeared in their inboxes asking them to relive their heart-ache. 

So, with an absence of facts I did the next best thing – I made it up and bashed out a first draft.   Then I received some good fortune – I always believe if you get down to working the universe will help and that’s exactly what happened.  Somebody set up a Facebook group for former residents to share memories, I shared mine and suddenly a host of people I’d grown up with contacted me, and they all had the back story. 

I re-wrote and re-wrote filling in the blanks and fleshing out the story until I felt like I had something with real heart. 

I doesn’t have a happy ending, real life often doesn’t, but it has a hopeful ending.  People always have an amazing ability to pick themselves up and carry on; I wrote the ending I wished for these incredible people.

It’s now being considered by BBC Writersroom.  Watch this space!