Snow and the Blank Page

It’s winter, and snowing heavily here in the Pyrenees.

Yesterday we went up from our home in the foothills, to the high mountains, to take in the depth and the breadth of it. I breathed in the silence, and squinted against the dazzling brightness.

I felt the same thrill that I feel when I open a notebook, and run my hand over the smooth white page. It’s the potential of it.

The vast possibilities of how I might express myself through the medium. Standing in front of that vast frozen canvas, I hesitated. I just caught the edge of anxiety, and the flurry of thoughts that rose with it. Somehow the sheer range of possible actions was overwhelming. I felt myself ceasing up. Soon I would be as frozen and motionless as the day itself.

Similarly, I have years of experience of facing the blank page, and I know the thoughts that can freeze up me there too. 

Once a mark is made, there’s no going back. Will I get it ‘right’? Will I ruin the cleanness of it? Will I be pleased with the result or will I disappoint myself? Will people like me for it? Will it be what they want?

I was getting cold standing still in the snow, and I knew it was time to move. I struck one crunching footprint down through the snow, and the imprint was sharp and decisive. I ran round in circles until the virgin space was dotted with footprints. Warm in my ski-suit, I rolled in the snow and relished the ice on my face. I threw snowballs at anyone that came close. One thing led to another. We made a giant snowman. It was easy, expressive, and wonderful.

Writing should be like that- the reaction to the anxiety met with an enthusiastic moving towards.

The first ink mark on that white sheet of paper needs to be as pleasing as that first crunching footprint. And thereafter, each mark should be an exploration into the vast uncharted territory of that canvas, a revelling in the creation of each shape, a delighting in the sounds that rise from it. Learn to play with snow, and you will be more of the writer that you aspire to be.

First published January 25th 2013

A Writer's Process: Farheen B. Khan

I read somewhere that Harlan Coben doesn’t know the ending of his novels when he starts penning them.

It’s a fluid, organic process which grows and takes shape as he writes. He reasons if HE knows the ending of his novel from the outset, then his readers will too.

Not having a final destination in mind when you’re novel-writing is actually a wonderfully creative way to write.

In fact I wish I’d read this advice before writing my first novel - which I happened to write in the traditional, well-structured, story-boarded manner.

I knew exactly what happened in each chapter, to my protagonist and all the characters involved, the plots were clear and the ending never changed. Yes, minor details evolved, but the main story remained exactly how I envisaged it from the start. I painstakingly worked on the structure and content for months before and transferred all the details into my manuscript. Unfortunately, a well-known publisher who read my final manuscript provided me with the feedback every thriller writer dreads – she’d guessed the ending. It was time for a re-draft.

So, my next novel was written in the ‘no destination in mind’ philosophy, and I must admit, the difference was remarkable.

I quite literally started my second novel with a strong idea and a blank page. I had a story in mind but had no idea what would happen in the middle and the ending was something I couldn’t even see. I began with my main character’s voice which seemed to take on a life of its own, and I realise this sounds like a cliché, but the story did just present itself. Of course there were times where I felt lost in a muddle of storylines, but I managed to pull myself out by focusing on my main characters and asking the question ‘what would they do here?” I edited the hell out of my writing and the ending changed three times. By the final edit, the novel was a complete surprise to me. I doubt I would have thought of such an ending from the outset, but I learnt this along the way.

It goes without saying that I am thoroughly proud of both of my novels.

I certainly feel I poured ‘more’ of myself into my second novel as I allowed my mind to run free. But at times it was more challenging a journey than my first novel.

Both methods are extremely valuable and a combination of the two is perhaps how I’ll write my third. Watch this space.

www.farheenbkhan.com

A Writer's Process: Tracey Iceton

My debut novel, Green Dawn at St Enda’s, was born after visiting the Dublin tourist attraction, Kilmainham Gaol. 

Standing in the execution yard I learnt of the 1916 Easter Rising, a rebellion that attempted to end British rule in Ireland.  The Rising ultimately failed; the leaders were shot at dawn for treason.  The story of the Rising and, in particular, Patrick Pearse (one of those executed), haunted me.

            Pearse was, like me, a teacher, running St Enda’s school for boys.  Like me, Pearse was also a writer.  Fascinated by a man with whom I shared two principle occupations I wondered how a writer and headmaster ends up facing a firing squad.  As an author, the only way I could answer this question was to write, or rather, rewrite in fiction, Pearse’s story.  So I began researching factual accounts of the Easter Rising, transforming them into a fictional narrative.

            Embarking on this project was daunting; people warned me against rewriting, in fiction, a legendary aspect of Irish history. 

I ignored them because I’m stubborn, was obsessed by the story I wanted to tell and had the encouragement of close friends and family, crucial factors that aspiring writers should, I feel, cultivate.

            With three years invested in the novel, I began looking for publication opportunities that would see the novel released in 2016, the Rising’s centenary, all to no avail.  So, believing in the novel, I did further work on it with Middlesbrough based Writers’ Block.  Laura Degnan there helped me cut the beginning, which was too slow. 

After these edits the novel was longlisted in the Irish Writers’ Centre’s debut novel competition and shortlisted in Cinnamon Press’s debut novel prize.  Finally there was hope.

Cinnamon, whose mentoring scheme is fantastic for new writers, saw enough in the novel to work with me and a year of editing resulted in a tightly crafted text that Cinnamon offered to publish, along with, to my overwhelming delight, the two novels that will follow Green Dawn in what has become my Celtic Colours trilogy, the story of a tumultuous century in Ireland.  To have a three book deal with a well-respected independent publisher is, like my trilogy, ‘epic’.  Now I just have to survive the hectic excitement of book promo events while finishing part two of the trilogy, Herself Alone in Orange Rain (scheduled for release: autumn 2017) and writing part three!

www.trywriting.co.uk

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!

What Are We Frightened Of? Part 1

When fear attacks...

This month so far, I’ve read three draft autobiographies. Each one has left me awe struck at the author’s bravery, their determination to recover from emotional and physical hardship.

Each of them has been trying to convey a life of great profundity and richness, of wild passions and strong desires.

In each one the wildness has been there, somewhere behind the words, struggling to be heard, roaring in its cage. In each one, to a greater or lesser extent, the writer has been afraid to release it. As we all are, some or most of the time.

Take this example:       I was walking along the street; my heels click clacking on the concrete paving. I smelt exhaust fumes. I heard horns, engines revving in traffic. Then I saw him, the ONE, the only person I hoped never to see again.       ‘Hello’ he said.       The next day I remembered back to that encounter….

Cutting away from the action in this way, just as the tension, emotion, or drama rises, is one strategy that us writers employ (usually unconsciously), to stop ourselves from having to make contact with memories that are just too hard to face, emotions that are too painful to feel again. Because what happens if we feel that deeply? We implode or explode, we destroy ourselves, or others, don’t we?

So, to be a freer writer, and a more liberated person, try this:

Always move towards events that carry emotion, tension or drama. Write them out fully. Linger. Let the reader feel.

Don’t cheat yourself, or them, of an opportunity to feel deeply, to process those emotions by letting them move through the body, and swell and dissipate in their own good time. Cutting to the next scene is for mundane events, events that are not significant to the emotional journey of your hero.

Learn to notice when you cut away. And when you’ve learned to spot it in your writing, try to notice it in your conversations, and in your thoughts too. What’s in the white space between your paragraphs? Write and let me know, please.

This blog was first published on October 22nd 2012

A Writer's Process: Cherry Gilchrist

Just over a year ago, I sat alone in the house, struggling to write a book proposal.

I was on a deadline to turn out a detailed outline for a book on the Tarot, along with a sample chapter, and marketing back-up too, such as the ‘why my book is different’ pitch. I had an invitation to submit to a publisher in the USA, so all I had to do was develop the idea.

I say ‘all’, but it’s one of the hardest parts of writing a book. I mostly write what I call ‘creative non-fiction’, a mix of personal experience, imagination, ideas, and real-life observation, rather than a dry compilation of facts.

I’m with biographer Michael Holroyd when he says its high time we found a better word rather than slapping a ‘non’ label on it.

But nevertheless, it is not the same as novel writing and needs a firm hand in the early stages to map out the course of the book. I need to work out how I am going to develop the ideas; the blueprint that I lay down now will inevitably guide the way I write the book later on. The outline embodies my vision, and must sustain the spirit of the book.  So it’s worth trying to get it right at the beginning.

The proposal writing usually marks a new stage for me, when I’m well along the line with gathering thoughts and material and am ready to shape them.

I’ve learned over the years that ideas take their time, and you can’t hurry them too much. But I’ve also learned to love deadlines, which concentrate the mind wonderfully and stop me from being too precious about my work.

So here was a deadline – the publisher’s December acquisitions meeting – and I took the opportunity to write the proposal on a solitary retreat at home, while my husband visited his family in Yorkshire. I do not normally shut myself away as a writer – I’ve written on planes and trains, in hotel rooms, cafes and odd corners. But on this occasion, I embraced the chance. The days fell into a pattern; I interspersed long hours at the keyboard with blissful walks by the river Exe in the late autumn sunshine, and cooked myself simple meals -  baked potatoes, fried eggs and chocolate featuring prominently on the menu! And I resisted the temptation of diverting to admin or domestic tasks. The windows will always need washing – leave them until another day.

At the end of the five days, I had finished the proposal; the publishers liked it, issued a contract, and in early 2015 I started writing ‘Tarot Triumphs’. I wish that were the end of the story!

But some months later came a bolt out of the blue – they were going out of business.

It was a huge shock, but I hastily revised the manuscript into a ‘good-enough’ state, and after further submissions, it was accepted by Red Wheel Weiser. Publishing is tough: a writer has to be philosophical, and my view is that some you win, some you lose, and better not to become embittered along the way. I’m keeping my fingers crossed now that there won’t be any further glitches, and the story will end here.

Tarot Triumphs: Using the Tarot Trumps for Divination and Inspiration, by Cherry Gilchrist Red Wheel Weiser, to be published Fall 2016.