Bittersweet Colours

We human beings use our sense of sight a great deal. When I ask writing students to utilise sensory impressions in their writing, sight is the one they find easiest.

They fill their stories with colour, in order, partly, to avoid the more awkward task of wrestling smell or taste on to the page.

Colours are on my mind a lot at the moment, because, for my two-year old son, the colour of the trousers people are wearing in the street is the most interesting thing about them. The other day, as we were driving along the road on the way to the crèche, he gave a cry as he spotted a pair that he particularly liked. ‘White trousers’ I trumpeted. ‘No. Purple trousers’ he corrected, and would not be budged on the issue. When I looked again, I had to concede he was right. Those trousers would have sold in the shop as being white, but in the early morning light they were a pale shade of purple- ‘lavender blush’ perhaps.

We think we know what colours we are observing, but do we really? Are we really writing about what we are seeing, or only about what we think we are seeing?

This week we had two days of beautiful sun sandwiched between the rain. On the first of those days I decided to watch the sun set over the mountains. The landscape transformed as each colour of light fell on it- pink, then orange, then yellow. It made me realise how limited my vocabulary was. So the next day, I repeated the exercise with a dictionary of colours in hand. That evening the sunset was even more fabulous. Having a wider vocabulary meant I could actually see more colours. The sky was ‘cornflower blue’. The glorious sunset was ‘fuscia pink’, ‘bittersweet’ (that’s a nearly-orange colour) and ‘jonquil’ (that’s the yellow). I’d be lying if I said I saw ‘atomic tangerine’ or ‘hot magenta’, but I’m hopeful for next time.

First Published February 8th 2013

 

On this subject, perhaps you’d like try the following exercise:

 

Writing Prompt: Colours

Go outside and watch the sun rise, or set. Take a dictionary of colours with you. Watch very closely and record every hue that you see. Just what you see. Not what you think you see. Don’t ignore the colours that defy classification, wrestle them on to the page.

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

The Importance of Feeling

 

If, as we sit at our desk, we're thinking about the book signings, the royalties, the outfit we'll wear to the premiere of the film adaptation, or anything else that hasn't happened yet...

Then we're disconnecting from the feelings of the writing process. 

If we don't feel when we write

If we don't feel everything, and feel deeply

If we don't address any unconscious avoidance of feeling

Then the reader won't feel. 

And that's the primary reason they are there! 

So when a thought of future success, or failure comes up...

Notice it

Smile

And ask

What am I avoiding here?

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.