Tuesday 4 March 2014

#4 "Motivation" or "How to kick-start a lawnmower with bare feet and get away with it".

So, as the Americans say after some studio mishap, "And we're back".

With my book now out there in the world and people actually reading it and saying nice things about it, the job of writing has suddenly loomed large in the rearview mirror.

Thus, the question is; after a break to do the important things such as work and so forth, how does a writer get back to it?

1. The idea notebook.

If you don't have one, get one. Small enough to fit in a pocket, sturdy enough to survive going everywhere with you, and something you are never going to be precious about (as can so often be the case with new, shiny stationary).

An elastic band around the middle is also a good idea, to keep pencils, pens, bits of paper etc.

Now collect stuff. Overhearings, odd sayings, interesting facts from the paper or the radio, anything will do. If collecting facts try and get details (who said it, where did you read it) so when you look it up later you will be able to find the information in full on the relevant website.

Overhearings are my favourite.

Once, on a train back from Brighton, two girls in their late teens were sitting at a table seat across the gangway from me. One was explaining the intricacies of her relationship to her friend, who was eating crisps with a certain mechanical determination and nodding.

"Of course," she said, "I live a lot closer to my boyfriend than he does to me."

The friend nodded and kept eating.

I'd like you to think about that for a moment.

And, to this day, I can't find the right place in a story to put it. More's the pity.


2. The work in progress folder.

The bucket of abandoned things, otherwise known as any unfinished bits and pieces that were merely begun is always a good place to start.

Re-reading work after some time has passed can sometimes spark a new idea, or at least a way to finish a story you once struggled with.

Never throw anything away is the motto here. You never know...


3. The plan.

Know what you were going to do next. 

Having a goal and finishing the work you are doing is, of course, essential. But adding one more thing to the "to do list" can be very helpful and get your brain thinking about something else even while you are finishing the job at hand.

Just complete this sentence: "And after I have finished this I am going to ____________" 

In my case "edit the short story collection", "write two new stores for the collection" and "transcribe my notes for the novel".

The back of the brain will then be churning quietly away to itself, sometimes without any knowledge of it's owner, and be ready to put new things on the page when the last page of your current work has gone in the post to be coloured in by your editor.


4. Write every day.

"Creativity is a muscle."

No it isn't.

Re-inforcing the creative pathways in the brain by repeating the process of creation, that's real.

Do that.

The more you write, the more you CAN write. 


5. Read.

Read a lot.

Read everything.

Read things you wouldn't normally read.

Challenge yourself as a reader.

Then, when you have exhausted yourself reading Beckett and Kafka or whatever else, go back to an old favourite and suddenly notice how the writing is different. 


6. Relax.

If you have decided not to write today, do not walk around thinking "Yes, but I really should be writing." Take the time to recharge. Writing is like any other job, it can be tiring, so give yourself a break and use a vacation day.



That's all from me this week. I hope you found it useful.

All the best, Tim.

Wednesday 19 February 2014

#3 "Smashing champagne on the bow" or "How to launch a book in a power cut".



As weekends go this last one was certainly eventful. My book, "The Book Of Small Changes" was due to launch on Saturday morning and then, late on Friday night, disaster. Darkness, total and technology crippling.

54 hours. No power, no internet, lots of problem.
www.timjstevenson.com


Fortunately I have some very understanding friends who loaned me the use of their power sockets, broadband and kettle while I flooded my corner of the social networks with my quiet announcements.

Many words have been written by others on the subject of online marketing but, having now used these tools and launched myself up the Amazon as it were, the "top tips" are well worth repeating here.

1. Have a personal website.

Make it clear and concise. Make sure it is completely clear on the front page what you are about. Writer, designer, whatever it may me, say so in a big font and use a good picture of your product. 

Here's mine: http://www.timjstevenson.com




2. Twitter.

I don't have that many followers on twitter, but those I do have are all either in my field or are agencies, groups or enthusiasts who have an established following. Asking politely for a re-tweet is always the best approach and with a little perseverance it is possible to reach a large number of twits in a very short time.

Twitter searching for groups or individuals who are interested in the kind of things you are doing is also very productive. Plus tweeting as the author - rather than having a publisher market for you - pays dividends with the personal touch.

Always remember to say thank you for a re-tweet and reply to your comments. 

3. Facebook.

Some people have thousands of Facebook friends. My golden rule is that I have FB friends I actually know well, but this doesn't stop you from searching for writers' groups and posting a message on their page.

4. Pinterest. 

I don't have a pinterest account. Yet. But I will and I will let you know how it goes and what, if any, the pitfalls are.

5. eMail.

Don't forget that, if you are of a certain age, you probably have more email contacts than FB or Twitter contacts. An informative email with images and a clear subject line will certainly do the trick. 

6. Blogging.

Thank you for reading this one.

The tip for blogs I have heard most often is to post often and regularly. But regular and predictable beats often. Pick a day and stick to it. Write your posts in advance if you feel the urge (he says writing this on a monday for a post on wednesday).

And, for heaven's sake, make it interesting.

I may still be working on the 'interesting' bit - but I'm sure I'll find my stride one of these days.

7. An author page on Amazon.

This helps with what Wikipedia refers to as 'Disambiguation' or as I call it 'some other bugger out there with almost the same name as me confusion'.

Plus, if you have had work published in anthologies or other things in which you were one of many authors, it helps to show anyone who might be interested that you don't spend all day sitting in front of the TV watching re-runs of "Storage Wars".

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tim-Stevenson/e/B00IE8PO0G


If you want to know more about internet marketing try one of the following.

http://www.dummies.com/store/product/Web-Marketing-For-Dummies-3rd-Edition.productCd-1118065166.htmlhttp://songoftheseagod.wordpress.com/  
Chris Hill's excellent blog. @ChilledCH

http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/web-marketing-for-dummies-cheat-sheet.html
The ever reliable "For Dummies" series is a great starting point.

And here are the top marketing trends for 2014 from Forbes magazine.
http://www.forbes.com/sites/jaysondemers/2013/09/17/the-top-7-online-marketing-trends-that-will-dominate-2014/

Thanks for reading and I'll see you next week.

Tim.


Tuesday 11 February 2014

#2 "What happened next" or "Turning Goliath into David"



So, what's happened so far?

Last time I'd got as far as the flash-fiction course at New Writing South in Brighton, Word Cricket and the first new thing I'd written in ages.


So, then what happened?


Well, I'd like to start early in 2013 when the National Flash-Fiction Day 2013 competition was announced, but before I'd entered my story.


P.S. National Flash-Fiction Day runs every year, and this year the 100-Word Competition closes on


Midnight, Sunday March 9th, 2014


-oOo-

100 words sounds easy, doesn't it?


A beginning, a middle and an end, add some emotional depth, ensure the last line really pops off the page, make it unique and engaging, make it challenging, make it, above all, a good read.


In 100 words!?!


Frankly, I didn't know where to begin. There were no handy prompts from a flash-fiction exercise to help me now. No more dual controls on the biro.


I panicked. I took an old short piece called "Alter" that had been sitting around doing nothing much and thought, "Right, you are only 291 words long. I'm going to chop you down to size."



Here's what I started with.



Alter

            Months after the accident she came home rebuilt.
At the breakfast table, it is as if I have found a fallen star, still glowing, in the middle of our daily loaf of bread. I imagine a thick slice falling away to reveal this strange glowing visitor lodged in the familiar dough. Mostly, however, the loaf is just bread, and the woman sitting across the table from me is still mostly my wife so, for that at least, I am glad.
        The new platinum beneath her skin makes her glow like filigree in the sunlight, its delicate and precise traceries an implanted web of new vitality expanding slightly with the heat, pulsing with electricity, breathing with her skin, curiously alive.
          My mind wanders as my hand reaches for the toast. I spread the butter carefully and, spoon at the ready, I reach for another egg. It is warm in my hand, but only from the pan.
      She smiles like a mechanical lighthouse across the blue ocean of tablecloth, an imitation of joy moving as she moves, revealing the smile full-face before turning smoothly towards the window. The dawn is reflected in that familiar expression, but her warmth comes only from the sun, not from within.
          I open my newspaper and set the pages full sail towards the past. Judging the winds and the tides of her mood, seeking guidance in the new bright star of her unreadable face, I navigate these cold, blue waters.
         I bite my lip and taste the iron in my blood, the metal hidden in my flesh. I find comfort in our similarity.
          Stretching the paper taught between my hands I sail on towards the mechanical lighthouse.

            Tonight, I know, I will dream only of the sea.

-oOo-


And this is what I ended up with.

Alterations

After the accident she came home rebuilt.
         At breakfast, the platinum beneath her skin glows, pulsing with electricity, curiously alive.
          I take some toast, spread butter. I see that there are no eggs in the pan.
       She smiles, a mechanical lighthouse across the blue ocean of tablecloth. Her head turns smoothly towards the window, her warmth coming only from the sun.
        I open my newspaper setting the pages full sail, seeking guidance in the new star of her unreadable face, in the night of her eyes.
         Tonight I know I will not dream of her, only of the sea.

-oOo-


99 words. 100 with the title. What really surprised me was this was the same story, with the same nuances and imagery and a slightly changed ending to reinforce the unreality the husband seems to find himself in with his new mechanical wife.

At this point I had a new found respect for editors. I was also sure that a proper editor would have been better at it.

What did I keep and why?

The first line didn't need the word "months" - so off it went.

The second paragraph "At the breakfast table..." adds nothing to the story - it is merely a static observation, a drawn out simile that serves only to associate the new wife with something "alien" or "from outer space". But I did preserve the first four words as it moves the story forward and sets the scene for where these two characters are.

The extended simile in the third paragraph "like filigree in the sunlight ... slightly with the heat" also adds nothing more that a detail of the husband's observation. But, the description "curiously alive" had to stay, it let's the reader know that she may be strange by she is still human.

The fourth paragraph, "My mind wanders as my hand reaches for the toast. I spread the butter carefully and, spoon at the ready, I reach for another egg. It is warm in my hand, but only from the pan." greatest challenge of the whole process. I wanted to equate the act of breakfast with the warmth of the eggs with the warmth of a female body and the idea of fertility. Life. Heat. 

This is where I deviated from the original. I changed my mind. This wasn't his wife anymore. There might be skin and a heart pumping blood, but it is all mechanical.  Thus "I see that there are no eggs in the pan" removes an essential element of womanhood, the ability to have children.

Now that I have committed myself to the mechanism at the heart of the story it was easy for me to keep the "mechanical lighthouse" description, and then make her more remote and aloof with  "across the blue ocean of tablecloth" and reinforce the lack of human qualities with the last line "only from the sun".

The penultimate line remained largely unchanged, the removal if the "winds and the tides" didn't detract from the mood I was trying to set, a voyage into the unknown, into darkness, into a terrible night.

So, in the end, the husband does not bite his lip. He has nothing in common with her any more. Describing the "iron in my blood" would undo the separation of biological man and machine woman.

And then, adding "of her" to the last line completes the piece. He has lost her and he knows it, the only thing left is the distance between them, the blue of the tablecloth, the sea.

And I wonder if you would believe me that this took three days? Well...

That's all for now.


By the way, I'm wondering what kind of things to write about in future editions. If you have a preference for craft, or publishing, social media, cryptozoology, or anything else for that matter, please let me know in the comments section.


www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk


#1 "Funk and Flash" or "How my wife helped me beat The Block."



Hello.

I'm Tim Stevenson. I am a writer. 

www.timjstevenson.com


I've been writing for about fifteen years and, until recently, I have been very successful in keeping it to myself. Not, I hesitate to add, through choice.


That all changed a couple of years ago. Saturday, the 21st of April, 2012 to be exact.


My wife, who intuitively understood how to get her husband out of his creative funk, booked two places on the New Writing South's Flash-Fiction workshop, run by Vanessa Gebbie (Bridport Prize Winner and author of "The Coward's Tale" and "Words From A Glass Bubble") and Tania Hershman (Bridport Prize Judge and author of "My Mother Was An Upright Piano" and "The White Road").


It was a revelation. I had recently completed a Masters Degree in Creative Writing at the University of Winchester and I had what I could only refer to as "post-dissertaion blues". I hadn't written anything for months. I was still going to my writers circle - the inestimable Hyde Group - and I was still contributing the occasional piece, but I hadn't written anything new.


Then I played Word Cricket.


Vanessa started us off. "Here's the first line of a story," she said. "I'm going to give you another word or phrase every minute or so, and all you have to do is get the new words into the story. Ready?"


The first line was: "There was something unusual about the sky that day"


And then, about a minute apart were: "Petri dish", "kettle", "pavement", "acid", "pre-Raphaelite", "inhibit the flow", "saxophone" and "oxygen".


This is what came out.




Strange Brew.

There was something unusual about the sky that day, it was low and dark and the birds had fled towards the east, taking their songs and the clatter of their black wings with them.
There was no wind. The clouds, spooned into a petri dish, were trapped in some strange experiment to be observed and studied. They were dead things.
The kettle boiled over on the hob as I stared from the window, a lone whistler punctuating the silence, the only sound.
Rain fell, gently at first, eating its way into the pavement, its acid singeing the grass and turning spring to autumn as the leaves browned and fell, shimmering russets and golds; a pre-Raphaelite ruin.
The rain scoured the gutters, the drains clogged, the leaves inhibit the flow, water curls in flat saxophone shapes past abandoned cars, spilled fruit, the broken, mutant skeletons of shopping carts and the sadness of ownerless shoes.
This was the way the world was ending, regressing, withdrawing from our contemporary cleverness into a darker past, travelling back in time until the conveniences of the ages were swept away to be replaced with the essentials of shelter and oxygen.
We, the population, stunned by the death of the sky, unable to venture out into the world, stand like statues in our kitchens, listening to our kettles, the acid rain.
           And we are afraid to raise our cups of tea to our delicate, quivering lips.


-oOo-

Remember, I hadn't written anything for months, and here was new writing, my first ever flash-fiction. It certainly wasn't a masterpiece, or anything I have ever shared with anyone until now, but it was one very important thing. It was a start.


I didn't know what flash-fiction was before that day. Flash has many names, nano-fiction, micro-fiction, very very short stories. Some I have seen were as short as a single word, some as long as a thousand, but the rule (if there is such a thing) is under 500 words.


Some flash-fiction competitions lower the bar to 350, 250, 200, 150 or 100 words, and National Flash-Fiction Day was one of them. A 100 word story competition with no genre, no pre-set title, no entry fee. It sounded like a challenge.


And I won "Highly Commended" for a story called "Alterations" that was published in the National Flash-Fiction Day Anthology "Jawbreakers".


You can imagine how surprised I was, but I will talk more about that next time.



____________________________

Here are some links to the events, organisations and people I mentioned.


www.nationalflashfictionday.co.uk

www.newwritingsouth.com
Vanessa Gebbie's books on Amazon
Tania Hershman's books on Amazon


My website www.timjstevenson.com
Follow me on Twitter @tallfiction