I made a point recently about the lack of ‘actual’ writing I do. You know, with my hand and a real life pen. The post discussed Distributed Cognition, a concept that debates where the boundaries of thought are and one example is the use of a pen. Does the physicality of using a pen change your thought process through the action of writing? Where do your thoughts end, and the pen and ink begin, and what is the reciprocal effect of the thought, hand and pen interacting.

Why am I talking about this again? Well, in my author interviews, I ask a provocative question making a point that the publishing industry is in decline (I don’t actually think it is, but it tends to provoke an interesting answer). That question got me thinking, is penmanship in decline?

When I was a kid I used to have a pen pal, in fact, I had two. Didn’t everyone?

My mum still has her from childhood, a fact I love. When I went to school, I had a friend who liked reading and writing as much as I did. We used to hand write each other letters. I still have them. Dozens of them. I would painstakingly scribe words, colour and decorate pieces of paper in order to swap post with her, and more often than not we would stick a stamp on them (because back then you didn’t need a mortgage to buy a stamp) and pop them in a post box. I love nothing better than receiving post. I can’t remember the last time I received a letter.

I used to write a journal, I’ve said before I have a box of them in the loft, thousands hundreds of thousands of words scribed by hand, poured out in a labour of love for the written word. Then I started writing journals electronically. I don’t even know where they are now. Probably on a floppy disk somewhere *cringe* yes, I know what a floppy disk is. My wife’s students don’t. That’s depressing. We are only a decade older than them. But for them, the concept of ‘dial up’ is alien. They just don’t ‘get it’ and blank stares and sniggers follow her when she talks about floppy disks. I used an encyclopaedia – they use wikipedia.

That’s just ten years of development. TEN.

Is this evolution? Are we really developing? Or is this actually regression in disguise?

We apes evolved hands for a reason, to craft tools, feed ourselves, rear babies. I’m not interested in the argument that typing counts because you type with fingers. It doesn’t count. Not in my mind anyway. Theres no physicality. It’s mindless tapping learnt through rote memory.

The physicality of writing comes from having to push the pen around, forcing ink to curve to make shapes and markings. The mental process of deciding feeling where the next dot and cross has to go. I find it satisfying marking the page, leaving an imprint, knowing I created that design, story or letter. It’s gratifying.

Evolution is about progression, right? the ‘gradual development of something.’

Well penmanship is a skill and evolutionarily speaking, skills are things we had to learn too. If typing was just the next evolution, then why does its loss feel like such a sacrilege?

Is the loss of a skill not regression?

We are living in a technological black hole. Anthropologically speaking, in five hundred years how many people are going to be able to understand our culture? My guess is not many. The number of physical records is dropping, we are publishing books electronically rather than physically. Egyptians use to carve writings and explanations into granite, forever left as a guide to their culture. The internet records our culture. But, one day, the oil is going to run out and the electricity switch off. Then it’s all gone. Every record, every piece of information will disappear in a poof of smoke from the last drop burnt oil.

I’m troubled, I don’t know whether it’s my obsession with apocalyptic/dystopian fiction, or a worry founded in philosophical thought, but I am deeply concerned. Look at my wife’s students. Ten years is all it took for them to not understand a concept that to me (and I’m really not old),  is completely normal. I mean what about the words going into the dictionary that originate from text messages for goodness sake. In 2011 the Oxford English Dictionary added OMG, LOL and FYI into the dictionary. What does that mean?

I can’t shift this nagging thought that one day, kids won’t even be taught how to write any more. How long is it going to be? Thirty years? Fifty? Two hundred? It’s going to happen. The pen, and hand written scripture is becoming redundant, typing is faster and more efficient. You can erase your mistakes and no one will ever know. But aren’t mistakes part of what makes us fallible humans? Are we heading for a dystopian future where no one knows how to write?

Penmanship will become a lost art. 

There’s one more point I want to leave you with. My wife is dyslexic. She spells better on a computer. For her, the rote patterns of movement from tapping words is more kinesthetic and memorable than the closed hand structure of holding a pen. Her brain remembers how to spell patterns on a keyboard, but can’t remember the physicality of holding a pen to spell. Something I find truly fascinating. For her, although she believes the lost art of penmanship is regression, there is no doubting that for her, computers and typing are evolution. For me, a lover of pen and ink it’s regression.

What do you think?

The post The Lost Art of Penmanship – Evolution or Regression? appeared first on Sacha Black.

Life’s a funny old thing, so often we go through difficult times and have to make hard choices. Sometimes we lose friends, loved ones, gain new ones, have children. We travel and feel moved to change our entire lives. We give up careers and start again. I’ve seen my fair share of cross roads probably the most significant was being told if I waited to have kids, it might be too late.

My choice?

Turn left – be young free and have money, travel.

or

Turn right – fork out thousands for fertility treatment and suffer losses and emotional torment.

I turned right. It was the right decision, but when you’re faced with a cross roads the decision isn’t always obvious.

This week, the writespiration is all about Cross Roads. Maybe your character is physically at a cross road, maybe they have a choice to make. If you fancy joining in, jot a few words or a short story and I will publish it with next weeks post.

Here’s mine:

He was trembling.

“You’re pathetic,” I growled.

His incessant twitching was irritating. The tap, tap, tap, of the tightly wound knot rattled against the chair I’d tied him to. It was giving me a headache.

I put the cold barrel of the magnum against my temple hoping the cool metal would ease the ache and pulled another dining room chair out. I sat down in front of him. 

“You got a choice, Marty.”

Sweat dripped off his face and crawled across his shirt. I pointed the gun at his chest, rubbing the barrel into the sweat.

“Get a grip of your self…” I dug the gun into his chest a few times. Each time, he wince harder. 

“Baby… honey… You don’t have t..”

I slid my finger over the hammer and pulled it down till it clicked. 

“Did I say you could talk?”

He pulled his lips tight and shook his head.

“You had twenty years of marriage to talk, Marty. Now it’s my turn.”

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t… She didn’t… I won’t do it again, I swear.”

I raised my hand and fired the gun at the wall. The crack thundered across the dining room. The bullet ripped into the glass cabinet. Glass splintered and showered the dining room table I had laid night after night for twenty years. My favourite china set plummeted to the wooden floor  shattering and camouflaged itself in amongst the glass.

“Look what you made me do, Marty,” I said waving the gun at the remains of my dinner set, “that was my best fucking china.”

I stood up. My chest felt tight. Blood rang in my ears. I scanned the dining room with its matching curtains and furniture.

“You took the best years of my life, for what?” I peered at the collection of photo frames filled with nephews and nieces instead of my own children.

“A bunch of whores and prostitutes?”

I shook my head and swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I was going to give you a choice. But you know what I realised, Marty?”

His lips flopped open.

“Don’t fucking answer that… I’ll tell you what I realised. You don’t deserve a choice. This is my cross roads.”

I leant into his face, my nose millimetres from his.

“You stink like shit, Marty,” I said wrinkling my nose and trying not to breathe in his sweat.

“I want a divorce… and this…” I said pushing the muzzle of the gun deep into his crotch. He flinched, lip quivering. A wet patch spread across his trousers. I pushed my finger onto his lip, “shh,” the corners of my mouth curled into a toothy grin and I cocked the hammer.

“This is for the for the two decades of tears I shed each and every time you fucked another woman. This is so no one else will ever have to cry for you again.”

I fired.

***

So to last week. I loved last weeks writespiration, so I will endeavour to post it again albeit it with a different word, I think it produced some fascinating entries with wonderful insights into all your minds!

First in with a response to last weeks Writespiration was:

Rachel with this fab entry

There was an eerie silence lingering in the air. Everyone eyeballed each other wondering who was going to be the next to stand up and say something. They were all thinking. No one wanted to be the bearer of bad news and played “nose-goes” inside their heads willing someone else to say something.

***

Next Helen with a super eerie entry

Silence. It was all around him. Weighing heavy on his ears, on his time. Time that he scratched out, one by one on the damp bricks, the only indication that it passed the slivers of light through the barred window high above. No one came to see him. No one cared, it seemed, that he still lived.

***

The wonderful Michelle joins us this week and gave an emotional entry

Silence. A beautiful voice, his laughter are forever gone. Lost in silence are the sweet words. “hey, Mum, love you.” The silence is unfathomable. The silence tears at the heart.

***

Geoff gives his best TanGental entry this week :p

Silence is a long way from home, which is a hollow noduled bucket in Minneapolis and rather twee in a woebegone sort of way. Carriage bags have a habit of breaking silcne wit a rustle and a grimace. Shoping with silence is a chore and

***

Hugh follows Geoff with some equally tangential thinking – I just love where these are taking

If silence is golden then why am I not rich and living in outer space where it is silent. I love being silent like in the silent films which I don’t understand because they have no talking in them and are often in black and white and all fuzzy to watch. I wonder if they served popcorn in those days?

***

Jane gives this beautiful entry

Silence. The word sounds so loud when I think about it. Like when you put your head underwater. The sound of water. And the night air when everything else is quiet. Except the silence.

***

Sarah‘s written a cracking entry

Silence. Beeping, hacking, coughing, talking, yelling, beeping. Fleeting moments. Time is gone. Walls close in. Hoping. Waiting. For silence.

***

Foy joined in this week with a wonderful dialogue entry

“Would you shut up already?! I told you we’re not going to the zoo to harass the lions today.
That’s next week.”

***

The post Writespiration #44 appeared first on Sacha Black.

You’ve written ‘THE END’ on your first, second, eighth – or if you’re me it will mostly likely be my third draft. You know it’s not perfect, but you’re happy you have taken your manuscript as far as you can. What next?

Alpha / Beta readers

As I approach the end of my first draft this concept is becoming more than just a twinkle in my eye. It’s quietly growing into the elephant in the corner of the room.

What are beta readers? How do I get one? How long will it take? Will they tear my work to pieces?

I resorted to asking some seasoned pros for advice and they really have given some amazing helpful and comprehensive answers. Please welcome Geoff and Dylan

Why use a Beta reader at all?

GEOFF – You need someone to tell you the story hangs together. That is what I want. Not a clean up on typos and grammar though that is useful, but is the plot engaging, do the characters work, does the story flow, make sense etc. to me a beta reader is not a paid for editor who could do the same job but a friendly help mate who is prepared to offer a view, possibly in return for you reading their work. Ideally, it is someone you know and trust to tell you as it is without some other agenda. But I’m not sure there’s any difference between a beta reader and the right sort of editor – clearly you need an editor as well for grammar and typos but that is different to a beta reader.

DYLAN – As a writer you are too close to your work. Even when you leave a manuscript to rest for a few weeks before going back to it, you know the story intimately. You know the character’s motivations and their backstories. You need beta readers to tell you what you’ve actually written, rather than what you intended to write. They give you insight to things you’ve missed out, things you’ve never thought of, plot holes, characterisation issues and so on.

How do you find your Beta readers?

GEOFF – Word of mouth, brazenly asking people, posting about the book and asking for help – personally I have found people love to help albeit that sometimes they don’t realise quite what is involved.

DYLAN – By asking people nicely.

When choosing a Beta reader, do you look for a certain type of reader? i.e. someone who does or doesn’t read your particular genre, and why?

GEOFF – I want someone who will take the job seriously. Ideally they will have a fondness for the genre but they must be open-minded. My first work – a comedic book – was easy enough to place. For my current WIP I had three aspects where a specific Beta would be useful. I found someone to cover two of the three.

DYLAN – I think it’s important to get a spread of people who are likely to view your work differently. Try to get writers and readers, those that are immersed in your genre and those that aren’t. Most important, get people who aren’t afraid to tell you the truth.

How long do you expect a Beta reader to take to read your work – do you agree a time?

GEOFF – I always tell them when I need the results by and I’m realistic to make sure I give them at least a month and often longer.

DYLAN – I try to set them a deadline of around a month, giving them warning beforehand, but they get as much time as they need.

How much feedback do you expect to receive or give when going through a beta reading process?

GEOFF – Piece of string. I tell Beta readers that I want more than ‘well done’ but then they know that. I try and give them at least three things to have in mind as they read. In all honesty I’m grateful for whatever I get, given they aren’t being paid and if they are shit I don’t ask again. I have the luxury of no deadlines so if I find the Beta reader or Beta readers I have asked aren’t any good I can circle back and recalibrate my timings.

DYLAN – Each beta reader is different. Based on their background and inclination I like to give an overview of how I felt about the book and then break it down into plot, setting, pacing and characterisation.

Do you set any guidelines or ask any specific questions of beta readers before giving them your work? 

GEOFF – Yes to questions, no to guidelines. I want the Beta reader to work as they feel comfortable. If they ask for guidelines then I discuss with them. Recently I had a Beta reader respond in three parts – plot, dialogue and other but that was their choice and they were looking at my writing about American characters hence dialogue as a separate topic.

DYLAN – I’ll ask them to cover the areas I mentioned above beforehand, and occasionally point them to a specific scene I’m concerned about, but otherwise I leave it to them. Any feedback is gold dust and I don’t want to either restrict them or steer them too much.

What does beta read feedback look like? Or maybe more importantly feel like?

GEOFF – I don’t think there is one way it is set out. The best is someone who will take a word version and annotate it with comments and changes but an email explaining is just as good. I don’t feel feedback – that’s far too spinach and quorn for me.

DYLAN – Again, it’s different depending on who the beta reader is. I like my beta readers to be blunt and honest. I don’t need the feedback sugar-coated because it’s important I get both their thoughts and emotions at the time of reading. All I ask is that it’s constructive. I always say “don’t tell me it’s shit, tell me it’s shit because…”

How do you receive feedback? All in one go or chapter by chapter? In a word doc, or hand written scrawls across the page?

GEOFF – See above; I had all sorts. I prefer not hand written scrawls and I prefer not face to face. I want to absorb their ideas. Some however prefer to explain themselves. There I have learnt to button my lip and not ask anything unless I really don’t understand what they are trying to say.

DYLAN – Most send me feedback electronically. Some like to give general thoughts, others a more detailed chapter by chapter run through.

Have you ever been stung or pleasantly surprised by beta reading?

GEOFF – My first Beta reader – my wife – hated it. I realised how hard it was and after that have always been grateful for whatever is said, even if it pulls something apart. No one, yet, has been obviously out to destroy so I take whatever they say in good faith. Have I been pleasantly surprised? Once; my current WIP contains a lot of the science of genetics and I had two biology graduates from oxford read it. They both made the same points and both complemented me on my understanding; since I stopped biology aged 12 I was quietly pleased!

DYLAN – I’m always pleasantly surprised by the feedback my beta readers give me, even if it’s pointing out terrible writing or major errors.

What’s the best advice you could give someone about to embark on the Beta reading phase?

GEOFF – Ask anyone who you think might be good, if they’d do it. Even if you don’t use them there will be another occasion. Work hard to make them feel comfortable; they know how much this means to you but if they are really going to be helpful they need to be made really comfortable that you’ll not eat them or, worse, if they are friends, you’ll not hate them. Remember: once you give them your manuscript it’s no longer yours, it is theirs and anything they say is right. Treat them with kid gloves and respect; if they haven’t understood something, chances are you haven’t told it very well. However if they suggest a solution be very wary about accepting it. Only you know your own book.

DYLAN – For the writer, be very grateful for the feedback you receive, positive or negative, and remember that any comments the beta reader makes is because they want to improve the book. You don’t have to take all points on board but you should read and consider each one carefully.

For the beta reader, be honest and constructive. These are your opinions so they can’t be wrong. And yes, we’ll still be speaking at the end of this!

***

So here are my top 10 tips for the Beta reading stage:

The post 10 TOP TIPS For the BETA Reading Stage appeared first on Sacha Black.

Now, to the winner of the worst possible sentence from last weeks writespiration, and boy did we have some cracking entries. And by cracking, I mean awful!

The winner of the most terrible opening line is………

Jane congratulations Jane, you wrote the most terrible opener, giving everything away and breaking all sorts of rules in the process! Fabulous entry:

‘It was terrible knowing that they were all going to die in a house fire, except for Jill who runs off to South America with the postman who apears in chapter sixteen, that Simon would fail his Oxford first year exams and end up working as a petrol pump attendant until he throws himself off a bridge in chapter twenty one, and that her operation would be a disaster and leave her housebound so when she drops her lighted cigarette onto the sheet she can’t even raise the alarm, but you have to live through the next four hundred pages, don’t you?’

Runner up goes to Keith for the most depressing adverb rich opener I’ve ever seen! Fantastic effort Keith

John wasn’t sure where he was going; walking solemnly and forlornly through the pea-souper fog, straining his weary eyes to make out the slightest detail murkily presenting itself to his age-worn visage; the laughter lines for which he was, until recently, famed giving way to worry-lines as he plodded relentlessly through the misty, dewy, heavy, moisture-laden air under a leaden sky that was constantly threatening to unload its heavy cargo, its payload, its bounty onto an unsuspecting world below, a world where hope had given way to despair, where happiness had been supplanted by depression, where gaiety had fallen prey to solemnity, a world whose very atmosphere, the elemental structure that is designed, intended, purposed to support and nurture life, is slowly, but surely, inexorably and remorselessly threatening to stifle it, to extinguish it, to render it extinct.

***

Helen Jones new to writespiration, gave a stonking effort with this terrible opener. If my wife had been choosing the winner, Helen would have won – it made Mrs. Black laugh out loud.

‘He had always liked penguins, and those shoes with the velcro fastening.’

***

Geoff was far too good but he does get an honourable mention for the two most disgustingly vile sentences:

‘And it’s confirmed: Nigel Farage will be the next Prime Minister.’

‘The only interesting about Tarquin was his toe-clipping collection which he had spent years cataloging: this is his story (with illustrations).’

***

 To this weeks Writespiration, remember, don’t look at the word till you are ready. Set your timer for 60 seconds don’t edit just write fast. Scroll down to see the word:

SILENCE

Here’s mine:

Why is silence so deafening? It ached in my ears, the pounding silence swallowed up any thoughts I had. It hurt. Hurt like the loss of my parents. No more voices to call me in at the end of the day. No mother to shout upstairs “dinners ready.” Just endless silence.

The post Writespiration #43 appeared first on Sacha Black.

How do you read? What happens to you?

Drifting off into another world when reading might be wonderful for the joy of the story. But it presents significant problem for me if I want to learn anything from the author.

When you read, are you reading as a reader or a writer? I always read as a reader. Allowing myself to be completely absorbed, to feel what the characters feel, smile at their wins and cry over their losses. But how do you stay consciousness enough to pick out the points you can learn from and still read like a reader?

There are the obvious things all readers like:

• Gritty multi-layered characters with hopes, dreams and faults.
• Characters being tested to their limits
• Pace – enough to keep you interested
• Story arc and a climax
• A statisfying ending
• Some kind of antagonist or bad guy
• An absorbing world

There are more, but you get my point. I don’t want to write a blog post telling anyone to suck eggs, or whatever the phrase it. These points are standard. It’s the more subtle things that I want to learn from. The nuances, the individual word choices in a sentence that give vivid imagery. Or the sentences that make me catch my breath and read faster, faster, faster because I just HAVE to know what happens. Or the actions a character takes that make me fall in love with them a little more.

There’s no magic to my method. I try to read a fraction slower than normal – hard if it’s a pacey book. I keep a pencil, highlighter or trusty index finger to hand depending on how I am reading. If on my kindle, then I use the highlighting function to highlight any I pick up. To ensure I keep buried in the book, I use my emotions as a flag system. If I smile, I check myself – why did I smile, a quick scramble back through the previous paragraph and hey presto, I just learnt a new trick. If I find myself scanning faster and faster, feeling desperate to just know, then I do the same. If I cry, if I feel anything, I stop and try and identify why.

Some of these might seem odd given you wont have any of the few hundred pages of context I had. But I thought it would be helpful to share some of the things I highlighted from the last book I read (End of Days):

1. ‘…can see the frustration stiffening the lines of his shoulders.’

Why did I highlight it? I guess because it painted wonderful images, in one sentence I knew exactly how he felt, and what it did to his body, I saw and felt the emotion.

2. ‘I put my hand over my mouth to keep from calling him.’

That’s the protagonist speaking, and a display of physical action showing her innocent love for the male lead. I thought it was so sweet an innocent and a beautifully honest depiction of what a teen might do to stop herself from calling out to the boy and admitting something she didn’t want to.

3. ‘The October wind tugs at my hair. Dry leaves float by, lost and abandoned.’

As I admitted in my post describing my writing process I’m still developing my ability to do description. This is a great example of weaving atmospheric description into the story – plus it gives away a piece of description about the protagonist too – which can be difficult when writing in the first person.

Some questions from me to you, I would love to know the answers to:

1. What do you naturally pick up on when you read your favourite stories?
2. Why are they your favourite, as a writer why do you appreciate them?
3. Do you collect and highlight pieces of text? If not, do you do something else to gather your favourite excerpts or ‘lessons’?

The post Read Like A Writer – Collect Words. Collect Sentences. appeared first on Sacha Black.

We constantly worry about how to write better. But actually, there’s a benefit to being able to recognise when you have written badly. And sometimes it’s fun to just reel off a load of codswallop.

This week, your challenge is to write the WORST opening line you can. Give it your best, and produce your worst!

Because this is an actual competition, The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and I am secretly amused by all the nonsense that is to come, I am going to pick a winner… The winner will be announced in next weeks writespiration, the deadline is Sunday 31st May.

If you fancy it, why not submit to the real competition? – their deadlines the June 30th.

here’s mine, and it’s definitely bad!:

It stunk like rotten putrid gone off eggs but dear old mumsy with her tatty dirty apron thought the round pancakes were a success – I really really didn’t want to eat them – But decided not to offend her and held my bulbous nose and puckered up my reluctant lips, bottoms up, I thought.

***

Now to last weeks writespiration. First the lovely Jane who wrote a stunning poem that was originally published in the Ogham Stone Literary Journal. You can find the post on her website here.

Often at the turning of the year,

When the grass is bright and damp with autumn rain,

And last buds open with the failing sun,

I listen to the windsong in the trees.

When white-winged gulls blow in from stormy seas,

And the tang of salt hangs heavy in the air,

I hear the waves break on a lonely strand,

And taste the smoke and ash in long-dead hearths.

When only starlight guides the homing geese,

Their booming voices singing sailors’ songs,

I hear the echo from the vaulted sky,

And feel the northlands in their beating wings.

But when the blackbird sings his end of summer song,

And the white gull skims the restless ocean foam,

The whispering comes from deep in blood and bone,

The wind, the stars, the heart’s pulse call me home.

***

Ali submitted an emotional entry. It really makes you feel her longing for a sense of belonging:

Their eyes hook into my back like claws as I pass by. They keep their thoughts locked and silent in their heads, but their faces smoulder with resentment, distrust. They bite back the words but their message burns into my skin just the same, “You don’t belong here.”

And they’re right. I don’t. But I won’t go back, I can never go back, though my heart yearns for home. Those like me, well, we’re not welcome anywhere.

For me, home is not bricks and mortar. It’s not tied up in four walls, anchored in place by geography, or a slot in the vastness of time. The home I long for is family, acceptance, love. Home is not where I came from, but perhaps where I’m travelling to.

***

Geoff entered this last minute flash, and what a piece it is, he created such a disturbed character crazed by his loss in so few words.

Home Cruel Home

It’s the feeling of the bricks, sort of not quite slimy to the touch. That’s what I remember. Derby smooth stone, someone told me and they’re right. It does have that same slippery texture. But it isn’t the same, feeling an abstract. There isn’t the connection to the place and time. When I leant my face against its soothing surface after the burning; the hardness when I pressed my hands against the bricks, trying to push through the wall as Jimmy held me back; the way my tears made the slippery surface glisten. I wanted to stick to that wall, melt into it, be part of it. I’m still not sure whose screams I remember from that day but I’m sure some of mine were trapped in those bricks. Jimmy told me they demolished the cottage – ‘unsafe’ he said. I think it’s because of the ghosts. There had to be, after that fire, after those deaths. For a long time I wanted one of those bricks; it was all I asked for, for Christmas, birthdays, certain it held some part, some essence. Jimmy says it was me asking for bricks that made dad lose patience, had me committed here. I’ve plenty of time to lean again the bricks in this place, plenty of time to remember, to hear the screams. When I get out, I’ll go back, get a brick and hold it to my cheek. Then I’ll be home again.

***

The post Writespiration #42 appeared first on Sacha Black.

I don’t mind admitting I’m a selfish reader. I’ve always read exactly what I want for no other reason than, I felt like it. So I never paid much attention to whether or not it was useful or beneficial. But now, as a writer, whilst I still need some of that escapism by falling into a good book, I’ve come to realise I also need to read to aid my writing – and I’m not just talking about non fiction books that teach you writing skills. This is part one in a two part series, looking at reading like a writer – reading what you NEED and reading what you WANT.

When I was at school I hated Shakespeare. I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand any of his wordy sentences, or the elaborate metaphors. I figured he was just another drunk writer that got famous after he died. But then, my discontent was probably more to do with the prescription of school and the incessant deconstruction of texts, than Shakespeare himself. It wasn’t until I voluntarily picked up Shakespeare in my teens that I really grew a deep appreciation for him.

I outlined my writing process and 8 steps to discover your own perfect process last week. I’m drawing close to the end of the first draft of my novel and as a result have started to think about second and third drafts and what might need doing, which led me to Shakespeare. In my second and third drafts come the detail and description.

Whilst I have lots of ideas and a vivid imagination to create plots worlds and characters, as someone who primarily learned to write academic stuff, actually being able to convey the images in my head with enough poetic description to conjure fantastical worlds for readers, takes more practice than I’ve had. I need a parrot constantly sitting on my shoulder barking “Context, Context, Description,” reminders at me. I’m referring to similes, metaphors, and descriptively evocative passages.

So as a writer, that’s what I NEED to read. I need to find novels, passages, and poetry that are spectacular examples of creating vivid imagery through context and description. Who better than Shakespeare himself. (yes there are lots of writers I could have looked at, but I fancied a bit of Shakespeare today!)

Do you know what your weaknesses are as a writer? Could your dialogue do with a brush up? Maybe your characters aren’t quite as full of life as you would like, or maybe your world hasn’t come across the way you thought it would. None of us are perfect. So there will be something you can work on. If you don’t know what you need to develop, then ask someone else. Ask a trusted person who won’t crush you, but will be honest at the same time. When you work out what you need to practice, research writers who excel at it.

It’s ironic that I hated the thought of deconstructing Shakespeare at school, and now that’s exactly what I am about to do! Although there’s a lot we can learn from Shakespeare, for the purposes of this post, and in support of thinking about my next draft I’m focusing specifically on his poetic style and ability to create spectacular imagery.

My favourite passage of Shakespeare’s depicts this beautifully. It’s slightly dark but I adore the imagery and tragic metaphors in it. I give you, Macbeth’s final soliloquy:

She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

— To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.

— Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)

I’ve bolded the bit that I really love.

‘Life’s but a walking shadow’ in other words life’s just an illusion. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a powerful image. It reminds me of Peter Pan’s shadow, prancing around mocking the kids in Wendy’s nursery. I think the way he takes ‘life’ such a complex concept and uses such a simple comparison to draw a powerful image is quite frankly awe inspiring. But that’s the point, right? Use imagery to turn complex concepts into simple images. Sounds simple… *slaps forehead, pulls at face – wishes it was that simple*.

‘a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more.’ A poor actor who struts and worries for his hour on the stage and then is never heard from again. Such a sad image; an actor who works slaves for lifetime, practicing through the blood sweat and tears to finally get a break and then, only gets 15 minutes of fame. Forgotten forever, like the army of hopeful thespians who came before him, and the budding recruits yet to come. Sad, yet cuttingly true – not everyone can be famous.

The last line, ‘It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.’

Life is a story told by an idiot, full of noise and emotional disturbance but devoid of meaning. Not sure how comfortable I am with the sweeping generalization we’re all idiots! But I get his point. We do get caught up in the mundane, or caught up in the shallow intricacies of fads and social hierarchy, and that ultimately is meaningless. Does he really mean that life is meaningless? I hope not, I like to think he is making a point that Macbeth’s life was pointless – he spent it doing despicable acts, and if you do the same, then at the end, life becomes meaningless. Macbeth lived the life of a shadow, an illusion of life.

Isn’t that a wonderful image? Ok, I read into a lot, and the average reader skims through words at a thousand knots trying to get to the end of the chapter, see what happens next. But if I can convey even a slither of that imagery I would be a happy lady.

Tell me in the comments below: do you know what your weakness is? If so, what is it? And what authors do you (or will you) try and learn from?

The post Learn To Read Like A Writer – Read What You NEED appeared first on Sacha Black.

A day late this week because of #1000speak, but nevertheless here we go:

This is less about the house in the photo and more about the word and meaning… If you fancy it write a few words, a poem or a story and I will post it along with my next Writespiration. I wrote one this week, but liked it so much I decided to submit it to a competition, so apologies, mine is missing – I will try and write another and post it with all this weeks entrants.

Now to last weeks absolute stonkingly brilliant entries, and four newbies.

Last week’s Writespiration was to write a story in Six Words, there was a phenomenal response.

First in was Ali with three brilliant entries:

1. Birds sing. Darkness into light. Dawn.
2. Last breath. Darkness into light. Reborn.
3. Study hard. Darkness into light. Illumination.

Ali also submitted a wonderful story for the week before – an insect story with the most vivid imagery and touching ending:

I am Etain. Once I was Sidhe, and a Queen, adored and admired. Now, I spread my wings, and they are beautiful, vibrant, shimmering. The wind catches them, takes me up into its arms, and I am airborne. Invisible lips blow me here, there, and I delight in my freedom, my weightlessness.

When I tire, I alight on a blossom. The petals are no match for me; they pale in my shadow, for I am a purple jewel carved from living flesh by an alien hand. The sun warms my body; I glitter in its light. I flutter my wings, and radiate bright ripples of colour and fierce joy.

But I am distracted. The flower hides a secret. Its scent draws me in, more powerful, more intoxicating than I ever experienced in my past incarnation. My wings fold as I feed on nectar sweeter than honey, more precious than the Gods’ ambrosia.

Giddy with sweetness, greedy for more, I leap from bloom to bloom, heedless of the darkening sky, and the wind which whips the trees into clumsy dance. Raindrops fall, hard and heavy, brushing the colour from my wings like dust. Bruised and battered, I realise the wind is no longer my friend, and I am buffeted before it without mercy.

Until kind Óengus takes me in. He builds me a crystal bower, where I rest and recover. He feeds me pollen and sugar, and I need do nothing more in return but shimmy my wings now and then for his pleasure. It feels good to be adored again.

But a wild creature needs its freedom. I exchange my crystal prison for air and sunlight, and journey where life takes me. Then one day, I hear a sound I have long missed, and I am lured by my longing.

A man is playing a harp, its light liquid notes falling through the air more silver than birdsong. Men and women gather to listen; they talk and laugh softly, and I am struck with the sharp pain of sudden loneliness. I perch on the rim of a goblet, but there is so much beauty around them, I am unnoticed.

When she lifts the vessel to her lips, I tumble into the swirling red depths. I desperately beat my wings, but they are immersed, trapped in the fluid as if it was glue. Unknowing, she swallows more than wine. I flutter my wings, and she feels those faint stirrings, for she places a hand softly over her belly.

I am Etain. Once I was Sidhe, then I was dealan-dhe. Now, from the dark, warm recesses of woman, I will be born mortal.

***

Rachel entered next and I particularly love the last one:

1. Teacher of preschoolers; learner of preschoolers.
2. I read, I write, I create.

***

Geoff came next with three true stories – the backstory to the second is hilarious, maybe Geoff will tell you all about it…

1. Cancer. How long? Not long enough.
2. Third choice. Will you? Yes. Finally….
3. He’s deformed! No, he’s a girl.

***

The lovely Hugh decided to enter for the first time and submitted three amazing (and funny) entries, the last is my fave.

1. She left. Never came back. Never!
2.Come here. No! That’s it then.
3. Affair? Me to, with his husband.

***

Next the fantastically funny Lockie (who’s name I love too) and first time entrant, with a six word story that has an entire novel behind it:

“You’ll lose the leg.”
“Do it.”

***

Next we have two submissions on other social media platforms, first my friend Donna another newbie, who posted this touching entry on Facebook:

No note was found… Just tears.

***

Then Pat another newbie to writespiration posted on G+ with these six words that tells a thousand more words:

We were meant to be here….

***

Jane, with three stunning entries:

1. Night-driving drowsiness
explosive impact
two orphans.

2. Dead star
black waters
eternal night.

3. Bright horizon
a sail
your boat.

***

Last but by no means least, Sarah another newbie to Writespiration. With a hilarious entry. I can just picture the guilt written all over their face!

I’m holding it for a friend.

***

The post Writespiration #41 appeared first on Sacha Black.

I don’t think I am alone in obsessing over reading blogs about writing, but all it does it confuse me. I mean, how much attention do we really pay to understanding our own writing process?

Until recently, when I had an epiphany, I’d spent a long time thinking there was a right way… a right writing process I should be following. There isn’t. I decided to sit down and really give my process some thought, because if I can understand my own process, then I can shape it and tweak it to maximize my effectiveness. I hope this post helps you do the same.

Everyone’s process will of course be different, but if you are in any doubt about your own method, if you’re blocked or just feel something isn’t right, then I strongly recommend you do your own version of this to understand your process. Because I love visual things, I have depicted it in a pyramid:

 ***

Usually I prepare and organise till I’m blue in the face, lists run in my blood. But it wasn’t working for my writing, so I let go of doing most ‘preparation’ to write this novel. One thing I couldn’t let go of was an outline. I need it, for my sanity! For me, it doesn’t have to be massive, but because getting the timeline/action down is the most important thing in my first draft, I need a paragraph outlining each chapter. I never follow the outline to the letter, things get moved, cut completely and then changed again, but it’s a guide.

Step 1: Decide what you need before you start – an outline, a synopsis, masses of research or just an idea.

***

PLOT

This is where you figure out what is most important to you to get down on the page first. This will also be dependent on how you work out and develop your characters.

Step 2: Decide what’s most important to you in draft one.

Here are my questions to help you work out your own process for draft 1:

• What do you like doing first?
• How do you develop your characters? Do you know them before you start writing or do you see how they develop on the page?
• How well do you know your setting before you start?
• Do you need to do lots of research?

I tried to use character sheets and interview each one before I started, but it didn’t work for me and trying only made me tie myself in knots worrying I was a shit writer because I couldn’t answer the questions.

So I sacked the preparation off and let the characters develop on the page. For me draft one is all about timeline and action. I need to get the basic plot down on the page. There’s only a little bit of creativity and imagery woven in to the story at this stage. I can’t get everything perfect in the first draft, so I don’t even try. I don’t worry about the chapter, three chapters ago, that Ive decided needs a rewrite, I just keep going. But how do I combat this incessant need to edit?

Step 3: Create an editing map.

I create one place, with a designated section for each chapter. Dump decisions or notes about chapters or characters or whatever you like under the appropriate chapter section. That way you keep your thoughts and decisions ready and organised for when you want to edit.

The benefit of an editing map is it will allow you to pattern spot your thinking. If you find you constantly put notes about characters then you know that’s what needs to go in the next draft. If you comment about setting then work on that next and so on.

***

CHARACTERS

Have a break before starting draft two, the longer the text the longer the break should be, but its up to you to decide how long is right for you. I imagine I will put my manuscript down for a month or two – or as long as I physically can.

Here’s where I hack the manuscript or story to pieces, I focus on finalising the timeline. Moving chapters or scenes till they are right, but I get it right here. Once this draft is over I don’t want to have to move the timeline much more. Whilst I do this, I study the characters. Picking up on their salient traits, emphasising or minimising them, checking consistencies and making very rough notes about each one, so that I get consistency across the whole story – bit like an editing map but for the characters – let’s call it a character map.

Step 4: Check your editing map for patterns of your thinking before you start editing- whatever is most salient is what you should work on next.

Step 5: Create a character map – it can look like whatever you want, and be as big or small as you want but should have relevant or key bits of information about your character to ensure consistency when editing.

Step 6: Once the timeline is finalised plot a loose map of chapters / scenes so you can easily find bits you need when editing.    

The character map ensures I check their back story and history and start weaving in detail.

Finally I start thinking about the world and environment. I know a lot of detail about my stories world before I start writing, so I don’t need to do much work to create it, more weave the detail in, in draft 3.

***

WORLD-BUILDING

Have another break before starting draft 3.

This is world-building time. I know for some people this will be the first draft stuff. But not for me, world-building comes in as a finishing touch – madness given the genre I write (fantasy/dystopian), but my world building is really done before I outline. The world in my current novel is what came to me first, so even though I only start to weave the detail in now, I already know what needs doing. My other focus in this draft is to finalise characters, detail, backstory and ensuring all the foreshadowing is in the right place.

Step 7: Check your editing map again

Ask yourself:

• What’s left to perfect?
• Have you checked details?
• Is your world complete?
• Are your characters perfected?
• Do you need to foreshadow?
• Does your timeline work?

***

PERFECTING THE MANUSCRIPT

I’m rubbish at proof reading. But I have to at least attempt it before giving it to beta readers and editors. So I proof read, check everything, over and over till I feel like I have done as much as I can do. I check:

• Characters
• Timelines
• Consistencies of: characters, world, locations, storyline, descriptions etc
• Grammar/spelling/word order/sentence structure etc
• General errors
• Story arcs / character growth

***

BETA FEEDBACK

This is the bit where you crap your pants a little – your hand shakes as you tentatively give your manuscript over to be critiqued by beta readers.

Once you stop crying! You edit in your feedback and hey presto you’re ready to pay a developmental or copy editor or seek an agent or whatever you feel your next steps should be.

 ***

RESEARCH

Step8: Research along the way, don’t get stuck making all the decisions before you start

There’s one section I haven’t mentioned. Research, and that’s because I research constantly. From before I pick up the pen, right through to the end of draft 3. I don’t worry about having all the tiny details before I start, or I would never start, plus I change my mind too often to decide everything before I begin; so I research details along the way.

***

This post is not meant to be a guide to the only writing process– the complete opposite in fact. This post is just my personal method of writing, my process. It will only be right for me. But what I hope it does do, is help you get some insight into discovering your own process. 

What does your pyramid look like?

The post 8 Steps to Discover Your Perfect Writing Process appeared first on Sacha Black.

One of my favourite writing procrastinations is the Six Word Memoir website. Doing exactly what it says on the tin, asking you to write a memoir or story in six words. So I challenge you to do the same, right here, right now, and I will post it with next weeks Writespiration. While your at it, why not post on their website too?

Here’s mine:

He said “Will you…?”

“I’m Gay!”

***

To last weeks entrants and a LOT of sex – quite how we got from insects to sex I’m not sure, but I will remember that for future prompts!

Geoff starts us off with a banging (see what I did there!) tale of sex, wings, dancing and a little more sex!

Just One Day

I knew it would be tough, getting out of the chrysalis – you know it will be a struggle, but you’re ready for it. Just before the skin cracks you don’t want it to happen but the air is on your eyes, the light – sharp, caustic – is like a magnet and you pull like you’ve never pulled.
This is your time. This is why you’ve been kept boxed tight for so long. The new wings, freed of their wrapping unfurl alone and you sit on the reed, exhausted, happy, dizzy as you dry.
Vaguely you become aware of others, spiralling about you, a dusty cloud of other May Flies – a dance of daring and death.
Seeing them draws from you a new strength, you let go and…
I’m flying, spinning and twisting. And I have one thing on my mind. The only thing that matters. The only reason I’m here. The only thing that I will have time for. No eating, no sleeping, no rocket science or choosing which socks to buy my dad for Christmas. My life is the envy of every living thing. It’s the reason I have two penises. Today is my day and my day will be full of
SEX
SEX
SEX
SEX
SEX
SEX
And then I’ll die. The French for orgasm is La Petite Mort. They know something, those Frenchies…

***

Nicholas C Rossis joined us for the first time this week, and gave a vivid tale of mating courtship and a humorous reminder that not all sex ends well!

“How about sex and dinner?” she asked, her throaty voice sending tingles to play on the fine hairs on his neck. She rubbed one fine, slender foot on her lengthy leg, to stress her point.
Her audacity caught his breath. They hardly knew each other, having met only a few minutes earlier. And yet here she was, her naked flesh provoking him into a frenzy. There was no mistaking the hunger in her eyes; the need for his body; her desire for his flesh.

He swallowed and tried to look away, to avoid her burning stare. She snickered at his discomfort as he lowered his eyes to examine his trembling fingers. Speak! Say something! His mouth obeyed the mental command and opened, but words failed him. His gaze caressed her nude body to linger once more on trim legs that seemed to go on forever. He bit his lip, his heart skipping a beat. She had him now; he would stop at nothing to slither between her mounds, to experience the ecstasy promised by her inviting, crooked smile; consequences be damned.

His determination slipped fast. With the last remnants of his strength, he made a final, desperate attempt to negotiate. To save himself. “Why not dinner first?” he croaked, a thick bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Her raspy laugh made his knees tremble. He leaned against a tree to stop himself from shaking. A delightful, mortified shiver travelled through his body and onto the wrinkled bark at her next words.

“Don’t be silly,” she said with a smirk. “Who’s ever heard of a praying mantis eating before sex?” She inched closer, her faceted, emerald eyes gazing softly at his smooth skin. He closed his eyes as her mouth brushed against his ear. Her hot breath tickled him, made his heart race. A long tongue slithered out of her lipless mouth to lick his slender neck. “That would ruin my appetite.”

***

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