Creative writing: Just because it’s not flowing doesn’t mean it’s not working

(Triple negative in the title – whoah)

I’ve just come back from a book reading and talk by Mark Haddon, author of the world best seller The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, and HURRRRRAAAAAGH he revealed that he finds writing a GREAT BIG SLOG. He compared it to climbing up a mountain: you struggle, struggle, struggle until eventually you are rewarded with a delicious view.

If you’re like me, you feel sick whenever you hear a successful author bang on about how they ‘get into the flow’ and just create, create, create until BOOM! the book has literally written itself. Because that is not how I write. It’s how I would like to write…it’s how, until tonight, I thought ‘real’ writers were writing. So, how refreshing, and reassuring, to learn that a very successful author finds the writing process a great big pain in the arse.

I’ve always thought that my relationship with creative writing was a little perverted: I find it painful, yet I tell myself that it is the thing I love most – that it’s my life’s purpose. I’ve also had a niggling feeling that because I find the process so painful perhaps I don’t really like it at all…and that I ought to be honest and find another life’s purpose. I thought that real writers love the act of writing, and that that’s what gives their writing the edge over amateurs’.

Interestingly, I love the process of writing for other people, and for businesses. It always flows for me…but I suppose the difference is that it is not my duty to come up with ideas, but to convey other people’s in a creative and effective fashion. I suppose with my business writing, I do it because I love the process…but I rarely get excited by the ‘view’….the view is for other people to enjoy.

I shall now see my struggle with creativity as merely a sign that I am climbing up a very high mountain indeed, which means there’s going to be ONE HELLUVA VIEW at the end of it.

Yipppppeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

(Mark Haddon was promoting his new book The Red House which sounds very good indeed; I got very excited by the fact that the village in which I grew up is mentioned on the first page. Ah, it’s the trivial things that do it for me.)

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Creative writers – does it matter what you name your characters?

Harry Potter is a cute little-boy’s name, right? But so are Danny Porter and Percy Mailer. Would J.K. still be sitting in coffee shops ripping her hair out if she had named the world’s most famous boy-wizard Jamie? I think not.

This is why I think it matters diddley squat what you name your characters: different names mean different things to different folks. For example, the name ‘Rachel’ will always make me imagine a tall, bossy girl who learned to wipe her bottom before anyone else at playgroup, and I will always associate the name ‘Will’ with my ex-boyfriend who pretends I’m dead. To me ‘Sheila’ means ‘hairdresser’, but to my pal Jess it means ‘mum’. Therefore, how can one name be considered any more appropriate than another (outside the grounds of common sense – e.g. probably best not to name an 85-year-old woman ‘Chardonnay’).

Despite my problem with their names, I am perfectly capable of being swept away by a dashingly handsome ‘Will’ or cajoled by an unexpectedly dirty-bottomed ‘Rachel’ providing the author has done enough to make me believe in their characters. Good writing ensures the character’s name is irrelevant. Similarly, a great name won’t disguise poor characterisation.

In the early 90s a band appeared with the most ridiculous name I had ever come across ‘Take That’. At that time I couldn’t imagine that group ever becoming a household name.

 

I was wrong.

 

The name was inconsequential.

 

(Note. I am not a Take That fan; merely commenting on their success-to-stupid-name ratio.)

 

I recently saw an advertisement for a writing workshop that claimed to offer advice on naming your charcters. Apart from the obvious , I wonder what secrets were shared…any ideas?

 

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Jargon – should it be illegal?

When I am not writing my novel (which at the moment is every second of every day) I work with businesses to help them communicate clearly and appropriately. Interestingly, 95% of my work involves reassuring my clients that it’s OK to write simple, straightforward text. I.e. 95% of my time is spent explaining that readers actually prefer to not have to work hard to try and figure out what the hell you are on about.

When I’m struggling to understand something I’m reading, I don’t think “Wow, whoever wrote this must be really clever and obviously really knows their stuff.”

Instead, my thoughts are more along the lines of:

“BASTARDS! I don’t have time for this.”

Or:

“WHAT THE WHAT? Not even the writer understands what they are writing about.”

Or:

“Whoever wrote this is clearly ashamed of the lack of substance in what they are writing about and is using incomprehensible language to try overcome their inferiority complex.”

(Ahem.)

Anyways…this post was initially supposed to be about business jargon but I’ve just realised it’s about any references in writing that have been made to make the reader feel inferior or excluded, as a means for the writer to feel important. This happens in fiction as well as in business writing. Eg. use of outmoded latin phrases, references to obscure texts in popular fiction, etc etc – any instance in which the reader’s enjoyment is put second to the writer’s desire to sound clever.

The only outcome will be a bitter reader and a lonely author.

Be nice to your readers, and they will be nice back.

Acta est fabula plaudite.

 

 

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How important is the first sentence in your novel?

I don’t know who started this rumour about the first sentence being the real ‘deal-breaker’ in a novel, but everyone’s gone totally nuts for it. I recently went to a party where one of the ice-breaker games involved matching opening lines to their authors. I had the first line from The Wind in the Willows, which I think mentions the Mole, and not being a complete ignoramus I did manage to match that to Kenneth Grahame (I nearly wrote Kennith Williams then). Here the Stylist lists their top 100 opening lines from a selection of favourite, and in some cases so-called iconic, titles.

So, should we break out into a sweat over our opening lines?

Hmmmmm.

Do you decide to read or ditch a novel based on its opening line? I really don’t think I do. I doubt I remember the opening line once I get to the bottom of the first page, and I don’t think I would ditch a novel without at least reading the first chapter. The only opening lines I can remember off hand are those that I have been told are memorable/important, and I’ve only learned those to prove that I am ‘officially interested in literature’.

I think you’d have to be pretty crazy to choose to read an entire novel based on its opening line…you’re not likely to think Whoah, this is dull, but I’m going to read on because that was a belter of a first line.

I do think it’s important to think carefully about your first line….but, should you not think carefully about every line in your novel?

I like Betty Blue author Philippe Djian’s take on it all:

“Do not ask yourself why you write or for whom you write, but write instead as if each of your sentences could be your last.”

In summary, write each sentence as if it were your last (in your life) and first (in your novel).

Sorted.

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What publishers really mean in their rejection letters

Funny and informative Twitter trend: publishing euphemisms.

Love this one:

“this is too british for the american market” = I have no idea what this is about

When do you know if it’s time to ditch your novel?

The older I get, the easier I find it to discard of…well, anything that no longer pleases me. For example, I’ve learned that life is too short to force myself to finish reading a book I’m not really enjoying (why on Jupiter would anyone do that anyway – in case the Book God in the sky punishes you?). I’ve realised that sticking things out for the stake of sticking things out is a little crazy. Relationship sucks? Move on. Job sucks? Leave. Whenever I’ve made the bold decision to ditch anything because it’s not working, my move has paid off. Leaving rubbish jobs has always allowed for better jobs to come along. Recognising that a broken relationship is beyond repair has always allowed for a healthier relationship to begin. Lugging bags of old clothes to the charity shop has always left me feeling lighter; I’ve never regretted ditching anything.

However, I do believe that ditching can only be positive if it’s done out of love, and not fear. Walking out of a failing relationship because you’re too afraid to get to the root of your problems will most likely mean you end up exactly where you were again and again, regardless of who you’re in a relationship with. Leaving a job because you know it’s not where your talents lie only to start a new position before you’ve given yourself the chance (the love!) to discover where your talents do lie is unlikely to see a positive return. Donating all your clothes to Oxfam because they make you feel frumpy before you’ve bought replacements that make you feel fancy will render you one naked-yet-admirably-altruistic puppy.

Soooooo, what’s all this got to do with writing? Well, like many writers, I start writing a lot of things and then end up finishing only about 0.5% of any of them (unless I’m writing for my clients of course ;) ). I know this is completely normal, and all part of the creative process, but I think it’s time I started to do this more out of love, than fear. My most recent ditching came at the end of last summer when at 13,000 into a light-hearted yet intelligent (ahem) comedy that I was finding really easy to write, I suddenly realised that I wanted to ‘do more’ than make people giggle a bit. So, I just stopped.

The problem with this, however, is that I ditched a work in progress because I had identified what I did not want to write. I had not, in contrast, identified what I did want to write. My motivation for stopping had come from a place of fear (of being superficial), and not love.

I now realise that I very rarely ask myself perhaps the most important question that all writers should ask themselves:

What do I want to write?

On an even grander scale, how often do any of us honestly ask ourselves:

What will make me happy?

Really, I think I need to put the two together and ask:

What could I write that will make me happy?

Hmmmmm. BIG QUESTION. I’m embarrassed that I haven’t really taken the time to think that one through honestly and thoroughly. I’m even more embarrassed to admit that for my entire writing life I have been behaving as if the answer to that question will come to me after I’ve finished writing the thing that will make me happy. It seems obviously illogical now.

Soooo, the title of this post was ‘When do you know it’s time to ditch your novel?’; the answer, therefore, I suppose is ‘When you’re ready to start the novel you do want to write.’

Easy.

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Should you target your writing for a particular readership…or just write?

In my ongoing quest to find the ‘right way’ to write a novel (hoho) I have come across two opposing recommendations regarding how to be a ‘marketable’ writer:

1. Carefully target your novel to suit a clearly defined readership and be sure to incorporate themes that are in line with current trends in your genre

2. Write the book that you would like to read – sod anything else

The argument for option 1. is that publishing is first and foremost a business, therefore if you want to get published you have to convince your publisher/agent that your book will sell. You need to be able to define your market and demonstrate how your book will appeal to this audience.

The argument for option 2. is that, really, every publisher wants to be the one who discovers the Next Big Thing, and that the Next Big Thing is unlikely to be following suit. They are likely to have come in with a completely unprecedented work, with left-field ideas and a radical style.

I have no doubt that for a good writer option 1 is the more reliable route to publication. However, as an approach to creativity, I think it sucks.

In my ‘real life’ I write and edit for other people – mostly businesses. This involves scrutinising target markets (the ‘readership’), creating a writing style that will connect with this market, and then writing/editing copy that achieves a desired effect.

Day in day out I peddle copy that is carefully targeted for a particular readership to achieve a specific effect. I like my work, very much, but the result is copy/literature that has nothing to do with me (in fact, it’s very important that I remain invisible). Therefore, when I do give myself the opportunity to write on my own terms, I want to do so without design, direction or contrivance. I want to see what I think.

For me, creative writing is about freedom. Freedom from trying to get everyone to like what I have to say. Freedom from caring whether I’m being ‘on trend’. Freedom from goals. Freedom from comparing myself with others. Freedom from the rules of writing (a bit). This doesn’t mean being a completely selfish writer. Creative expression is an act of sharing, and the magic happens when those with whom you have shared feel understood, or at least ‘not alone’.

For me, option 1 is ‘doing’ and option 2 is ‘being’.

And I want to be a writer.

Zen that.

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The War on Your v You’re

Facebook, Twitter and all their social media cousins have led to huge swathes of the population effectively becoming published authors. However, most of these new ‘authors’ never intended on being writers and are therefore not particularly skilled at it. Furthermore, they do not employ the services of an editor! They just slap their updates down willy-nilly without even one single consultation of the OED*

I jest. Increasingly on Twitter and Facebook and etc I see little snipey comments by more wordy types who have picked up on the errors of less wordy types. Some little smug-oids have even set up Twitter accounts to attack Tweeters who fail to use proppa gramma and spling. One I saw recently was @Spellbot, or something, who targeted PRs who had buggered up their apostrophes, for example, and publicly humiliated them by Tweeting corrections to their Tweets.

How nasty.

Now, of course PRs should be careful when communicating – they are paid to communicate after all – but I really don’t think social media is the place to be picky. Lots of people struggle to spell, punctuate and use proper grammar – it’s just not where their strengths lie – but whereas I would agree that they should perhaps hold off on a career in journalism or publishing, they should feel totally comfortable expressing themselves via social media. Social media, by its design, should be inclusive, impulsive, raw…and really not taken that seriously.

Relax people, your on Facebook.

(However, anyone who uses Facebook to publicly shout at the telly or share pictures of their unborn foetuses should be shot.)

*Google

(What about blogs? Yikes.)

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Does it matter where or how you write?

For years I have used both the location and state of my workspace as an excuse for my lack of creative productivity. I’ve blamed clutter, the view out of my window, bad feng shui, damp, noise, crappy software, clunky hardware etc etc.

I’ve moved a lot in the last few years, but at present I’m living in a pretty cottage that has a huge attic room that I use as my office. I have an enviable view out on to a sweet little garden. I have an enormous desk, an ergonomic chair and very fancy adjustable footrest. I work on a flawless MacBook Pro as well as a separate crisp-clear monitor. My house is on the quietest street in an idyllic village on the outskirts of Oxford. My workspace is peaceful, comfortable and warm. Furthermore, I have time – I run my own business and make sure I take on enough work to be comfortable but not so much that I don’t have time for my own projects.

So, why am I not reeling off page after page of insightful, inventive and poignant prose?

I don’t know.

I DON’T KNOW!

All is not lost, however. After years of faffing around with every variable of my writing setup I have come to know that my creative block has absolutely nothing to do with which version of Word I am working on, whether my desk is due south or south-west or my reference books* ordered by subject or author.

And thank GOD for that.

It would be an oxymoron, would it not, if my ability to be creative really was dependent on external variables being ‘just so’? What kind of an imagination would that be?

Writer’s block frustrates the hell out of me (of course), but after years of tweaking my workspace I’m relieved to have learned that the only thing holding me back, is me.

Therefore, the truth is, I have everything I need right here and right now to totally let rip on the page.

Scary.

Whiipppeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

*Reference books? Hahahaha. Google – try it.

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What is the difference between envy and jealousy?

Being a self-employed writer, every now and then I put myself through some mandatory “personal professional development” (urgh!).

For today’s development class I have chosen the subject of envy and jealousy, and what on Earth is the difference between the two. Upon completion of this self-taught personal development module I shall be awarding myself a Certificate of Completion (have you noticed how life revolves around filling in forms and receiving certificates?).

The themes of envy and jealousy are fundamental to 99% of most great stories (I totally made that figure up), so I think every writer should attempt to understand the subtleties between these two concepts. If for no other reason than to show off at dinner parties.

Gather around ye fellow students and let’s do some research (ugh!) to see what we can find out:

Research method number one – Google: A quick Google search tells me that no one else really understands the difference between jealousy and envy either. Hurragh! Yet more proof that I am not a complete thicko.

Research method number two – the books immediately to hand on my desk:

After a c. 20-second review I determined that none of these books clearly explains the difference between envy and jealousy. Please note the careful styling of this photo shoot

Research method number three – Robin Brown: My father is a psychotherapist (that’s my excuse for a lot of things – thanks Dad!) and has traded for many years on the fact that feeling either jealousy or envy can have a detrimental effect on your wellbeing, especially if you are jealous (or envious??) of your father’s relationship with your mother. Oedipus aside (good name for a pet cat, by the way), here’s what Mr Brown had to say on the subject:

RB: “What’s this about then Gabs?”

GB: “I’m undertaking some personal professional development, and writing about it for my blog.”

RB: “I see. Will this make you any money?”

GB: “No. Well, maybe…”

RB: (silence)

GB: “I’m doing this for my readers. They need to know. We need your help.”

RB: “Very well. Hmmmmmm. Crikey. OK. Jealously is likely to involve three parties:

1 The person who desires the object

2 The desired object

3 The person who has the desired object

In this situation the desired object remains unspoiled by number 1′s jealousy. In contrast, envy is less about the relationship between three parties. Instead, it is a more poisonous emotion whereby the desired object is spoiled by the desirer’s wanting of it – regardless of whatever number three is or isn’t doing. The desirer comes to have disdain not only for whoever/whatever is apparently keeping their object from them but also for the object itself for being unavailable to them.

GB: “Thank you kind father.”

Research method number four – Melanie Klein’s Envy and Gratitude: RB recommended this for further reading on the subject. I have not done my homework yet but I thought I would share his hot in-the-know tip.

I feel a little clearer on the subject. Just a bit. You? If it is such a wooly divide then does it matter which we use? If I told you I was jealous of Jennifer’s house then how would that compare with me telling you I was envious of it? In both cases you would get the idea that I think Jennifer has a pretty awesome house and that I’m a bit miffed cos I would like to have an equally awesome house.

Right. I’m going to draw me up a Certificate, which will no doubt be the envy of all whom* set eyes upon it.

*Next week’s class will be on who vs whom**

**Not really!

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