Remember how I said I would be back after fourteen days? Well, that's true in a limited fashion. My landlords have decided that the cold, wet, windy month of January is just the best possible time to do complicated and difficult renovations to the place we're living in right now and work starts tomorrow. Don't get me wrong, I love the idea of living in a place with fancy twenty-first century innovations like working radiators and multiple power outlets in a room, after all the thought of living in a warm house where I don't risk electrocution on a daily basis, by plugging multi-socket bar adapters full of nine volt ac/dc transformers into three outlet plug in socket extenders is a happy one. Believe me, I'm all about the warmth and the removal of risking death by frying. It's just that, well not to sound ungrateful or whiny or anything but... January!? The coldest month of the year? Several days without heating and only intermittent electrical power isn't something I'll be enjoying. At least when it's done we'll have warmth, safety and a new kitchen, which pleases my wife immensely. I've pointed out that we tend to live on sandwiches, cereal and take-away food, making the new kitchen sort of redundant. Apparently this is Not The Point. Silly me...
Anyway, I won't have access to my desktop PC and net connectivity may be intermittent, hence the removal of the countdown timer. Thanks to my wife's laptop I'll still be able to write and if one of my neighbours is a bit obvious with their wireless network password I may even be able to post something, who knows. (I hereby solemnly swear not to download anything, legally or otherwise until my own connection is fully restored. Bye-bye bit-torrent, I'll miss you.) It might be a script for a comic-book about a very English superhero, or it might be something else I haven't started writing yet; I'm trying to keep multiple projects in the air, that way if I end up with another case of writer's block I can just write something else instead. Forward planning? I has it...
Also a very belated hello to Peter. I've been so wrapped up in my own problems lately that I never even noticed a new person listening to my wittering, waffling, writerly whining and doubtless other alliterations.
You'll be hearing from me again, with accompanying work, soon and I'll put myself back on that horrifying one story, once a week deadline when I'm able to put the blog fully live once more. (At the moment it's neither alive nor dead. I have a zombie blog, which is AWESOME!)
Dan.
Wednesday 28 January 2009
Sunday 18 January 2009
Hiatus
Isn't it just typical? After my adventures with writers block, due to personal circumstances beyond my control I have to take a short break from both writing and blogging. I was looking forward to proving that the last two weeks were nothing more than a temporary blip, but unfortunately life has intruded in a big way. Something has to give and for the next fourteen days, that is going to have to be chasing my dream. I'll be back online before February starts with some new material to post, after I've typed it up from the long hand (both PC and web access will be limited for the next two weeks or so), do you know I actually waited for my Biro to do a spell check for me?
Anyway, I'm down but not out and will return soon with some new stories. Hope you can all be patient with me while I sort out my real life first, but until then enjoy yourselves and stay safe.
Dan.
Anyway, I'm down but not out and will return soon with some new stories. Hope you can all be patient with me while I sort out my real life first, but until then enjoy yourselves and stay safe.
Dan.
Saturday 10 January 2009
Failure, Apologies and Filters
This week there will be no new story. This is my first encounter with failure, even though this blog is only amateur in nature and all deadlines and time restrictions are self imposed, I have failed to deliver what I promise in the blog's tag line "One story, once a week..." and I find myself extremely depressed about it. Like it says at the top of the page, I am attempting to learn to write to a professional standard and one very important thing professional writers need to learn is keeping to a deadline. In this, I failed utterly and while the number of people who read this blog is small I feel that I've let them and myself down. I can only apologise to anyone who has ever actually read something I've posted at fifty-two-stories-lite, and if anyone was actually looking forward to seeing the new one, please know that my sense of crushing disappointment is far greater than you can imagine.
I don't have any excuses or mitigating circumstances for my failure, merely a simple reason... Writer's Block, a horrible condition I've never encountered before this week. I won't bore anyone with whiny, self indulgent wittering on the subject. If you don't write, then chances are you don't care. If you do write, then there's a good chance you've experienced it yourself and don't want to read someone else reliving your misery; if you haven't encountered it yet (god willing you never will) then I'll stay silent in case it's contagious or something. Suffice to say, to someone inclined to story telling a blank document or piece of paper should inspire a feeling of freedom, not frustration. This is all I'll say on the matter lest I drift into the afore mentioned whiny, self indulgence.
On a brighter note, this week I did still manage to learn something important about writing thanks to Ugly Angie. I found out that what you have in mind when you create something, isn't necessarily what other people will take from it... Her poem "Winter Has Found Me", which she has been kind enough to leave in the comments section of this post, inspired me greatly. I saw a hopeful poem, with echoes of rebirth and the inevitability of the future. The timing of the original posting of the poem (3rd of January 2009) played into my trepidation about the new year ahead of me and what it may bring. I read a message about the relentless march of time, and that however much you may wish to hide in things past, the future will carry you forward regardless. Angie is pretty sure she wrote a poem about getting tired of it being so darned cold all the time.
As the progenitor of the poem in question, Angie is of course utterly correct in what she asserts about the meaning of "Winter Has Found Me"... However in the privacy of my own head, I know that I am more correct about what the poem means. Is this because I have some deep insight into the inner workings of her creative being? Absolutely not! It's because I read something, filtered it through my own subjective experience and feelings and took what I needed to hear at the time from the poem. I suppose that once you put something out there, it takes on a life of it's own. It's no longer just the thing you created, it also becomes what that thing meant to those who encountered it.
In twenty years time Angie may read the poem again and think "Man, that was one cold freakin' month!", but she may also remember that a bloke she's never met, who lives thousands of miles away read it and decided to face 2009 with a touch more courage. I think that this what we all aim for when we create something be it a poem, a short story, a painting or a sculpture made of broken shopping trolleys. That someone heard our voice and was changed a little bit for that, hopefully for the better.
I don't have any excuses or mitigating circumstances for my failure, merely a simple reason... Writer's Block, a horrible condition I've never encountered before this week. I won't bore anyone with whiny, self indulgent wittering on the subject. If you don't write, then chances are you don't care. If you do write, then there's a good chance you've experienced it yourself and don't want to read someone else reliving your misery; if you haven't encountered it yet (god willing you never will) then I'll stay silent in case it's contagious or something. Suffice to say, to someone inclined to story telling a blank document or piece of paper should inspire a feeling of freedom, not frustration. This is all I'll say on the matter lest I drift into the afore mentioned whiny, self indulgence.
On a brighter note, this week I did still manage to learn something important about writing thanks to Ugly Angie. I found out that what you have in mind when you create something, isn't necessarily what other people will take from it... Her poem "Winter Has Found Me", which she has been kind enough to leave in the comments section of this post, inspired me greatly. I saw a hopeful poem, with echoes of rebirth and the inevitability of the future. The timing of the original posting of the poem (3rd of January 2009) played into my trepidation about the new year ahead of me and what it may bring. I read a message about the relentless march of time, and that however much you may wish to hide in things past, the future will carry you forward regardless. Angie is pretty sure she wrote a poem about getting tired of it being so darned cold all the time.
As the progenitor of the poem in question, Angie is of course utterly correct in what she asserts about the meaning of "Winter Has Found Me"... However in the privacy of my own head, I know that I am more correct about what the poem means. Is this because I have some deep insight into the inner workings of her creative being? Absolutely not! It's because I read something, filtered it through my own subjective experience and feelings and took what I needed to hear at the time from the poem. I suppose that once you put something out there, it takes on a life of it's own. It's no longer just the thing you created, it also becomes what that thing meant to those who encountered it.
In twenty years time Angie may read the poem again and think "Man, that was one cold freakin' month!", but she may also remember that a bloke she's never met, who lives thousands of miles away read it and decided to face 2009 with a touch more courage. I think that this what we all aim for when we create something be it a poem, a short story, a painting or a sculpture made of broken shopping trolleys. That someone heard our voice and was changed a little bit for that, hopefully for the better.
Monday 5 January 2009
Written With A Sense Of Mounting Terror...
First off I would like to draw your attention to this poem, here, which I enjoyed a great deal and think sums up the conflicting feelings towards the start of a new year far more elegantly and succinctly than I ever could. It can be difficult some times to let go of the past and become the version of you that will have to do the exact same thing next year. While we're all still thinking in terms of what's past (passed) and what's still to come, this is a perfect time to read (and say thank you for) UGLY ANGIE's interpretation of this time.
(I am not a well educated man, it is entirely possible that I have misread the poem completely. If that is so I can only apologise and bow my head in readiness for the string of mocking comments that I surely deserve.)
Secondly, and on a more personal note, for the first time since beginning this adventure I have absolutely nothing written as my countdown timer passes fifty percent complete. Nothing, zilch, zip, nada, nowt', not a sausage. I don't even have an idea for what my next story will be about, let alone where to begin telling it. Fear is my constant companion. In fairness Fear and I often walk together while he taunts me with imaginings of spiders, clowns, zombies or Cilla Black, but this time he never leaves my side, bringing not just his usual motley crew of bizarre phobias but also a new one to someone who is almost defined by a lack of ambition, Fear Of Failure.
I am sadness.
*Those of you who think I'm going for a laugh at the inclusion of Cilla Black on my list of phobias, rest assured that I am not. I find the woman profoundly terrifying, for no reason that I can explain. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to place that link for anyone who doesn't know who she is.
-EDIT-
Angie deletes her posts every weekend, so those of you wishing to read the poem "Winter Has Found Me" will find a broken link. However Angie has been kind enough to leave the poem written in the comments section of this post. Click the comments button and enjoy. Thank you Angie.
(I am not a well educated man, it is entirely possible that I have misread the poem completely. If that is so I can only apologise and bow my head in readiness for the string of mocking comments that I surely deserve.)
Secondly, and on a more personal note, for the first time since beginning this adventure I have absolutely nothing written as my countdown timer passes fifty percent complete. Nothing, zilch, zip, nada, nowt', not a sausage. I don't even have an idea for what my next story will be about, let alone where to begin telling it. Fear is my constant companion. In fairness Fear and I often walk together while he taunts me with imaginings of spiders, clowns, zombies or Cilla Black, but this time he never leaves my side, bringing not just his usual motley crew of bizarre phobias but also a new one to someone who is almost defined by a lack of ambition, Fear Of Failure.
I am sadness.
*Those of you who think I'm going for a laugh at the inclusion of Cilla Black on my list of phobias, rest assured that I am not. I find the woman profoundly terrifying, for no reason that I can explain. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to place that link for anyone who doesn't know who she is.
-EDIT-
Angie deletes her posts every weekend, so those of you wishing to read the poem "Winter Has Found Me" will find a broken link. However Angie has been kind enough to leave the poem written in the comments section of this post. Click the comments button and enjoy. Thank you Angie.
Saturday 3 January 2009
New Year, New Carpet Slippers, Same Problems...
Not with the carpet slippers, they're very comfy thank you. With the writing I mean. I manage to find everything very distracting when I'm trying to write... have you ever seen a cat very busy doing it's own thing, suddenly become mesmerised with a trailing shoelace? It tries to control itself but... the lace is moving... and twitching... and the last lace wasn't edible/available for mating/any kind of threat... but this one might be... and suddenly it's off. The cat pounces on the lace and refuses to stop playing with it, the shoelace is the most fascinating thing in all of creation.
This happens to me all the time when I sit down to write. When I'm not writing all I can think about is the story currently on my mind. As soon as I'm at the computer everything becomes a vital task that must be done Right Now! Want me to wash the dishes? Empty the waste bins? Take a duster to that place behind the television it's too awkward to reach ordinarily? Attempt to create an economically viable alternative to capitalism? Just sit me in front of OpenOffice and watch me go...
New Year was pretty quiet all told, but very enjoyable nonetheless. Now that the holidays are truly over, I can get back to writing properly.
This happens to me all the time when I sit down to write. When I'm not writing all I can think about is the story currently on my mind. As soon as I'm at the computer everything becomes a vital task that must be done Right Now! Want me to wash the dishes? Empty the waste bins? Take a duster to that place behind the television it's too awkward to reach ordinarily? Attempt to create an economically viable alternative to capitalism? Just sit me in front of OpenOffice and watch me go...
New Year was pretty quiet all told, but very enjoyable nonetheless. Now that the holidays are truly over, I can get back to writing properly.
Wednesday 31 December 2008
New Story: No. 5 of 52 - In The Long Hot Summer
It's typical really. I sign off my last post with Happy New Year etc., claiming I'm not likely to post anything today, then find myself pulling an all nighter and completing my new story "In The Long Hot Summer". It's up now, over at fifty-two-stories-lite.
Overall I'm fairly pleased with it. I've slipped back into bleak and unhappy mode, but this wasn't a happy event. Some of it is true, some of it isn't. All of the places are real, the people are real (with their physical descriptions kept minimal or changed from the reality where they are described.) and the true parts happened as I described them. The true parts are not necessarily the bits you would expect.
I think I'm off to bed now. All nighters aren't as easy as they were five years ago. Once more with feeling, Happy New Year and best wishes for 2009
Overall I'm fairly pleased with it. I've slipped back into bleak and unhappy mode, but this wasn't a happy event. Some of it is true, some of it isn't. All of the places are real, the people are real (with their physical descriptions kept minimal or changed from the reality where they are described.) and the true parts happened as I described them. The true parts are not necessarily the bits you would expect.
I think I'm off to bed now. All nighters aren't as easy as they were five years ago. Once more with feeling, Happy New Year and best wishes for 2009
Holidayed Out...
It's been almost a week since my last post, and I have to admit I've missed waffling on about whatever happens to be on my mind at the time. The holidays are as good as over and I can get back to proper writing rather than showy-offy things like Drabbles. (Although I have admit to being proud of the one I did.)
The surprising thing is how quickly the writing muscles can atrophy. Ten days of rest, excepting for a few hours shaving and tweaking The Pathologist to exactly the right length have left me feeling curiously... un-writerly. Ideas have been at a premium after enjoying my Christmas pressies. The complete Firefly boxset, The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, Nation by Terry Pratchett, Nu Of The Neocene by Edgar Rice Burroughs and some comfy, comfy slippers combined with the Doctor Who Christmas special, a new Wallace & Gromit adventure, the brilliant Crooked House on BBC Four and twice my own body weight in turkey and stuffing, sweets, buffets at various family get togethers and a lack of sleep have meant that I've been feeling justifiably woolly minded.
However, my nose is back to the grindstone and I've nearly finished the new story provisionally titled "In The Long Hot Summer", it will be interesting to see if there's a noticeable drop in quality when I'm not feeling at my sharpest mentally.
In case I don't get time to post anything tomorrow, Happy New Year to everyone and all the best for you and yours in 2009!
The surprising thing is how quickly the writing muscles can atrophy. Ten days of rest, excepting for a few hours shaving and tweaking The Pathologist to exactly the right length have left me feeling curiously... un-writerly. Ideas have been at a premium after enjoying my Christmas pressies. The complete Firefly boxset, The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, Nation by Terry Pratchett, Nu Of The Neocene by Edgar Rice Burroughs and some comfy, comfy slippers combined with the Doctor Who Christmas special, a new Wallace & Gromit adventure, the brilliant Crooked House on BBC Four and twice my own body weight in turkey and stuffing, sweets, buffets at various family get togethers and a lack of sleep have meant that I've been feeling justifiably woolly minded.
However, my nose is back to the grindstone and I've nearly finished the new story provisionally titled "In The Long Hot Summer", it will be interesting to see if there's a noticeable drop in quality when I'm not feeling at my sharpest mentally.
In case I don't get time to post anything tomorrow, Happy New Year to everyone and all the best for you and yours in 2009!
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