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
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
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!
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
New Story: No. 4 of 52 - The Pathologist
This work is licenced under a Creative Commons Licence.
The Pathologist
By Daniel Brown
The pathologist looked at the corpse laid out on the table, neatly dissected with the internal organs properly positioned. He approved of the spotlessness of the lungs, the lack of inflammation or fatty tissue around the liver. It was obvious to his experienced eye that this young woman had enjoyed a clean, healthy existence. He had no doubt that stomach contents and toxicology would come back clear. He stripped off his apron, gloves and scrubs. His erection growing as he left his victims kitchen, he admired his work once more, certain the media were right to christen him the pathologist.
-END-
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
The Dark Knight, Drabbling and Seasons Greetings
After finishing "Hanging Around", I decided to treat myself to a film night and a few hours of random web surfing. During this time I managed to learn quite a few things.
Being the first... Even cynical, film-savvy souls like myself can be reduced to quivering in the afterglow of a multiple nerd-gasm by the sheer, mind altering brilliance of the late Heath Ledger's performance as The Joker.
I rarely go to the cinema anymore, finding the expense, the travelling (the nearest convenient cinema to where I live is fifteen miles away. I don't drive. This makes it a Day Out rather than a spur of the moment thing.), the uncomfortable seating and the sheer irritation of a bunch of strangers coughing, belching, whispering and rustling sweet wrappers during the film to detract too much from my enjoyment of the particular film I've gone to see. I usually wait for the DVD. Since I have a good imagination, the big screen doesn't really add that much to the experience anyway.
This being the case, I waited until after The Dark Knight was released on DVD on the 8th of December. (I think I missed an email, since that appeared to be national geek day in the UK. TDK, Hellboy 2 and Star Wars: The Clone Wars all being released simultaneously) Anyway... I put in the DVD and sat back with my arms folded, figuratively speaking, expecting not to be blown away by the performance of Mr Ledger. I still remember clearly the artificial outpourings of faux grief for the death of Princess Diana, and honestly thought that a similar vein of Respect-For-The-Dead sycophancy was responsible for the endless stream of superlatives thrown at his portrayal of the The Joker. To say that I was wrong is to go far beyond understatement. If you haven't seen this film already I can't recommend it highly enough.
Secundus... During my random web surfing I learned of a thing called the Drabble. This is a form of writing that was particularly popular in the genre scene of the late eighties. The basic idea is to tell a complete and coherent story in exactly one hundred words. (The title is exempt from the word count, read the full wikipedia entry here) The Drabble seems, in my eyes at least, to get to the very essence of storytelling. All that is extraneous must stripped away, leaving nothing behind but the briefest of brief descriptions of what happened. With luck, the story that remains resembles poetry, the verbose, prosaic equivalent of a haiku. My own attempt at this will be posted as this week's entry on Wednesday. (It's the holidays, I'd like to spend at least some time with my loved ones.)
C. It turns out that I do have an ego about my writing. I googled the name of my blog and found myself disappointed that I wasn't even original in naming the thing, let alone the idea behind it. On the bright side, I seem to be the only one who is carrying it through (up until now) by posting a story once a week. Go me! (week one is here, two is here and three is here)
iiii. That I've run out of things to post, but like the gag of labeling each thing on the list from a different listing convention.
5... See, what I mean?
Merry Christmas!
Being the first... Even cynical, film-savvy souls like myself can be reduced to quivering in the afterglow of a multiple nerd-gasm by the sheer, mind altering brilliance of the late Heath Ledger's performance as The Joker.
I rarely go to the cinema anymore, finding the expense, the travelling (the nearest convenient cinema to where I live is fifteen miles away. I don't drive. This makes it a Day Out rather than a spur of the moment thing.), the uncomfortable seating and the sheer irritation of a bunch of strangers coughing, belching, whispering and rustling sweet wrappers during the film to detract too much from my enjoyment of the particular film I've gone to see. I usually wait for the DVD. Since I have a good imagination, the big screen doesn't really add that much to the experience anyway.
This being the case, I waited until after The Dark Knight was released on DVD on the 8th of December. (I think I missed an email, since that appeared to be national geek day in the UK. TDK, Hellboy 2 and Star Wars: The Clone Wars all being released simultaneously) Anyway... I put in the DVD and sat back with my arms folded, figuratively speaking, expecting not to be blown away by the performance of Mr Ledger. I still remember clearly the artificial outpourings of faux grief for the death of Princess Diana, and honestly thought that a similar vein of Respect-For-The-Dead sycophancy was responsible for the endless stream of superlatives thrown at his portrayal of the The Joker. To say that I was wrong is to go far beyond understatement. If you haven't seen this film already I can't recommend it highly enough.
Secundus... During my random web surfing I learned of a thing called the Drabble. This is a form of writing that was particularly popular in the genre scene of the late eighties. The basic idea is to tell a complete and coherent story in exactly one hundred words. (The title is exempt from the word count, read the full wikipedia entry here) The Drabble seems, in my eyes at least, to get to the very essence of storytelling. All that is extraneous must stripped away, leaving nothing behind but the briefest of brief descriptions of what happened. With luck, the story that remains resembles poetry, the verbose, prosaic equivalent of a haiku. My own attempt at this will be posted as this week's entry on Wednesday. (It's the holidays, I'd like to spend at least some time with my loved ones.)
C. It turns out that I do have an ego about my writing. I googled the name of my blog and found myself disappointed that I wasn't even original in naming the thing, let alone the idea behind it. On the bright side, I seem to be the only one who is carrying it through (up until now) by posting a story once a week. Go me! (week one is here, two is here and three is here)
iiii. That I've run out of things to post, but like the gag of labeling each thing on the list from a different listing convention.
5... See, what I mean?
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, 20 December 2008
New Story: No. 3 of 52 - Hanging Around
Apologies for the delay, the story should have been posted hours ago. Unfortunately my internet connection was temporarily borked, something that's been happening a lot lately. Anyway, it's back on now and the new story titled "Hanging Around" is up as a post on the story only blog here.
I have to admit that it's been a lot of fun writing it, despite my uncertainty over where to stop telling the story of Grahams evening. As luck would have it I think I chose the right place, since delving any further into Graham's life at that particular point would have made me... uncomfortable shall we say. It's a problem I may have to get over one day, but hopefully not for a while as that's one area I can honestly say I'm not cheerful about tackling. It's not that I'm a prude, far from it, just that I'm not sure a writer as green as I am right now is able to convey a scene of that nature with any degree of subtlety or finesse.
As usual, the work is published under a Creative Commons license, so feel free to share it around if you like it. If you do like it, (or even if you don't) feel free to comment, since feedback is the only way I can find out if I'm doing things well or badly.
http://fifty-two-stories-lite.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-story-no-3-of-52-hanging-around.html
I have to admit that it's been a lot of fun writing it, despite my uncertainty over where to stop telling the story of Grahams evening. As luck would have it I think I chose the right place, since delving any further into Graham's life at that particular point would have made me... uncomfortable shall we say. It's a problem I may have to get over one day, but hopefully not for a while as that's one area I can honestly say I'm not cheerful about tackling. It's not that I'm a prude, far from it, just that I'm not sure a writer as green as I am right now is able to convey a scene of that nature with any degree of subtlety or finesse.
As usual, the work is published under a Creative Commons license, so feel free to share it around if you like it. If you do like it, (or even if you don't) feel free to comment, since feedback is the only way I can find out if I'm doing things well or badly.
http://fifty-two-stories-lite.blogspot.com/2008/12/new-story-no-3-of-52-hanging-around.html
Always Leave 'Em Wanting More... (them being me)
I'm over the finish line at last, I'm just busy putting the final spit and polish onto Hanging Around and it will be up in a couple of hours. Curiously, the one story I've written from life (in general, not in specifics) is the one I've found the most difficult to end satisfactorily. I suppose that's because the kind of stuff that happens in real life doesn't lend itself well to traditional narrative structure.
A concept piece is as much about the event as it is about the people, so anything that isn't moving the plot forward or informing the character's actions, be it immediate or at the denouement is extraneous. The character exists as something to hang that idea you're so in love with on, rather than as a thinking or feeling person in their own right who moves the story in unexpected directions.
For something rooted more firmly in everyday life, the idea of a beginning, middle and an end is a touch more problematic, particularly in the short form. Life doesn't work like that, so the story can't either. You have to jump in at the middle, wander along with the person for a while and then stop, and right there is the problem. Where do you stop telling what happened to this person? If there isn't an overarching plot you can find yourself droning on for much longer than is necessary, so you just have to find somewhere and say to yourself "Enough" and that point can feel pretty arbitrary. All you can do then is put it out there, hoping that any others who read it agree that you stopped at the right time. Give me a little time and you can judge for yourselves.
A concept piece is as much about the event as it is about the people, so anything that isn't moving the plot forward or informing the character's actions, be it immediate or at the denouement is extraneous. The character exists as something to hang that idea you're so in love with on, rather than as a thinking or feeling person in their own right who moves the story in unexpected directions.
For something rooted more firmly in everyday life, the idea of a beginning, middle and an end is a touch more problematic, particularly in the short form. Life doesn't work like that, so the story can't either. You have to jump in at the middle, wander along with the person for a while and then stop, and right there is the problem. Where do you stop telling what happened to this person? If there isn't an overarching plot you can find yourself droning on for much longer than is necessary, so you just have to find somewhere and say to yourself "Enough" and that point can feel pretty arbitrary. All you can do then is put it out there, hoping that any others who read it agree that you stopped at the right time. Give me a little time and you can judge for yourselves.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Almost At The Finishing Line...
Almost Ready with Hanging Around, just a few kinks with the ending to iron out then it will be up over at fifty-two-stories-lite.
As a trite maxim "Write What You Know" has stood me in good stead with this story, although like all old wives tales it has only limited usefulness. After all the majority of people capable of thinking outside the terms of their own existence don't want to read what they know. If this weren't the case, there wouldn't be any room for Robert E. Howard, J.G. Ballard, Kurt Vonnegut, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Margaret Atwood, Neil Gaiman or any of the countless other writers from the pulp-ish to the Pulitzer winners the bad to the Booker nominated (although those two aren't mutually exclusive!).
I know that my tastes as a reader tend towards the fantastic, be it the epic vistas of Middle Earth or the hyperactive lunacy of Carl Hiassen's Florida, the dreamlike orient of Journey To The West or the nightmare future of Orwell's 1984. If every writer only wrote what they know, the literary world would be a much drier and less exciting place. All that being said, it has been a pleasure to write from experience, rather than madly trying to get inside the heads of people so far removed from my own emotional make up. There's probably a lesson in there somewhere, but I need another couple of cups of tea before I can figure out what it is.
As a trite maxim "Write What You Know" has stood me in good stead with this story, although like all old wives tales it has only limited usefulness. After all the majority of people capable of thinking outside the terms of their own existence don't want to read what they know. If this weren't the case, there wouldn't be any room for Robert E. Howard, J.G. Ballard, Kurt Vonnegut, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, Margaret Atwood, Neil Gaiman or any of the countless other writers from the pulp-ish to the Pulitzer winners the bad to the Booker nominated (although those two aren't mutually exclusive!).
I know that my tastes as a reader tend towards the fantastic, be it the epic vistas of Middle Earth or the hyperactive lunacy of Carl Hiassen's Florida, the dreamlike orient of Journey To The West or the nightmare future of Orwell's 1984. If every writer only wrote what they know, the literary world would be a much drier and less exciting place. All that being said, it has been a pleasure to write from experience, rather than madly trying to get inside the heads of people so far removed from my own emotional make up. There's probably a lesson in there somewhere, but I need another couple of cups of tea before I can figure out what it is.
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