I have managed to write a short story... I think. The piece comes in within the 2,500-3,000 word limit (at 2,999) and I have tried to make it so that it feels self-contained. There is, I believe, a beginning, a middle and an end. But does that a short story make? Is there some special magic ingredient that I have somehow missed? Because for all that it feels complete to me, I'm worried that it feels like the beginning of a story to the reader.
This seems to be a problem with other attempts at short stories in the past - that what I'd hoped sounded like the end actually seems to be the beginning of a much longer piece. Goodness knows I prefer writing something with a 100k word limit but that just isn't an option this time.
It seems I just don't know how to shut up. I wonder whether I pick the wrong subjects? This story I've written began life as a description of an exotic marketplace and ended up about a magical war and oppressive rulers and a falling city. This highlights two observations (problems?) I have noticed with my writing:
1) I pick very large themes for my work no matter how much I try to keep it small
and
2) I end up writing fantasy whether I intend to or not.
In Publishing Project lessons this semester the idea of an 'unalterable core as a writer' has come up a couple of times - in what seems to be a developing theme at the moment, I didn't have a clue what to say - but although it seems unlikely that these two points count under that weighty heading, they do at least show something consistent in my writing. What that says about me, I have no idea.
But that's not really my point ("She has a point??") - the fact is that these two things make short stories rather difficult, or at least the first point does. The small or the mundane don't interest me when I read so they sure as heck aren't going to interest me enough to write about them. I honestly don't know how to write about them. No matter how much I try to make a story out of something tiny it always ends up exploding into some high-flung extravagant adventure romp thing. Most inconvenient when you've only got 3,000 words.
I guess I'll have to send it off to the editors and see what they say and try to write another in the meantime. Fingers crossed.
And, if she should happen to read this drivel I be pouring onto the interwebs, a big thank you to Lady Laura for reading and so kindly commenting on my story. And for driving today. (But if you can't see, I really don't mind taking a turn).
Off to go and find reality not boring... hmmm, wish me luck...
Tuesday, 29 March 2011
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
The non-holidays are approaching...
...and I have so much to do - and so little motivation!
A classic example is this here blog. I glanced back at my previous post and - to my horror - saw that I wrote it on the 5th March. No, I don't have anything against the 5th March - I'm sure it's a perfectly pleasant date - but that means it's over TWO WEEKS since I last wrote and that is just ridiculous. So much for my resolution to write every few days.
But anyway, here I am, trying to turn over a new leaf etc etc.
Incidentally, the Easter hols will be 'non-holidays' because I seem to have more work to do as soon as they start than what I have had thus far during term-time. Or is that me just being poor at planning?
Our first 'Litmus' anthology deadline is approaching. We need to have sent all of our potential pieces to our respective editors by 8th April. That means me writing two short stories by that ominous date. And considering I've only written two short stories in my entire life I think I have just cause to be somewhat apprehensive. I've written a small chunk of one - it is turning out to be filled with all my usual cheeriness: blood, death and so on. Lovely stuff.
The second story, however, is still cowering in some dark corner of the nether-worlds, terrified at whatever monstrosity I'll turn it into.
I'd intended to write a short story for this because it makes so much more sense than submitting part of a novel. It is much better for the reader to have something complete and I know that I would feel frustrated to read part of a story. This was then made a rule for submission - all stories must be complete. And suddenly the thing seems so much harder, because what if (as has happened in the past) I intend it to be a short story but readers/editors think it sounds like the beginning of a longer piece? Then it will be deemed illegal in Litmus Land.
I guess I'll just have to give it a go and hope for the best.
At the end of my previous blog I had intended to write something a bit jollier. Alas, I don't think I've achieved it - although on the up side, at least I'm only whinging about my work rather than my whole life. Woohoo!
Also, in relation to the task mentioned in the last post, Carole agreed that I have no life. Hey, at least I was right!
A classic example is this here blog. I glanced back at my previous post and - to my horror - saw that I wrote it on the 5th March. No, I don't have anything against the 5th March - I'm sure it's a perfectly pleasant date - but that means it's over TWO WEEKS since I last wrote and that is just ridiculous. So much for my resolution to write every few days.
But anyway, here I am, trying to turn over a new leaf etc etc.
Incidentally, the Easter hols will be 'non-holidays' because I seem to have more work to do as soon as they start than what I have had thus far during term-time. Or is that me just being poor at planning?
Our first 'Litmus' anthology deadline is approaching. We need to have sent all of our potential pieces to our respective editors by 8th April. That means me writing two short stories by that ominous date. And considering I've only written two short stories in my entire life I think I have just cause to be somewhat apprehensive. I've written a small chunk of one - it is turning out to be filled with all my usual cheeriness: blood, death and so on. Lovely stuff.
The second story, however, is still cowering in some dark corner of the nether-worlds, terrified at whatever monstrosity I'll turn it into.
I'd intended to write a short story for this because it makes so much more sense than submitting part of a novel. It is much better for the reader to have something complete and I know that I would feel frustrated to read part of a story. This was then made a rule for submission - all stories must be complete. And suddenly the thing seems so much harder, because what if (as has happened in the past) I intend it to be a short story but readers/editors think it sounds like the beginning of a longer piece? Then it will be deemed illegal in Litmus Land.
I guess I'll just have to give it a go and hope for the best.
At the end of my previous blog I had intended to write something a bit jollier. Alas, I don't think I've achieved it - although on the up side, at least I'm only whinging about my work rather than my whole life. Woohoo!
Also, in relation to the task mentioned in the last post, Carole agreed that I have no life. Hey, at least I was right!
Saturday, 5 March 2011
What if I don't have a story yet?
I've been meaning to write a blog for several days now and have quite thoroughly failed at it. It wasn't as if I didn't have plenty to write about - on the contrary.
I had thought about writing a review of the last of the Sebastian Faulks series with his episode about 'the villain'.
There was Tuesday's Publishing Project session where we heard Marcus Sedgwick talk; an evening that was both enjoyable and informative.
I could have talked about the ongoing 'My Life in Books' series or about World Book Night which the programme is based around and the implications of the event on booksellers.
I could even have pondered over what I was going to say in next Tuesday's lesson. We have to define what 'Our Stories' are - to devise an interesting story from our lives which would be a great selling point for a publisher.
Ah, perhaps it was this last thought which silenced my fingers. That and the general feeling of hopelessness which creeps into my soul drop by drop during pretty much every lesson I have this semester: that sense of despair that, given how heartbreakingly difficult (i.e. near-impossible) it is to get published, why the heck am I even bothering?
Because the fact of the matter is that I don't have a story. I have thus far lived what could quite accurately be called one of the most boring lives in history. What could I possibly say that wouldn't send everyone listening into a state of unconsciousness from the sheer mediocrity of it?
It's not like I'm wishing for something tragic in my life - far from it. I love my life which is precisely why I haven't felt the need to do something mad or dangerous or 'defining'. I haven't felt the urge that other people my age did during college and uni to get smashed out of my brain on alcohol and/or drugs, sleep with random strangers, wake up in a puddle of my own vomit, regret everything and swear never to do it again, then do it all the same in a few nights time. I really must be some sort of social moron that, for some reason, this really sounds very unappealing.
So what do I say when everyone turns to me expectantly, waiting for some charming anecdote which shaped my very existence.
'Um....'
I literally can't think of anything to say. At all. Nada. Zilch.
Why is it necessary for me to have done anything? The very fact that I spend so much of my time writing about made-up stuff is surely because I live so much in my head. Quite frankly, if I'd done all these exciting things which Carole is expecting I wouldn't have had time to write anyway, and would therefore not be on the course in the first place. I'd be off saving baby leopards in Africa or something. (Do leopards even come from Africa?)
So my plan at the moment is to sit in dumb silence. Unless I can do something life-changing in the next 3 days. Wish me luck.
I've heard that the titles of these entries are somehow important in some way (I don't know how, dinosaurs don't do computers) so my randomness shall have to disappear. Alas.
My, what a cheery blog post this was. I'll try to do better next time.
I had thought about writing a review of the last of the Sebastian Faulks series with his episode about 'the villain'.
There was Tuesday's Publishing Project session where we heard Marcus Sedgwick talk; an evening that was both enjoyable and informative.
I could have talked about the ongoing 'My Life in Books' series or about World Book Night which the programme is based around and the implications of the event on booksellers.
I could even have pondered over what I was going to say in next Tuesday's lesson. We have to define what 'Our Stories' are - to devise an interesting story from our lives which would be a great selling point for a publisher.
Ah, perhaps it was this last thought which silenced my fingers. That and the general feeling of hopelessness which creeps into my soul drop by drop during pretty much every lesson I have this semester: that sense of despair that, given how heartbreakingly difficult (i.e. near-impossible) it is to get published, why the heck am I even bothering?
Because the fact of the matter is that I don't have a story. I have thus far lived what could quite accurately be called one of the most boring lives in history. What could I possibly say that wouldn't send everyone listening into a state of unconsciousness from the sheer mediocrity of it?
It's not like I'm wishing for something tragic in my life - far from it. I love my life which is precisely why I haven't felt the need to do something mad or dangerous or 'defining'. I haven't felt the urge that other people my age did during college and uni to get smashed out of my brain on alcohol and/or drugs, sleep with random strangers, wake up in a puddle of my own vomit, regret everything and swear never to do it again, then do it all the same in a few nights time. I really must be some sort of social moron that, for some reason, this really sounds very unappealing.
So what do I say when everyone turns to me expectantly, waiting for some charming anecdote which shaped my very existence.
'Um....'
I literally can't think of anything to say. At all. Nada. Zilch.
Why is it necessary for me to have done anything? The very fact that I spend so much of my time writing about made-up stuff is surely because I live so much in my head. Quite frankly, if I'd done all these exciting things which Carole is expecting I wouldn't have had time to write anyway, and would therefore not be on the course in the first place. I'd be off saving baby leopards in Africa or something. (Do leopards even come from Africa?)
So my plan at the moment is to sit in dumb silence. Unless I can do something life-changing in the next 3 days. Wish me luck.
I've heard that the titles of these entries are somehow important in some way (I don't know how, dinosaurs don't do computers) so my randomness shall have to disappear. Alas.
My, what a cheery blog post this was. I'll try to do better next time.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Look at me, I'm a target!
I've been watching 'My Life in Books' this week on BBC2 and have to say I've rather enjoyed it. When I first read what the show was about I set it to series record but did expect to find some of it a bit dull - I am happy to say that this dullness never materialised.
It's clear that the guests they have on each day really are passionate about books which is lovely - there's nothing worse than some minor celebrity pretending to be all 'learned and cultural' just to get publicity. The books the guests chose were varied and interesting. Greek classics seem to be turning up more often than I expected, leading me to believe that I really ought to get round to reading one at some point. My younger brother is putting me to shame by reading The Odyssey at the moment - I'll have to borrow his copy.
I found Giles and Sue (on Tuesday) particularly entertaining but then I've watched many of their food programmes which are, quite frankly, hilarious. I was a little mystified, however, by Sue's description of Jane Austen as everyone getting consumption and fainting. People are quite welcome to dislike Austen if they wish but I have to say I cannot remember anyone in the six completed novels getting consumption and cannot recall any frequency of fainting either. (This will be horribly embarrassing if, after posting, I suddenly remember something and it turns out Sue was actually referring to real passages).
Oh dear, Austen rant again. Thankfully only a mini one today.
Anyway, the series continues next week (yay!) with some very interesting guests. Jeanette Winterson, for instance, is on Tuesday I believe. I only hope that, for once, my digibox decides it actually quite fancies working and will actually record the timings set. That would be very nice indeed.
Today's title is because I forget how much Doctor Who makes me laugh.
It's clear that the guests they have on each day really are passionate about books which is lovely - there's nothing worse than some minor celebrity pretending to be all 'learned and cultural' just to get publicity. The books the guests chose were varied and interesting. Greek classics seem to be turning up more often than I expected, leading me to believe that I really ought to get round to reading one at some point. My younger brother is putting me to shame by reading The Odyssey at the moment - I'll have to borrow his copy.
I found Giles and Sue (on Tuesday) particularly entertaining but then I've watched many of their food programmes which are, quite frankly, hilarious. I was a little mystified, however, by Sue's description of Jane Austen as everyone getting consumption and fainting. People are quite welcome to dislike Austen if they wish but I have to say I cannot remember anyone in the six completed novels getting consumption and cannot recall any frequency of fainting either. (This will be horribly embarrassing if, after posting, I suddenly remember something and it turns out Sue was actually referring to real passages).
Oh dear, Austen rant again. Thankfully only a mini one today.
Anyway, the series continues next week (yay!) with some very interesting guests. Jeanette Winterson, for instance, is on Tuesday I believe. I only hope that, for once, my digibox decides it actually quite fancies working and will actually record the timings set. That would be very nice indeed.
Today's title is because I forget how much Doctor Who makes me laugh.
Monday, 21 February 2011
The elbows are never wrong
I have been watching the series 'Faulks on Fiction' these past few weeks with varying levels of enthusiasm. For the most part I enjoy the debate about characters and rejoice that there is something on television that doesn't involve a panel of judges or Katie Price.
There's a part of my brain that says I shouldn't be disagreeing with someone like Sebastian Faulks - he being a well-respected, famous, published author after all - but in each episode I'm finding something to gripe about. These annoyances also tend to grow somewhat after reading critical responses/reviews of the series in various places around the net. Accusations of sexism, for instance (specifically in relation to his show on 'The Hero') made me rethink the episode but I'm trying my best to form my own opinions.
On the whole I tend to find my attention waning a little by the time the end of the show comes but I think this is more due to my taste than to any fault with the programme - my interest has been nineteenth-century fiction for a while now and I'm more familiar with the works of Jane Austen than with, for example, Alan Hollinghurst.
The faults I dare to find tend to be small details - the implication (although not stated fact) that Robinson Crusoe was the first novel irked me a little, having been informed on numerous exuberant occasions during my undergraduate that Aphra Behn (who, incidentally, was already dead by the time Robinson appeared) penned the first works called 'novels'.
There was also the part, in the second of the series, where Mr Darcy was deemed (among other things) 'humourless'. Darcy is certainly not my favourite of the Austen men but I would never say he was without a sense of humour - his lively exchanges with the heroine, after all, show his love of her teasing. A man without humour would surely find her behaviour offensive, not enchanting. Then there was the somewhat tiresome conclusion that Darcy must have been suffering from a mental illness (at least it didn't go so far as to suggest he had Asperger's Syndrome). Of course there's nothing wrong with a character suffering from a mental illness but why is there such a sudden fascination with diagnosing characters? Can't poor Mr D just be a bit of a grump sometimes?
Oh dear: get me on the subject of Jane Austen and I just start ranting.
The last in the series is coming up and I hope I can find more positive in it next time. My worry is that now I will only be looking for negative, which is never a good thing.
Today's title is for weather-predicting-limbs everywhere.
There's a part of my brain that says I shouldn't be disagreeing with someone like Sebastian Faulks - he being a well-respected, famous, published author after all - but in each episode I'm finding something to gripe about. These annoyances also tend to grow somewhat after reading critical responses/reviews of the series in various places around the net. Accusations of sexism, for instance (specifically in relation to his show on 'The Hero') made me rethink the episode but I'm trying my best to form my own opinions.
On the whole I tend to find my attention waning a little by the time the end of the show comes but I think this is more due to my taste than to any fault with the programme - my interest has been nineteenth-century fiction for a while now and I'm more familiar with the works of Jane Austen than with, for example, Alan Hollinghurst.
The faults I dare to find tend to be small details - the implication (although not stated fact) that Robinson Crusoe was the first novel irked me a little, having been informed on numerous exuberant occasions during my undergraduate that Aphra Behn (who, incidentally, was already dead by the time Robinson appeared) penned the first works called 'novels'.
There was also the part, in the second of the series, where Mr Darcy was deemed (among other things) 'humourless'. Darcy is certainly not my favourite of the Austen men but I would never say he was without a sense of humour - his lively exchanges with the heroine, after all, show his love of her teasing. A man without humour would surely find her behaviour offensive, not enchanting. Then there was the somewhat tiresome conclusion that Darcy must have been suffering from a mental illness (at least it didn't go so far as to suggest he had Asperger's Syndrome). Of course there's nothing wrong with a character suffering from a mental illness but why is there such a sudden fascination with diagnosing characters? Can't poor Mr D just be a bit of a grump sometimes?
Oh dear: get me on the subject of Jane Austen and I just start ranting.
The last in the series is coming up and I hope I can find more positive in it next time. My worry is that now I will only be looking for negative, which is never a good thing.
Today's title is for weather-predicting-limbs everywhere.
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Allergic to running
I had my second 'Publishing Project' session yesterday. We were mostly talking about blogs and websites relating to the world of literature etc etc and I got my first view of what Twitter looks like (and no, I wasn't inspired to sign up).
Some of the sites seemed better than others. A lot of the blogs are quite interesting but - as was pointed out in class - it sounds like Twitter needs to be monitored pretty much constantly because otherwise you'll miss something. Sounds a bit dull to be honest. I'm sure not even the most interesting person has something enlightening to declare every hour of the day.
We also talked some about the threat to books due to the increase in digitalisation of texts and so on. I've been hearing about all this for a while. Sometimes I think that maybe the book is going the way of the dinosaur (or the cassette tape or video player) but at other times I can't believe it at all. Books have been around for a lot longer than either of those things (the tapes and videos, not the dinosaurs) and I can't see them being totally replaced for things like those stupid kindle contraptions.
Perhaps I just move in very atypical circles but I've never heard anyone say that they prefer reading from a screen over reading from a book. I know I certainly don't but then I am a dinosaur so I guess my views don't often go with the masses.
I had a prime example yesterday of why old-fashioned, plodding-along books are so much better than computerised whatsit-doofers. I was in the library at uni trying to log onto a computer. I tried wiggling the mouse, using the keyboard, pressing various on/off buttons several times (which only liked to point out that they'd noticed the first time after I'd done it the second time, so I'd end up switching off what I'd just switched on) and so on, taking ages to come to life and finally load to a screen I could actually use. It ended up taking at least ten minutes for me to get the bloody thing to work.
And what did I do in that intervening time? I reached in my bag, pulled out a book, opened it and started reading. What's so difficult about that? Nothing, that's what. Which is why I own over 400 books and NO KINDLE.
I do, however, obviously own a computer. A desktop one, for the single reason that they are (and I quote) "easier to fix" - because I think I've broken four laptops to date.
Long live the dinosaur.
Today's title is what I concluded after running for two trains and one sister.
Some of the sites seemed better than others. A lot of the blogs are quite interesting but - as was pointed out in class - it sounds like Twitter needs to be monitored pretty much constantly because otherwise you'll miss something. Sounds a bit dull to be honest. I'm sure not even the most interesting person has something enlightening to declare every hour of the day.
We also talked some about the threat to books due to the increase in digitalisation of texts and so on. I've been hearing about all this for a while. Sometimes I think that maybe the book is going the way of the dinosaur (or the cassette tape or video player) but at other times I can't believe it at all. Books have been around for a lot longer than either of those things (the tapes and videos, not the dinosaurs) and I can't see them being totally replaced for things like those stupid kindle contraptions.
Perhaps I just move in very atypical circles but I've never heard anyone say that they prefer reading from a screen over reading from a book. I know I certainly don't but then I am a dinosaur so I guess my views don't often go with the masses.
I had a prime example yesterday of why old-fashioned, plodding-along books are so much better than computerised whatsit-doofers. I was in the library at uni trying to log onto a computer. I tried wiggling the mouse, using the keyboard, pressing various on/off buttons several times (which only liked to point out that they'd noticed the first time after I'd done it the second time, so I'd end up switching off what I'd just switched on) and so on, taking ages to come to life and finally load to a screen I could actually use. It ended up taking at least ten minutes for me to get the bloody thing to work.
And what did I do in that intervening time? I reached in my bag, pulled out a book, opened it and started reading. What's so difficult about that? Nothing, that's what. Which is why I own over 400 books and NO KINDLE.
I do, however, obviously own a computer. A desktop one, for the single reason that they are (and I quote) "easier to fix" - because I think I've broken four laptops to date.
Long live the dinosaur.
Today's title is what I concluded after running for two trains and one sister.
Monday, 14 February 2011
How are the tomatoes getting along?
Yesterday I started exploring the Tin House website (www.tinhouse.com/home) hoping to find some magnificent inspiration and/or instructions which would show me how to write short stories. In my life I have only ever written three short stories because, on the whole, I just don't know when to shut up. Whenever I write fiction it always seems to end up being the beginning of a novel.
Alas, no such wonder-cure for my excessive word counts materialised (or at least none that my dinosaur-like brain could uncover, damn you technology!) but I did come across a very interesting blog about none other than the female-male ratio I nattered about in my last blog. I appear to have accidently developed a theme to my internet research. How clever of me.
I remembered this morning (to my horror) that I'm supposed to talk about my internet wanderings in tomorrow's session for FIVE WHOLE MINUTES - if you think about it, that is rather a long time to talk continuously about something. I'd been previously working on the assumption that I'd give a brief run-down on what I'd found out (probably on my newly-discovered theme of lots-of-people-talking-about-women) but on reflection I realised that this would probably take all of about thirty seconds to relate.
So now I'm starting to panic a little bit and will have to find something more in-depth to say. Maybe I could just bring along a load of statistics and read them out really slowly.
Will have to give that one a ponder.
Today's title is for my apparently greenhouse-like bedroom. Perhaps I should buy some citrus trees.
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