XXX BEGIN LOG 1 XXXOK. So apparently, I'm supposed to be recording these to help with my mental state or whatever, so here goes. First, I need to start by saying I don't know my real name, my birth planet or what happened to me to cause my horrible injuries. Everything beyond a few days ago is gone. I don’t mean a hazy blur which might come back over time. It is simply gone; as if no memories were ever there. They don’t know if it’s the trauma of the accident, being so long without an adequate oxygen supply or a chemical or radiation exposure. Either way, my past is a void. I woke up about a week ago. I don’t remember much around this time except for the worried faces of the technicians as they wrenched the door from my escape pod and the agonising length of time it took the doctors to pull me out of my ruined capsule. My injuries were, well are, severe; I've lost both of my legs and one of my arms, not to mention the burns and missing flesh. They had to be painstakingly careful not to cause too much damage getting me out. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness, so I didn't feel the pain at the time. I'm told one of the GSPK transport ships noticed my faint beacon while performing a routine scan of the area and drifted past to investigate. They matched the signal to a specially coded GSPK SOS, probably the only reason they helped me, but they've no idea who I am or where I came from, fat lot of use they are! The doctors here have given me the name Marshal, after pulling me out of the pod wearing the remains of a Sheriffs uniform, and fixed me up with new bionic legs and an arm, I ought to be grateful, but nothing in this galaxy is free. They've told me I've got to work off my debt. Going to take me decades, the amount of tech they've fitted me out with but it’s not like I've got a choice is it? I can see a planet outside of the small window I've got in my room so I know I'm still on the space station but beyond that, and the fact it’s a GSPK hub, I've no idea where I am. Don't even know what the planets called, or the station for that matter. It’s taking me a while to get used to the new appendages; I’m not allowed to spend more than an hour a day using them so as not to put too much stress on my healing body. I can’t wait for the day when I can walk around again although at this point I'm not even allowed out of my room. I haven’t heard a great deal of noise out there beyond the sounds of the medical staff and the general noises of the station itself, so I’m not sure there’s any reason to leave anyway. Going to sign off now. They're coming in to check on me again. XXX END LOG 1 XXX
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Where The Hell Have I Been?OK, so you may have noticed this blog being pretty dark for the past er... six months! Well, its not because I have been sat with my feet up watching movies and playing games (well, not all the time). I have been tirelessly slaving away at the keyboard to bring you my next piece of work. So here goes... I am pleased to announce my new book is available for pre-order on Amazon! Whoop! Whoop! Fanfare etc The ParticularsYou can find the blurb and first chapter of the book here (as Amazon doesn't preview until the book is actually for sale, rather than just on pre-order) If you like books about broken heroes, cutting edge technology, shady government agencies and a good old mystery then this is your next great read! The official release date is 17th November so shout it from the rooftops, tell your friends and tell your friends to tell their friends! The Givaway Bit!As a special pre-order bonus, I’ve got 25 copies of my first book, Overlord of Time, to give away! To enter simply email me a copy of your pre-order receipt to [email protected] and retweet the pinned tweet on @BoldyCraig (Winners selected at random from email) Giveaway will end 23:59 (UK time) 16th November Winners will be contacted by the end of November. By entering, you are opting in to becoming part of my mailing list! Mwhu ha ha ha! But This is Only Part One?!That's right The Infiltrator: Part Two will be available in 2019 and will be the culmination of this thrilling story, so stay with me for teasers etc in the coming months
Don't forget to pre-order, enter the competition and then tell everyone you know to enter the competition too Welcome back, dear Blog Reader. First, I have to apologise. I seem to have recently fallen into the dreaded black hole of putting-off-stuff and hadn’t realised it'd been six weeks since my last post, which is ironic considering this post all about overcoming procrastination. If time were a species, then it would be at war with the Nation of Procrasi. One of my most significant faults is I am a master procrastinator, generally leaving things until the last minute if not ten minutes after the last minute. It's something I'm working on, but it severely affects my creativity and desire to write sometimes. However, please don’t mistake this for writer's block. I have plenty of things to write about; it's just getting the time to sit and press these plastic buttons, which seems to elude me. Oh well, let's have a look at some of the reasons and, hopefully, some solutions to the time old problem. In my opinion, there are various reasons why you might feel the need to procrastinate, and I will try to suggest solutions which have worked for me. Fear or Dislike of the Task or Outcome So, Mark Twain famously said “If it's your job to eat a frog, it's best to do it first thing in the morning. And If it's your job to eat two frogs, it's best to eat the biggest one first.” For those of us who don’t know what this means, imagine you are a visitor to a new world and you are presented with a table of food. It is covered with all of your favourite foods and a live frog. You have to eat everything on the table, including the frog. Most of us will put off eating the frog until the last, from fear of the taste, which will inevitably cast a shadow over all of the other great things on the table. The best thing to do is to eat the frog fist, thereby getting the worst task out of the way as soon as possible and, once done, you are free to enjoy the rest of the table without having to worry about the frog anymore. It’s a very simplistic description of the problem but I like it, and best of all, I use it. Stay with me here because I'm going to maths it out here. I'm going to use Stress Points here. Say the task you don’t like is worth 100 stress points and each hour you put it off adds another 5 stress points to it. Start the task right away = 100 SP Procrastinate for 24 hours and then do the task anyway = 220 SP (100 + 24*5) Which is better for your overall stress levels? Something More Interesting To DoThis one is a little difficult as there are only two ways to overcome this. Either absorb as much entertainment as you can until you find everything a mere shadow or retelling of something you have seen before, rendering all further interesting things completely uninteresting, or have a little willpower. Our household used to be a subscriber to Sky TV. Over the last year or so we have been watching less and less TV so decided to cancel the subscription and see how we go with only Freeview and Netflix. As it happens, the only difference between having a thousand channels to choose from and only a hundred is now it takes us much less time to realise there is nothing on TV and move over to Netflix. That being said, if you truly love writing, feel the need to express your opinion to the world or simply just enjoy typing, then you will, at some point, realise you would rather be doing nothing else. Some people understand this more quickly than others do, but I believe we all get there in the end. Lack of ResultsEverybody loves results. If you think about page views or book sales, then anyone with an ounce of sense will prefer the graph getting higher and higher every day. A lack of any result for your work is an incredibly de-motivating proposition. Even though I’m not new to this, I still get excited and motivated when my dashboard says someone has deemed my book worthy of the price and made a purchase, and equally as de-motivated and demoralised when there are gaps in the sales. Let’s face it, out of a 100% chance, the chances of me becoming a famous author like one of my favourites is about 1%, and that’s probably ridiculously generous. The chances of me making enough from writing to make this my full-time job is about 9% and the remaining 90% is the chance it stays as a pleasant little hobby. To keep motivated I look to the future. Even if I get nowhere, I’ve achieved something which few people manage. Writing one book is an achievement in itself, let alone the six or so I have planned or the ones which come to me during the time of writing those six. Not Being Good Enough Ok, so here is a hard truth, and I may have already said this in a previous post – Nobody was ever good at something until they first learn how to do it and then practice. I remember reading somewhere it takes an average of ten thousand hours of practice to become an expert at something. So, chances are, you are not as good as you think you are, but you will get better if you stick with it and don’t be demoralised. I’m rolling the enemy state of mind known as “Imposter Syndrome” into this section too. If we think about it honestly, I believe most writers will swing from thinking they are the best writer ever to thinking they are the worst writer ever. I’ve covered “best” in the last couple of paragraphs, but Imposter Syndrome is something all on its own. It is the feeling of not deserving something or being good enough at something you have achieved and is a confidence and creativity assassin. Stand up to Imposter Syndrome. If you have other people telling you how much you deserve something or how good you are, then listen to them. It’s very rare for someone to be able to assess their own work and achievements objectively, you can only really know from an average sample of the outside world. And Finally Thank you for waiting while I managed to crawl out of my communications black hole. More posts to come!
See you next time, loyal Blog Reader. Hi there again Blog Reader! Today I'm trying my hand at entering a writing competition. You may recall from "The Bear Room" I like to write for contests which I invariably never end up entering. Well, this time I have written the below short story for the Creative Writing Ink's writing prompt competition. The site can be found at this link, and the picture they have selected as the prompt is below. Wish me luck. The Queens BirthdayJola smiled at her twin brother Haram when he said they should go into the city to see the birthday procession. From being young, the royal family had fascinated them both; everything from the majesty of their carriages to the crowns they wore, covering their heads whenever they were in public.
“Mother will be angry if we leave the farm unattended while they are at the market,” she said, hoping Haram would come up with one of his brilliant plans and convince her to go. As the older twin, by roughly three minutes, she took it upon herself to be the sensible one of the pair. “But sister, it is not only the Queen’s birthday today but ours too; we can count it as our present to each other, and to her. Besides, we will be back before our parents, I only want to see the parade, and it only happens every ten years. Please don’t make me miss it.” The look in his eyes melted her heart, but she was confident he would find a way to sneak off if she did not go with him, and heaven knows what kind of trouble he would get up to on his own. “Fine, we will go and see it. But we must be back before mother and father, or we will both be in trouble.” They made themselves busy with the few farm errands too essential to put off until later and set off for the city. It was only an hour’s walk, faster if you had a cart or horse, but those were with their parents at the market on the other side of the city. The city itself sat in the centre of a large natural dome, hidden from view until you came over the crest of the rise and looked down at its fabulous splendour. They said the walls were over a hundred feet tall and no army had ever managed to breach them. It had been generations since the last war when the current queen assumed power in their lands. Old men and women sometimes recited the stories their grandparents had told them as children, although Jola didn’t believe half of them. The gate fee was usually a single Toc unless you were selling goods at the market, in which case the crown imposed a levy on each item sold, depending on its value. Their family didn’t pay it; local farmers with food for sale didn’t need to, but there was a limit on the price they could charge for their goods. Today, however, in honour of the celebrations, there would be no fees, and they walked through the south gate and past the large guards, dressed in their finest gold armour, without them even stirring. Once inside, they could see the decorations adorning the building; flags and banners seemed to be hung from every available pole and window, and many of the citizens were dressed in finery the likes Jola had never seen before. Everyone she saw was smiling and enjoying the festivities of the day. Haram’s smile generally made her happy but seeing him beam at the sights, sounds and smells of today elated her. Jola was sure if his smile were much bigger; the top of his head may come off. They walked past the hundreds of people making their way to the parade route and intrepid stallholders attempting to sell their wares to the masses. She watched as a man bought a small flag from one of the vendors and passed it up to his son, sat on his shoulders. She turned to point it out to Haram, but he had disappeared into the crowd. Good, she thought, it would give her time to run a quick errand. Ducking through the crowd, she found what she was looking for; on one of the stalls they had walked past, was a single red hat her brother would love. Keeping an eye out for him, she purchased it with the few coins she had managed to save and walked back to the spot where she last saw him. Jola waited a few minutes for him to return, scanning the crowd and smiling while keeping the present behind her back to keep the surprise. A few more minutes passed, and she started to panic, but then caught sight of him walking towards her. “Happy birthday Sister,” he said, producing a sugared sweet bun from behind his back. “Happy birthday Brother” she replied proffering her gift. His face lit up even more at the sight of the hat, and he immediately placed it on his head at a roguish angle. It suited him even more than she hoped. The sweet bun was delicious. She offered Haram a bite, but he had never been interested in sweet food, besides, he seemed a little preoccupied. “Follow me,” he said grabbing her hand once she had licked the last of the sugar from her lips. They ducked and weaved through the crowd of merry parade goers until they came up to the back of the palace. It was a grand building, marble towers and high glass windows surrounded by its tall wall. The parade was set to start from there, circle the city and then return later, all with the royal family, headed by the Queen, waving and throwing gifts to the crowd. “There is a walled garden down this alleyway where you can see into the palace.” He said as they ducked between two buildings. “Keep a lookout while I go up and have a look. Then I will keep a lookout for you go.” Jola opened her mouth to object, but he was already a couple of steps up the wall. She wasn’t surprised; climbing trees was one of her brother's favourite pastimes. “I can see her. She’s not even wearing the crown! I bet I’m the first person to.” Haram had gone quiet. Jola assumed he was awestruck by the realisation he would be the only person to have seen the face of a member of the royal family in generations. Feeling the excitement build within her Jola decided to abandon her post and started to climb the thick vines coating the wall to see the view for herself, but the quiet conversation of two people walking towards them made her stop. They were probably guardsmen this close to the palace. “Haram! Get down!” she shouted as her brother refused to move. His eyes were transfixed on something over the wall. She climbed a few steps and pulled at his ankle. It was strangely cold and shocked her to the touch. Her foot slipped from the tangle of the vines, and she fell from the wall, landing hard on her feet and wincing at the pain shooting up her leg from her ankle. She sighed in relief as Haram started to move, but the breath caught in her throat as she realised he was falling backwards. She tried to dash forwards to catch him, but a sharp pain in her ankle slowed her movement. She watched as he hit the ground and fractured into hundreds of pieces. A piercing shriek came from deep within her soul as she watched in agonising disbelief at the crumbling shards of stone which had once been her brother, further crumbled to sand and then finally to dust which stirred in the light breeze. She backed up against the wall in horror and began to sob as the joyous red hat floated to the ground in front of her. She started crying uncontrollably until the guards she had heard before came upon her and dragged her away from the few remaining motes. Hi there, Blog Reader. First, I have to explain my scoring system for rating films. I will give them a rating out of 100 with 30 points available for the story, 30 for music, 30 for how the film captivates me (acting, pacing, set pieces, etc.) and the last 10 will be my rating of how likely I am to recommend it to a friend. OK, so now for the reasons:- 1 – Not just for musical fans First of all, I have to say; if you are not a fan of musicals then this might still be for you, so don’t write it off just yet. My wife suggested going to the cinema to see this one Saturday afternoon, and I wasn’t overly convinced. Now don’t get me wrong – I count Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserable amongst my favourite films, but having watched Logan the previous night, the idea of seeing Hugh Jackman go from the gruff near-immortal Wolverine to the kind, gentle and bright-eyed PT Barnum seemed almost too much of a juxtaposition. Suffice to say; I was not disappointed. Barely a minute into the film the idea of Hugh being Logan had been wholly washed from my mind to the point where I could have said different actors were playing them. 2 – The story is uplifting and upsetting in equal measure It follows PT Barnum and the creation of the first circus while aptly showing the effect it has on multiple groups, from the performers to his family to society in general. There are many themes at play within the film, but I would like to say the prevalent one is overcoming adversity. It is full of examples of discrimination through class, race and physical appearance and strives to show the characters overcoming these, through a mix of changing the status quo for the better and accepting themselves for who they are rather than who society wants them to be. 3 – The score will blow you away There are some powerful voices in the score, with the bearded lady (Keala Settle) bringing the house down with her astounding vocal range sending sparks of electricity down your spine as she pours everything into each song, not to mention the exceptional abilities of Hugh Jackman, Anne Wheeler and Zac Efron. I found the film to have a great mix of song and story without either tripping over each other. Sometimes musicals have a habit of singing conversations which would have been better just spoken instead. To my memory, there is only one song in the film that is an actual sang conversation between the characters and is a scene in the bar. I won’t spoil it but the mix of song, acting and movement (not to mention the humour from both characters and the barman) were a wonder to see, and still has my number one spot for best scene in the movie. We enjoyed the film so much we had to stop off and buy the soundtrack on the way home, and I have to say I have lost count of the number of times I have listened to it since. It is uplifting and powerful. If you are feeling down or self-conscious at all, it has an impressive ability to give you a boost when you most need it. 4 – It is an all round feel good film There are many scenes in this film I could comfortably name as my favourite, from the new love to the old, from the eagerness to make something of yourself to the setbacks and heartache, this film does not disappoint. We were utterly captivated from the very first chords of the first song to the start of the ending credits, entirely moved by the story, happy with the various character arcs and not left wanting. As the scores will reflect below, we came out of the film filled with the wow feeling of seeing an excellent movie and the experience will stay with us forever. 5 – Total recommendation I would happily and wholeheartedly recommend this film to friends, my dear readers of this blog, casual acquaintances, and random people in the street - in fact, anyone who will listen. As I mentioned above, the soundtrack has an uplifting quality, and I have used this to cheer me up and encourage me after a hard day at work.
My score for this film is - Story - 30/30 Music - 30/30 Captivation - 30/30 Recommendation - 10/10 Total Score - 100/100 I look forward to picking up the book “The Life Of PT Barnum” and adding it to my bookshelves, and this is a must-buy when the DVD comes out. I hope you take my recommendation and feel the same. See you again soon Blog Reader! Greetings Blog Reader. In this post, I will be talking about the mental impact of writing a novel. Let’s be frank. Writing is both very easy and very hard, depending on the day. Some days the words flow out of you and onto the page like a river forms a waterfall. Other days it will be so difficult to put a single word on the page it is as if the words had dried up completely. I have come across a few different techniques I can share with you which you can use to make it easier to cope with the writing process if not actually help with the writing itself. Word Count Goals I find word count goals are useful only when the words are flowing, and just because an achieved goal is a big boost to your confidence. A confident writer finds it easier to put words on a page, is more relaxed and can focus better on plot and vocabulary. On the other hand, and in my personal experience, word count goals only serve to create anxiety. If you are lucky enough to be able to write all day and have no other responsibilities, you will find it much easier to get down those precious words. If you have a life which continually gets in the way of your creativity, then a goal is tough to maintain. If you spend a great deal of time thinking any of the below list, then a word count goal is not helping you:- I must get 1000 words today, if not I will fail. I’ve only managed 876 today, so I have failed I haven’t been able to write today, so I missed my goal, and I have failed Just writing the above list makes me anxious - Imagine living through them. I find anxiety makes it harder to write, not easier. Now, how about setting a goal to write every day, no numbers just write. Give yourself a day off occasionally. Trust me – it will do wonders for your writing process. I read something on twitter recently that stays with me:- Imagine a well. The water in the bottom is your ability or desire to write, and the bucket is you transferring it to the page. The more time you spend pulling buckets out of the well will eventually drain it. A day off allows your well to refill. So which is better for your confidence, and your writing? Setting a goal to write six days a week and putting maybe 100-500 words down for four of them and then possibly even smashing out 2-3000 on the fifth or setting a 4000 word a week goal and being so anxious about meeting this goal it stifles your creativity, and you only manage 3500 words? Which one allows you to enjoy your writing and which makes it a chore Deadlines Do you have a publisher? A literary agent? Are they imposing a deadline on you? OK - Get those words on the page and meet your deadline! Are you indie? Are you self-publishing? Why are setting yourself a hard deadline? I understand the desire to finish a book, but put it this way – when you walk into your local bookstore and peruse the shelves, eventually finding something you want to take to the tills, do you then immediately set yourself the goal to read it all by the end of the day? (I’m talking about a hard goal here not a desire to read it) Or do you take your time, enjoy it and read the book in as much time as it takes you? Would you write your next book and put a message on the first few pages to tell the reader they must read the book in 24 hours? Take your time with your writing and have an idea of when it might be finished but don’t hold yourself to it. Again, a missed deadline is as good at anxiety building as a missed word count goal. Community There is a massive writing community out there, and you need to become part of it. Writing and reading might be solitary tasks, but this doesn’t mean you have to be alone while you are doing it. Even if you only look at social media, so many people out there are going through the same as you and are at varying stages in the writing process that even just reading about their day to day struggles can boost your confidence. Also, sometimes it’s nice to help someone who is a little further behind in the process than you, or even to be supported by someone a bit further along, even if this help only involves reading a tweet about writing. Why not find a local writing group or book club if you are more of a social person. Other Sources The stories that live inside us have to come from somewhere. I believe it’s a mixture of everything we have been exposed to in our lives, whether that be the people around us throughout our lives or the stories we see in TV, in film and in the books we read. The more exposure you have to these other stories the more material your mind has to mix and shape into the stories you want to write. Don’t underestimate the benefit which comes with taking some time to refresh this mix. Inspiration can take you at any point. There are lots of authors out there whose inspiration came from TV, film, music, books or even the news. There is also a benefit to watching something you wouldn’t usually give the time of day. Even if you don’t overly enjoy it, you have exposed yourself to a different type of story. In Conclusion Writing is supposed to be fun, and it is supposed to be what we live for. Imposing arbitrary goals and deadlines can make the whole process a chore, and it can soon become something resented rather than enjoyed.
Anxiety is the enemy of good writing, and the world is already full of things that cause it. Do something which helps; have a bath, talk to a friend, watch funny cat videos on YouTube or even scroll through the @DogRates twitter account. And remember - don’t be the architect of your own anxiety. Hi again, Blog Reader! With this post, I have a little freebie treat for you all. The following is a short story I wrote a few years ago for submission to a contest. The rules were:- 1. Must be under 1,500 words (Its actually 1,559 but whats 59 words between friends) 2. Themed around the words creepy or sinister I finished and promptly bottled entering - Oh well. The Bear RoomThe room spins as I open my eyes. A faint, dim light spreads about the room as if poured in from the grimy, web strewn skylight above. I sit up and hold my head in my hands for a few moments. I take a few deep breaths in an attempt to assuage the nauseous feeling creeping into me. I'm sweating. My jaw subconsciously tenses as I feel my teeth press hard against each other, almost as if they are trying to prevent the gag I can feel beginning in my throat. I retch a few times and spit bile before my stomach realises that there is nothing to expel. My breathing slows, and the spinning wanes. I cast an eye over my featureless, dismal surroundings and try to assess where I am. The light throws strange shadows against the walls and floor. I stare at each one, in turn, mentally daring it to move, even in the slightest. When I am finally satisfied the shadows hold no danger, I stand. It takes me a second to get to my feet. I stumble as I rise, almost toppling back to the cold stone floor before I catch myself. The room is a box, grey concrete ceiling atop grey concrete walls atop a grey concrete floor, each as dazzlingly grim as the rest. There are few features beyond a tatty camp bed and steel sink. The skylight is too high to reach, even stood atop the bed. I cannot tell whether the light seeping through is natural or artificial; there is a thin yellow glaze adhered to each small rectangular pane. There is one door into the room. It is set into the wall, higher than the floor level. Three small concrete steps and a metal railing leading up to it. I gingerly climb the steps and automatically reach out to take the handle. I grip air as my hand passes through the space where I expect to feel cold metal. There is no handle on my side of the door. I look at the stark metal plate covering where the handle should be. Five screws are holding it in place and a sixth screwless hole, a visible testament to someone's idleness. Each of the screw heads was scratched and deformed. Their original crosses brutally worked into cones. I turn and look back into the room from my slightly elevated vantage point. It is not a large space; somewhat like a single garage, yet without the large door to admit or expel a vehicle. There is no feel to the temperature of the room. It is neither warm nor cold, merely ambient. There is no breeze or feeling of air movement of any kind. All is still, and all is grey. My eyes catch on something strange. In the centre of the room is a child's teddy bear. Was it there before? Did I walk past it and not notice it? It sits, its head slightly cocked as if awaiting a reply to a simple question. I walk closer, a strange feeling of dread filling me further at each step. I stand over it for a short while and watch as its unmoving form stares at my ankles. I squat and stare into its eyes for a few moments as it continues its silent vigil. I reach out, my fingers shaking slightly, and stop. Ever so gently the head of the bear rolls slowly upwards. It's eyes staring directly into mine. My heart freezes in my chest, and my lungs stiffen. I pull my hand away as if my fingers were burned and begin to overbalance. The bear's eyes are slightly chipped making them seem accusing and menacing. The stare continues as I attempt to regain my balance, the seconds stretching into hours until gravity finally claims me. Almost as mirror images, both the bear and I topple backwards to lay staring at the skylight. I wait a few moments, catching my breath and waiting for my now thumping heart to slow. I prop myself up and look at the empty patch of concrete where I had last seen the bear. I scrambled backwards, kicking myself along with my feet and scrabbling with my hands until my back hit the wall with a thump. Where had it gone? Had it been there at all? I sit there and breathe deeply, desperately trying to regain control of the terror slowly taking over my mind. I barely have myself under control when my eyes catch something in the corner of the room. The dim light makes it difficult to see, but I know the shape. The bear. I watch it for a second or two while I convince myself that I must have kicked it over there as I fell backwards. I don’t believe myself, but I repeat it over and over under my breath. I blink, and in the tiny amount between my eyes closing and reopening, the room goes black. I open them to nothing. No light. No sound. I panic and shuffle myself along the wall until I reach the corner. I bury my shoulders as far as I can into the right angle and hug my knees. I pray for the light to return as I begin to sob. I can feel the wet patch start to spread as my tears soak into my jeans. The light begins to return, slow at first, gently building to its pre-darkness level. My sobs slow and stop. I wipe my cheeks and my nose dry and stand once more. I turn my head and stare at the bear in the corner. It sits on its side now, head still facing me, eyes still staring out into the room. An uncontrollable rage seizes me. I blame the bear for terrifying me and stride angrily towards it. I snatch it up from where it lay and grip it tightly, snarling and swearing at it as I rant. The bear stares blankly back at my rage, once again inert. My anger grows further as I throw it to the floor and stomp on it with one foot. I jump and land both feet on the bear. I smile and snarl at the same time. A guilty pleasure comes over me as I squat to lift the bear to my face. It's now scratched eyes stare at me, their blackness rivalling the feeling inside me. I notice the seam has split down the bear's side. Small pieces of its clean white stuffing tumble and glide to the floor as I watch. An evil thought pushes me to begin pulling at the stuffing, faster and faster I rip out the bear's innards. I kick and throw the small balls of fluff around the room as if I am trying to coat every millimetre of the floor. I look at the sad remains of the bear in my hands, its body deflated, and one ear is missing. The rage inside me subsides as I look once more into its cold, dead eyes. Ashamed, I place the head of the bear in the corner facing the wall and return to my own. Suddenly there is a noise. A jangle of keys. A metallic thump as a lock turns and a squeal of old hinges as they resist opening the heavy door. I count the seconds in my head, waiting for someone or something to step through. Nobody enters. Gingerly I return to my feet. I take slow, cautious steps towards my exit, hugging the wall and watching the back of the bear's head. I stop before I reach the first step and stare at the door. It opens out of the room and is slightly ajar. It beckons to me. It sits and quietly screams at freedom. I gulp and restrain my urge to rush the door. I place my hand on the rail and lift my right foot. I set it down on the first step and pull myself up. My left foot takes the initiative and swings upwards onto the second where my right foot joins it. I stare back into the room. Pieces of the bear litter the floor, and tiny motes of stuffing are floating gently in the air. I feel a pang of guilt at my outburst. The bear had done nothing wrong. It was merely a focus for my fear and paranoia. I smile as I realise my flaws and step up to the door. I push it outwards and step out of the room. I take a few steps away from the door and turn to see it closing behind me. I say a farewell to the room and take in my freedom. At first, I don’t believe the evidence of my own eyes. I turn and see the doorway is concealed on this side; the faintest of seams in the concrete betraying its existence. I look around me, and it is then I recognise the noise of myself screaming. The room is a box, grey concrete ceiling atop grey concrete walls atop a grey concrete floor, each as dazzlingly grim as the rest. There are few features beyond a tatty camp bed and steel sink. In the centre of the room is a child's teddy bear. It sits, its head slightly cocked as if awaiting a reply to a simple question. Hope you enjoyed it. Marks out of 10 in the comments section
See you next time Thanks for coming back, blog reader! Anyone who has read my post on How To Be an Author will see Robert Jordan listed as one of my favourite authors, and reading the books you will see why. I know a year is a significant commitment, but if you take my recommendation, I think its worth the effort. First of all, no, they are not short books, and I'm not a slow reader. Each book is in the region of 800 to 1000 pages, so if you want to get this polished off in a year, you are looking at about 30 pages a day on average. It's also not the type of book to have large words and wide margins; the writing is small and as much space is taken up on the page as possible - my kind of book! The Wheel of Time series was also the first fiction book I had ever read with a glossary at the back of each volume. Not only do you have a wealth of information in the books themselves, but you can also gain additional fun information by going through the back pages. The series follows many main characters and periodically changes point of view to follow these stories, but the main arc centres on a young man and his discovery of his ability to wield the source. A terrifying find when it is something men cannot do without going mad. As he learns to control the force, gathers allies and fulfils prophecies, his eventual showdown with the evil entity known as "the dark one" seems inevitable. In the very simplest of terms, it is a story about a young man who finds himself out of his depth in a vast new world as everyone looks to him to save them. He is helped and hindered in equal measure by both friends and enemies. You can see the questions in my post How to Plan a Novel have been used perfectly in each of the books. Without giving away any spoilers, I always thought the ending of book one seemed like there was only ever to be book one, but the depth of detail created by Jordan is so significant and believable it stretches out into an epic saga of fourteen books - yep fourteen! As you can see below, they changed the covers after book nine (still prefer the colour ones) I first started reading these books in my early teens (around the millennium), ploughing through them at pace and hunting down the next book before beginning the last chapter of the previous one. The first book was published in 1990, so I was in luck as I had a few to catch up on, before having to wait for another to be released. I came to the point where I was waiting for the next book in the series and then disaster! In 2007 with the stories beginning to culminate and the reader kept guessing, Jordan, unfortunately, passed away from heart disease. Fortunately, following Jordan's diagnosis, he left substantial notes and instructions to allow another author to finish the series to his wishes. Therefore the last three books were ghostwritten by Brandon Sanderson. While the style changes slightly for these last three, it is not enough to be significant, and Sanderson keeps so close to the subject matter, it's almost as if Jordan had written it himself. At the time I didn't know any of this. I had found out about the death of the author and given up on ever seeing the fruition of the series, resigning the volumes to my bookshelf to be little more than ornaments. After all, with all the other books I had to read and no ending to The Wheel of Time, what was the point in re-reading them? It wasn't until after the release of the final book a few years later I found out Sanderson had finished the saga. I immediately went out and bought the last three. However, this left me with a predicament. It had been years since I had read any of the others and I didn't think I could remember them in enough detail to enjoy them truly, so I made a decision. I placed the three books on my bookshelf, untouched, and started again. Knowing it would take me the better part of a year to get to them, but those volumes would be all the better for me re-reading the preceding eleven, and it was worth every late night, lunch break and quick half hour reading my way through.
I had forgotten so much of the nuances of the plot and various groups within, that I know I would not have done the last three books justice. After finishing the last page of the final book I felt as if a weight had been lifted, I had a sense of accomplishment I hadn't had reading other book series. I never really understood how this series didn't have the reach of the Lord of the Rings trilogy; the world is equally, if not more, substantive and has plenty of action and drama to be a rival. Although I am speaking from a UK perspective, and I believe there is a cult following of the series in America with an annual convention. There are even rumours there is to be a TV series based on the books. Now I don't watch a great deal of TV anymore, but count me glued to the screen and uncontactable for the duration of this program if or when it appears. So in conclusion, I would heartily recommend setting aside a year of your reading time and stacking all of your other "to read" pile to one side, to work your way through the epic saga of The Wheel of Time. If you are a reader, this is the kind of book series which you will hold dear for years to come, and if you are a writer, it is a masterclass in world creation. Without wanting to sound cheesy, I would give the series 70 stars - 5 for each book! Hello again, dear blog reader. In this post, I will tackle the arduous task of outlining a novel, and then blow that out of the water with a radically different theory. First, I don’t want to put you off, but every story has been told before in one way or another. Details change here and there, and characters names vary, but overall it has been done before. With that in mind, here are a few questions you should be asking yourself to be able to outline a book, generally before you even put the first words down. Question 1 – Are you creating your own world or using ours?There is a reason why fantasy novels are generally about 120,000 words whereas real-world mystery or crime novels are closer to 70,000. Creating your own world is hard work, but not as hard as it is explaining that world to someone who has never seen it. A borough of London or New York is more natural to describe because you can actually go there, make notes and take pictures. Generally, the people you explain it to will have done some of the list themselves. Taking the time to describe a new world takes up reader time. It's a knife-edge balance between over explaining the magical type of plant which can cure this particular curse (thus grinding the story to a halt) and grabbing a curing plant (thus robbing the reader of the what and why behind the cure) Even the late great Terry Pratchett, who I rank among my favourite authors of all time, created his own world and then used variations of real-world situations to excellent effect, sometimes even taking other stories and twisting them to fit his world. Masquerade, for instance, is a superb Discworldification (yes I made that up, but it works well) of Phantom of the Opera. Question 2 - What do you want your character to overcome?Every story has something for the main character to overcome. Harry had an evil wizard and growing up at school. Romeo had the family feud. Katniss had a corrupt government and leader. It doesn’t have to be world shattering. You can tell a good story in making a cup of tea if it isn’t something your main character (MC) can do easily. Perhaps water is tightly rationed or expensive, and MC goes through hardship to provide a tea so their grandfather can toast their departed grandmother. Perhaps an accident has paralysed MC and being able to make a cup of tea on their own is the first step to coping. My point is, nothing comes easy to anyone so why should it to your MC? Put obstacles in their way, especially if they don’t see them coming, and make them overcome it. Better yet, make them struggle to overcome it. Will a choice take something from them? Are you going to have a “Needs of the many” moment? A book where your MC easily overcomes the issues is not exciting, not gripping and most importantly, not very good. BUT, and I say this with all the importance I can, don’t go too far the other way. You don’t want them climbing Everest with a spork. It still has to be believable. Question 3 - Who will help or hinder them along the way?The one-man army doesn’t work anymore. Even Bond has Q and the gadgets. Frodo had Sam and Gollum. Luke had Yoda and Han. Will there be a circle of friends or an organisation to call on for help? Will some of those friends turn out to be working for the other side? Will those frenemies have a last minute change of heart and turn to the good? Will the friend have a last minute change of heart and turn to the bad? Secondary and tertiary characters aren’t just there to provide options for dialogue, character levels can be fluid, and sometimes a secondary character can become the MC for a while. Is Gru the MC or are the minions? They can provide twists and turns to the plot and can check the behaviour of the MC. You can write the MC off a cliff if there is a secondary character to pull them back. Sometimes that’s the entire plot. Question 4 - Does the book warrant a happy ending or a realistic ending.Let’s face it, MC’s get shot, stabbed, electrocuted, blown up and burned. While it generally makes good reading, you have to decide whether you want your MC to walk away at the end, having just escaped a building exploding, being shot multiple times and after an extended fist fight, or something more akin to the end of The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas. Will the love interest walk away with the MC? Will the MC mourn the love interest, or will the love interest walk away mourning the MC, or will nobody walk away? The Radical TheoryLots of writers and authors plan their books methodically down to the last detail. It helps to have a clear path from page one to “The End”.
However, I count myself among those who write with only a vague idea of the story we want to tell. We write the first short draft like the skeleton of the book, then go back through and add the organs in the second write, the muscles in the third, the skin in the next and the clothes in the last. Once that is all done, only then is the story complete and the editing can begin. It’s reminiscent of being back in the playground making up worlds and games with your friends; you didn’t need an eighteen point plan to turn your stick into a light sabre or your bed into the bridge of a starship. Not everyone can do it. Not everyone should do it. But if you can, why not see where it takes you. You can always change it when you finish. Hello again, blog reader. Welcome back! For most people, there is a simple answer to the question in the title of this blog post - write! A lot of people say the mere fact you are putting pen to paper or pressing letters on a keyboard makes you an author. I don't think that is quite right. Now, before I go any further, I have to quantify this by saying it is only my own opinion and is limited to books. I'm not trying to say this is how it should be, merely that it is a standard to which I hold myself. I'm sure many people will see this differently, but here goes. I've always had the idea of an Author in my mind. People like JRR Tolkien, Terry Pratchett, Robert Jordan, JK Rowling, Sophie Kinsella and Milly Johnson, to name a few, but I think there are specific criteria for being described as an Author. Firstly, yes you should be writing. Nobody ever became an author without first writing things down. Spinning those idle flights of fancy and sudden inspirations into words on a page takes effort and skill, and simply put - the whole point of the endeavour. Cat owners rejoice! My acronym for this is PURR - Practice - The more writing you do, the better at it you will become Understand - the more you research your story components, the better you will become Repeat - the more often you write, the better you will become Replicate- the more you read, the better you will become Secondly, you should have at least one of your pieces of work out in the world for the consumption of the public (preferably for sale, but not always). Being a serial loner and generally antisocial, this is the bit I struggle with most of all - getting work out into the world. Will they like it? Is it good enough? Will it sell? All doubts and self-deceptions which you shouldn't listen to or at least must try to suppress as best you can. Finally, and this is the crucial bit for my theory, you should have a modicum of success. Lots of people should have read your work, purchased it, talked about it, enjoyed it, etc. I'm not talking number 1 bestseller for weeks and weeks. If you can make a living from doing it, or have done in the past, then I think you are about there.
It's this final step which really makes the difference for me. A lot of people believe being self-published on Amazon because they have managed to string three or four pages of text together, makes them an author. I have no problem with people doing this. Everybody should be proud to show the effort they have put into a piece of work and have the ability to put that work out into the wider world. I just don't think they are authors. So far I still would only call myself a writer. I have the two blogs, a self-published novel on Amazon, a half-written second book under construction and a folder with several others to start once this one is complete (in varying stages from thoroughly planned to a fundamental rough idea) I call myself a writer happily. It gives me a lot of pleasure to put my thoughts down in text and even more to think someone else may be gleaning a little enjoyment out of it too, and I would like nothing more than to spend all day writing. But one day, I would like to be an Author. |
Craig BoldyBorn in South Yorkshire, he lives there with his wife and Labrador. Working a normal 9-5 while filling his nights with writing. Categories
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