Hello everyone;
I've finally got around the half way mark on my novel, about 45,000 words, woo hoo, as you can tell I'm quite pleased about that. I had two days off this week and so I've been scribbling like mad. Some of it has fallen into place quite well, while other scenes will require more work, but that's what editing is all about; get the basic story down in any form, even if it's crap, you can always improve it later, but you can't improve on nothing, so always write something, however bad.
Being bad leads me onto my next point. I treated myself to a cheap horror dvd last weekend; it sounded good but as usual, turned out to be a big disappointment. I've amassed quite a collection of crappy horror films over the years. They always promise to deliver the thrills and chills, but for me, always fail miserably
They are either buckets of blood and guts for the sake of it or they're so rooted in psychology, they're just too confusing. I like films that make you think . . . when you're lying in bed at night, in the dark, you dare not have that foot hanging over the edge of the bed, just in case something touches it. Or you're afraid to get up to go to the bathroom at a certain time, 'cos that's when bad things happen and if you do brave it; you best not look in that mirror, you get my drift. Horror just aint what it used to be; it's just not scary anymore.
You get the 'jump' factor but not the creepiness of when the light goes out; what's in the darkness waiting, watching. I know horror, like everything else has to evolve, but sometimes we need to go back to go forward. (I was raised on the hammer horror films) and still have a 'thing' for Christopher Lee.
But I don't want visual monsters rampaging through the towns ripping off arms and legs. I want the hint of the thing in the darkness; let my imagination do the rest, it's far more powerful than anything the films can show me.
I can scare myself stupid if I let my imagination loose. Something scratches at the back door just before bed, both my cats are inside; okay, so it's probably just a fox or wind blown leaves, but my imagination won't let me believe the obvious and my poor long suffering son has to go and check it out, you know . . . just in case. One of my cats has a habit of growling at a certain spot on the wall or the cupboard, why? What's in there? I have to keep a tight rein on my imagination or else I'd be too scared to move, but that's horror for me, every day stuff that just isn't quite right.
What's your idea of horror; I'd love to know. It can take so many forms, so many shapes, so until next time, I wish you all creepy dreams.
Sunday 27 April 2014
Thursday 17 April 2014
The Thief Of Time
Hello; I'm really struggling at the moment to find time to write. My manager mixed up the rota, so instead of my usual 36 hours a week, I've been doing 42 and 48 and as I've said before, 12 hour shifts kill my creativity, leaving me too mentally and physically drained to write.
I've got a rare day off this week, so I'm trying to pack in as much writing as possible, although I have to pay for my day off tomorrow by doing another 12 hour.
I've completed a short story for Saga magazine, themed around the paranormal, they're willing to pay £250 for the winning story with various smaller prizes for the runners up; all I have to do now is type it up and press send. I'm also a quarter of the way through my road trip from hell story for Massacre Magazine, but as both stories have to be in by 30 April, I'm not sure I'm going to meet the deadline for both; the road trip isn't going to plan.
I'm still waiting to hear from Norah about my Fiction Feast story, although I'm being a little impatient as it takes about 12 weeks for a response and it was only sent 4 weeks ago, but one can hope. Also my flash fiction is still awaiting its fate from Massacre, which also closes on 30 April, (think there must be something special about that date, maybe it's because it's walpurgish night )
As for my poor novel, well, I haven't looked at it for at least two weeks; I just don't have the time. If they were real people, they would have upped and left me by now or died of neglect. Once I get this road trip story done, I should be able to devote more time to it, but time is the one commodity I'm always short of. 24 hours in a day just isn't enough. You take 12 hours out for work, that's halved it, 6 hours sleep if I'm lucky, that's three quarters gone, that leaves 6 hours to do everything else, shopping, appointments etc.
I have thought about a writing retreat, somewhere quiet and inspirational, where I'm just left alone to write, but they're so expensive; it would be cheaper to rent a caravan at the beach and shut myself away for the week . . . now there's an idea. Disappear for a few days, no phone, tv or other distractions, completely impractical but a lovely idea all the same. Anyway, I'd better get back to it, time is slipping by again rather too quickly.
I've got a rare day off this week, so I'm trying to pack in as much writing as possible, although I have to pay for my day off tomorrow by doing another 12 hour.
I've completed a short story for Saga magazine, themed around the paranormal, they're willing to pay £250 for the winning story with various smaller prizes for the runners up; all I have to do now is type it up and press send. I'm also a quarter of the way through my road trip from hell story for Massacre Magazine, but as both stories have to be in by 30 April, I'm not sure I'm going to meet the deadline for both; the road trip isn't going to plan.
I'm still waiting to hear from Norah about my Fiction Feast story, although I'm being a little impatient as it takes about 12 weeks for a response and it was only sent 4 weeks ago, but one can hope. Also my flash fiction is still awaiting its fate from Massacre, which also closes on 30 April, (think there must be something special about that date, maybe it's because it's walpurgish night )
As for my poor novel, well, I haven't looked at it for at least two weeks; I just don't have the time. If they were real people, they would have upped and left me by now or died of neglect. Once I get this road trip story done, I should be able to devote more time to it, but time is the one commodity I'm always short of. 24 hours in a day just isn't enough. You take 12 hours out for work, that's halved it, 6 hours sleep if I'm lucky, that's three quarters gone, that leaves 6 hours to do everything else, shopping, appointments etc.
I have thought about a writing retreat, somewhere quiet and inspirational, where I'm just left alone to write, but they're so expensive; it would be cheaper to rent a caravan at the beach and shut myself away for the week . . . now there's an idea. Disappear for a few days, no phone, tv or other distractions, completely impractical but a lovely idea all the same. Anyway, I'd better get back to it, time is slipping by again rather too quickly.
Thursday 3 April 2014
Old Friends, New Stories.
Hello everyone,
This week sees a chance of publication from Massacre magazine, who, via e-mail invited me to submit a short story for their summer contest around the theme of road kill. I jumped at the chance and began my story straight away, so yet again the poor novel is having to take a back seat. It's not often you get an invite, so when you do, you grab it with both hands.
I'm also scribbling away frantically with a second short story for another competition with Saga magazine, they are looking for a ghost story to be included in their anthology, so I've not got much time for anything else at the moment, I seem to have gone a little competition crazy.
Also this week, my best friend from school tracked me down via facebook. We lost contact over 20 years ago when she moved to Devon. It was nice to hear from her again, (I've been trying to trace her for years) We used to get up to a lot of mischief back in the day, you know the sort of thing . . .bored teenagers, abandoned buildings, police cells . . .I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
It also sparked a lot of memories, some I'd forgotten about completely and some I can use, although a few of the more incriminating ones I'd rather not commit to paper. But dredging my memory like this is helping me with my novel; as it's centred around teenagers and set mainly in a school, I got thinking back to when I was that age and reliving those memories and feelings both good and bad and the intensity of emotions that went with them. How everything gets blown out of all proportion in a young mind; how a tiny little glitch can suddenly become a super heated mega storm in seconds. Teenage years are hard, rampaging hormones, insecurity, zits, but if you don't fit in like my poor character, you're in for a rough ride and one really bad day at school can feel like an eternity of torture. A careless throw away remark can haunt you for the rest of your life, going round and round in your mind. It eats away at your self confidence, undermining your abilities. But these feelings and emotions, however unpleasant, can be used. Turn them to your advantage, nurture the pain, at least for the duration of the story. Relive the hurt, the fear and humiliation and remember, a lot of wonderful things can grow out of shit.
This week sees a chance of publication from Massacre magazine, who, via e-mail invited me to submit a short story for their summer contest around the theme of road kill. I jumped at the chance and began my story straight away, so yet again the poor novel is having to take a back seat. It's not often you get an invite, so when you do, you grab it with both hands.
I'm also scribbling away frantically with a second short story for another competition with Saga magazine, they are looking for a ghost story to be included in their anthology, so I've not got much time for anything else at the moment, I seem to have gone a little competition crazy.
Also this week, my best friend from school tracked me down via facebook. We lost contact over 20 years ago when she moved to Devon. It was nice to hear from her again, (I've been trying to trace her for years) We used to get up to a lot of mischief back in the day, you know the sort of thing . . .bored teenagers, abandoned buildings, police cells . . .I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
It also sparked a lot of memories, some I'd forgotten about completely and some I can use, although a few of the more incriminating ones I'd rather not commit to paper. But dredging my memory like this is helping me with my novel; as it's centred around teenagers and set mainly in a school, I got thinking back to when I was that age and reliving those memories and feelings both good and bad and the intensity of emotions that went with them. How everything gets blown out of all proportion in a young mind; how a tiny little glitch can suddenly become a super heated mega storm in seconds. Teenage years are hard, rampaging hormones, insecurity, zits, but if you don't fit in like my poor character, you're in for a rough ride and one really bad day at school can feel like an eternity of torture. A careless throw away remark can haunt you for the rest of your life, going round and round in your mind. It eats away at your self confidence, undermining your abilities. But these feelings and emotions, however unpleasant, can be used. Turn them to your advantage, nurture the pain, at least for the duration of the story. Relive the hurt, the fear and humiliation and remember, a lot of wonderful things can grow out of shit.
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