Writer's Block

It's driving me IN-FLIPPIN'-SANE!!

For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!!  My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything.  This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write.  That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true.  I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write. 

It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all.  I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades.  But I don't have full ideas.  I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word.  The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.

ARGH!!!  It's the most frustrating thing ever. 

Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive.  Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"

When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.

It's like part of my brain has totally switched off.  This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June).  But then it's all sort of stopped. 

There are things I really want to write, but I can't.  I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!!  I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet. 

I really want to write a Western.  I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad.  We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea.  Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud.  I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it.  All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing.  I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written.  Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.

You know what I need?  I need a month or two in Texas.  On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever.  Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce.  Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever.  Gosh, no.  Whatever'd give you that idea?!

Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.

I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant.  I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in.  Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift.  I flippin' hope so. 

Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend.  Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?! 

Game Face

You know, you'd be surprised at how many people were outraged by Andrea the Consultant's idiocy last Thursday.  I know I am.  There's been uproar.  Who knows what to believe now?!

I suppose that the scales are entirely the wrong thing to concentrate on.  I mean, yes, it was very disappointing when they said something I didn't like - but at the moment they give me a number I don't like every week.  The number that I saw last Thursday was nowhere near as big as the number I saw on 5 January - in fact if I'd seen that number on 5 January I probably would have done a little jig of happiness.  In fact... I can't actually remember what the scales said last Thursday.  I'm now all confused with the numbers.  It doesn't take much to confuse me in a numerical fashion.  I think darts players have supercomputers hardwired into their brains for their incredible mathematical dexterity.  How do they always know how count backwards from 501 to finish on a double?!  It's a gift.  Apparently the meaning of life is 42 - and I'm not mathematically qualified enough to provide any sort of argument to the contrary.  I think it's a fluke that I passed my Maths GCSE the first time of asking! 

The fact is, my clothes are even more baggy on me than they were a couple of weeks ago.  That's got to be the main thing.  I don't think it'll take a great deal more weight loss until I've dropped three dress sizes.  I think I'm sort of between two and three dress sizes smaller, so obviously nothing fits at all at the moment and I look like a bit of a tramp, but it'll all be all right in the end. 

Slimming World does work.  I mean - it clearly works.  Whether the scales say the right thing or not doesn't really matter - because they're not supposed to say the right thing until you're finished losing weight, that's the whole point. 

So, then.  Come on.  Let's do this.  If I was American I may even be tempted to say something motivational, grammatically questionable and a little urban like, "Bring it."  But I'm not, so I won't.  The fact is, I'm never going to get there if I curl up into a podgy ball and give up at my first real knockback.  People put on weight all the time.  I've been doing it for years.  Even though I know I didn't actually put weight on last week - the only numbers I'm really interested in are the numbers on the labels in my clothes. 

In other news, I discovered that my boss doesn't want me to work Saturdays any more.  This was extremely annoying on two counts.  Firstly, nobody had bothered to mention to me that my services weren't required on Saturdays before I turned up for work on Saturday, when they looked shocked and asked what I was doing there.  Secondly, this officially means that I have to get a new job.  I keep threatening it but unfortunately I really need to think about moving on now.  I don't want to because I hate job hunting and being the newbie and getting to know another new set of people - but sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.  And despite the fact there's a lot less of me now - I still gotta eat.

In other *other* news, I am researching like nobody's business in the hope of getting inspired to continue in The Phantom Winger (I heard someone say at Slimming World the other week that they'd been to the Phantom Winger, and it did take me a few moments to work out what they were talking about!  I was all ready to say "Hey, I wrote that!  What did you think of it?!" but then I remembered that a) it's a pub and b) I haven't written it yet!  It's got a good ending, though.  Or at least it will do.) - and by 'research', I basically mean I've been watching a lot of spy films.  I think it's helping.  Not that I condone or indulge in plaigarism, it's just that those sorts of films do help you to get in the right mindset for a good old spy romp.  I'm hoping to make a bit of a start on Chapter Three next week, as soon as I work out exactly where to start it.  I had such high hopes for being nearly halfway through the first draft by now, but alas - a writer's lot isn't always a productive one.

So, after a bit of a wobbly start to my weekend, I think things are starting to even out a bit.  I'm not really looking forward to the weigh-in tomorrow, because who knows what the crazy scales will tell me this week - and I'm still feeling a bit guilty after Thursday's KFC!!  However, whatever happens I will update you on my progress in Friday's blog.  The llamas will be back by then, all relaxed and refreshed, and hopefully ready for a good old fiesta!!  Get your maracas at the ready... you might well need 'em!!

The Floodgates Have Opened!

Aha!!  I knew if I pestered the Muse long enough, she'd come round!!

I do have a Muse.  A lot of people are sceptical about the existence of Muses, but there it is.  I have a Muse.  Her name is Irene - after Miss Adler, 'The Woman' of Sherlock Holmes fame who had loose morals and the brain of a genius, rather than after Mrs Roberts, the recovering alcoholic of Home and Away fame.  "Strewth, dahl, I've been off the grog for years now, cobber!" - etc.  Yer flamin' galah.

Anyway.  Irene is a very skittish Muse.  Sometimes she'll knuckle down and let me write like a thing possessed.  Frequently, however, she will throw a strop, pack her bags and jet off to the Bahamas for wild nights of cocktails by the pool and lascivious carryings-on with random nameless waiters.  This leaves me right in the lurch and the result has been the complete abandonment of a myriad stories through the ages.

Yes.  Yes, I have created a blame character for times when the Writer's Block is upon me.  What of it?!  Anyway, she's got her business head on now (she's like the Muse version of Worzel Gummidge), so we're good to go.

As I reported on Wednesday, I was having trouble in linking bits of my story together.  I have had much success now and have even finished the chapter!  Yes!  Good old Irene!!  More amendments and general tweakings will be made later on tonight, and first drafts will be emailed over the weekend to anyone who wants to read it - requests to the usual address, please, all feedback is most welcome.

Some writers hate their main characters.  Ian Fleming couldn't stand James Bond (fair point there, though), Arthur Conan Doyle couldn't stand Sherlock Holmes and reportedly did a little jig of delight when Sherlock and Moriarty plunged to their death during a proper man-fight.  I don't think any self-respecting fan of The Goon Show would read about Moriarty falling off a cliff and *not* instantly think "You've got to go 'oooowwww'!!" 

I, however, really like my main character.  I do.  He's a good guy.  I've developed a best friend for him, as well.  I was going to have him as a loner and a bit of a grump-bag, but he's got a pal now, and he's much more cheerful.  The best friend is named Jonathan Bailey, but is nicknamed Tiny, due to the fact that he's six foot six.  They have a lovely little bromance going on.  They're going on a date at the local pub in Chapter Two, right after Alex meets Tracey.

Incredibly, there has been a bit of interest already about the will-they-won't-they nature of Alex and Tracey's relationship.  I am not, have never been, and have no intention of being a romance writer.  I can't be doing with all that stuff and nonsense.  It irritates me.  Why can't people be more like "Look.  How about it?" "Yes, that'd be spiffing, thank you." "Right.  Okay then!" and then just get on with it, rather than all of this moping about with faces like slapped arses and saying ridiculous things about moonlight in eyes?!? 

No, I don't have a romantic fibre in my being.  Having said all of that, though, it seems as though people are already rooting for them, and if there's one thing I have no objections to, it's writing to please my audience!!  Giving the public what they want, that's what I'm all about!!  In your *face*, poets!!  So.  I'm not promising the romance of the century, but there may be a moment here and there to keep my chick-flick rom-com loving pals happy.  Maybe.  You'll have to read it.

Keen readers of this four-day-old blog may remember me promising on Wednesday that I might post a sneak preview of Chapter One here.  Well.  After a great deal of deliberation, I decided that it might be best if I posted a bit of dialogue.  After all, I can tell you everything about Alex Charnley and Robert McAllister, and tell you just how much they hate each other, but it might not work quite as well as if you read their first conversation:

"Alex Charnley," he said, sounding far more cheerful than he felt.

"Charnley!"

Alex would have known the Scottish snarl anywhere.

"Bobby!" he answered, grinning broadly, as though he was addressing an old friend rather than his former boss.  He felt an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction, knowing exactly how much his cheery disposition was infuriating the man on the other end of the phone.  It came as no suprise at all to Alex when his greeting initially only received a growl in reply.

"Detective Inspector McAllister to you, sonny Jim!"

"You don't sound your usual chipper self this morning.  Is Mrs McAllister not giving you your porridge of a morning these days?" Alex asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.  He could practically see McAllister's purple face, almost ready to explode with anger.

"That reminds me.  How is Helen?" McAllister asked, a sinister smile in his voice.  Alex raised his left eyebrow in derision.  He had already had more than enough of his ex-wife that day.

"Oh, never mind Lady Deathstrike - what can I do for you?"

"Get to the station immediately," McAllister demanded. 

"You do miss me!  I knew it!"

"Be quiet, Charnley.  I've no time or patience to get involved with your idiocy for longer than I need to!" 

"Is it a social visit, or shall I wear a tie?" Alex asked, knowing exactly what McAllister's response would be.

"Social?  You?  Don't make me laugh!" he answered derisively.

"I wouldn't.  I couldn't!  Is it possible?"

"Charnley," McAllister said, his voice low and menacing.  "If you aren't in my office in fifteen minutes, I will have you arrested.  Do I make myself quite clear?"

"Arrested?  For what?"

"Murder."

Alex's jaw dropped.  That was a pretty big accusation, even for McAllister.

"Give me half an hour," he answered, sounding serious for the first time that day.

I know it isn't much, but hopefully it'll give you some sort of an idea of the type of chaps they are.  I hope you like Alex and have a great time hating McAllister.  I'll be making a start on Chapter Two over the weekend. 

My next blog will probably be on Monday, I've got a busy weekend coming up and I don't want to bore you all with my incessant ramblings.  I'll be telling you how I got on trying to stick to Slimming World while at an Indian restaurant.  Distressingly, in the Slimming World book, there was no mention of the amount of Syns involved in a Chicken Tikka Korai.  Bhuna it is, then...!!

Waiting for the Muse to Hit

So I've decided, rather than write about my epic salad making abilities and my torturous attempts to lure the Muse into creating a masterpiece all in the same blog, I'll write about the two main topics of my Plans alternately.  I know, I could have two separate blogs for this purpose, but to be completely honest, I've not got the time for all that messing about.  This will be good for both of us.  It'll be good for me because it'll force me to concentrate on one thing at a time.  It'll be good for you because you won't have as much to read.  Okay, maybe that's not strictly true.  Technically, you'll actually have twice as much to read, but at least it'll be broken down into easy-to-manage sections, rather than five thousand word epics.

My plan tonight will be to get my head down and get Chapter One boxed off.  I had hoped to get more writing done during the Christmas break and be working towards finishing Chapter Two off, but that just didn't happen.  I'd quote that wise piece of advice about "plans of mice and men" but I can't remember it and I don't think it ever made any sense to me anyway.  The point is - I had planned to, but as it turned out, I didn't.  So I'm going to have a go at sorting out the mess I'm making of Chapter One and getting it into a vaguely readable format tonight before pulling it to pieces and editing it to death on Friday.  Never let it be said that I don't know how to live it up.

I have fallen into my usual trap of writing scenes and not knowing how to link them together.  You know how it goes.  Sometimes there's just a lot of words you skim through while you're reading because you're so keen on getting to the action, or the acerbic exchanges of wit, or (as will never be the case in anything I write - and that's a promise!) the soppy stuff.  Well, I get like that with my stories - the only problem being that I'm actually trying to write the blasted thing and I have no bits to skim through, just the action and acerbic exchanges of wit - but obviously no soppy stuff.  This is quite a problem.  I'll never get 100,000 words written at this rate (even though I'm only aiming for 80,000 - I'm planning on a sequel!)!

I have four or five scenes written out, some need some quite blatant reworking, some can wait till my first read-through.  That's all, though.  I mean, I do need to link them together somehow.  I really ought to work on patience (it's a virtue, apparently) and being a more methodical sort of writer, I'm sure I'm making far more work for myself than I need to.  I'm sure I'm not being particularly efficient with my time.

There again, I don't know how much notice should really be taken of how long it takes to get something done.  Shakespeare usually took about three days to write one of his plays.  By way of contrast, however, apparently James Joyce was known to take all day to write one sentence on occasion, so maybe I'm not doing too badly in comparison.  I'll get there evenutally, anyway.  It's all progress.

I shall update you with the progress of Chapter One on Friday - I may *even* tantalise you with a sneak preview!!  Tomorrow, however, sees the real Step One of the main mission.  My first meeting at Da Club (which is likely what I'd call it if I were 'street'. No, don't worry, I shan't try that again).  I have never been to one of these places before, so I'm completely unsure of what to expect, aside from the usual in-built prejudices and urban myths surrounding this sort of process.  I am feeling a little trepidatious but no doubt everyone there will be very kind, and varying degrees of cuddly - and hopefully there will be very few skinny people lamenting at how they put on three pounds over Christmas and are finding it a struggle to get into their size eight jeans.  Expect a full report of that tomorrow night.