Just booked my ticket for The Writing Industries Conference 2010. It's taking place at Loughborough University on Saturday 6th March. The line-up of panels and speakers looks fabulous. Here's the blurb:
"The Writing Industries Conference brings together writers from across the East Midlands and beyond with professionals from the writing industries to share knowledge, develop skills and make new contacts. The conference is open to anyone with an interest in writing, from unpublished writers who want to learn more to bestselling novelists."
Check out the official website for a full programme of events ... maybe I'll see you there?
Sunday 31 January 2010
Friday 29 January 2010
Writing, sensuality and the iPad
Okay, Apple's new iPad is a slick and sexy piece of hardware. What commuter wouldn't want to look all Minority Report swishing their fingers across the front page of The New York Times, watching those lovely high resolution graphics respond in an instant? And perhaps it really will open the floodgates for the ebook revolution that always seems to be just round the corner. But, when all's said and done, it's a device built for consuming. What I want to know is, can I use it to write a novel?
I just have doubts about that virtual keyboard, you see. Could I really type for any length of time on it? Yes, I know you can get a bolt-on keyboard but then I might as well use a laptop. I guess the only way to be sure is to try one out.
The more I think about it, the more I appreciate how important the physicality of writing is. When I was a kid I had an ancient mechanical typewriter with a vicious carriage return. I wrote my first novel longhand with a ballpoint pen, then typed it up on an electronic typewriter with a 6-line LCD display and the ability to carry an entire chapter in its memory at once! Nowadays I write and edit on a laptop. In one sense, it doesn't matter what medium you use. But in another, it's absolutely critical.
It's kinesthetics, I think. Something about the way all your senses join up. The act of writing is intimately connected to the medium you use to perform it. Writing longhand is different to composing on a keyboard. I've never dictated stories into a microphone, but I'm guessing that's different again. But here's the thing: they're all still physical. Sensual, actually. Maybe one day we'll have computers that read your thoughts, so that writers can sit in darkened rooms with their eyes closed, just spinning yarns. Maybe that's the ideal. Maybe the medium gets in the way. But I don't think so.
Kinesthetics tells us that some people learn language through touch and mannipulation. They spell better when they're moving plastic letters around on a table than when they try to wield a pen. Synesthia tells us that, for some people, sensory inputs can get crossed - they hear smells, taste numbers, see sounds. I was once taught sculpture by a tutor who used to strip off his shirt and use his whole upper body to work the clay. At first, stuff like that makes you titter. Then you get it. The act of creation is as sensual and physical as an athletic workout - and as exhausting.
So I'm curious about the iPad. At least those virtual keys won't wear out. And my clumsy fingers won't wear the print off. Now which key's the question mark again ...£$^&* ... ah, there it is???????????? aah, damn key's got stuckkkkkkk
I just have doubts about that virtual keyboard, you see. Could I really type for any length of time on it? Yes, I know you can get a bolt-on keyboard but then I might as well use a laptop. I guess the only way to be sure is to try one out.
The more I think about it, the more I appreciate how important the physicality of writing is. When I was a kid I had an ancient mechanical typewriter with a vicious carriage return. I wrote my first novel longhand with a ballpoint pen, then typed it up on an electronic typewriter with a 6-line LCD display and the ability to carry an entire chapter in its memory at once! Nowadays I write and edit on a laptop. In one sense, it doesn't matter what medium you use. But in another, it's absolutely critical.
It's kinesthetics, I think. Something about the way all your senses join up. The act of writing is intimately connected to the medium you use to perform it. Writing longhand is different to composing on a keyboard. I've never dictated stories into a microphone, but I'm guessing that's different again. But here's the thing: they're all still physical. Sensual, actually. Maybe one day we'll have computers that read your thoughts, so that writers can sit in darkened rooms with their eyes closed, just spinning yarns. Maybe that's the ideal. Maybe the medium gets in the way. But I don't think so.
Kinesthetics tells us that some people learn language through touch and mannipulation. They spell better when they're moving plastic letters around on a table than when they try to wield a pen. Synesthia tells us that, for some people, sensory inputs can get crossed - they hear smells, taste numbers, see sounds. I was once taught sculpture by a tutor who used to strip off his shirt and use his whole upper body to work the clay. At first, stuff like that makes you titter. Then you get it. The act of creation is as sensual and physical as an athletic workout - and as exhausting.
So I'm curious about the iPad. At least those virtual keys won't wear out. And my clumsy fingers won't wear the print off. Now which key's the question mark again ...£$^&* ... ah, there it is???????????? aah, damn key's got stuckkkkkkk
Wednesday 27 January 2010
Clockwork of the Lost Ark
I was watching Raiders of the Lost Ark for the umpteenth time at the weekend, when my wife interrupted to ask me why I enjoyed watching certain films over and over again. Or reading certain books, for that matter. The natural response to such a question is of course, "Hush, dear, I'm watching Raiders of the Lost Ark." Instead, I trotted out something glib about favourite stories being like old friends.
But it got me thinking. Not everyone likes to revisit stories over and over. My wife doesn't. Do you? Is it just some obsessive component of the male personality? Or is it more profound? What is it that makes me want to come back for more?
I think it comes down to this. Experiencing a story - through whatever medium - is a bit like sitting inside a gigantic piece of clockwork. You're surrounded by the machinery of plot and character and performance and scenery and drama and surprise and ... well, all that. All the time you're in there, the clockwork's whirring away. Sometimes it rattles you. Sometimes it purrs smoothly. Sometimes a great big bell starts banging in your ear. It's got a rhythm and a sound and a smell and about a billion spinning widgets you just can't keep your eyes off.
So each time I re-watch Raiders, or re-read Little, Big, or re-experience any number of a small heap of genuine faves, I'm climbing back inside that clockwork knowing my senses are going to be given one hell of a workout. And never mind all that five senses nonsense - when a decent story's bowling you along I reckon you've got upwards of twenty. Because, as a writer, I'm especially interested in how all that clockwork goes together. There's always something new to appreciate: how does this plot-cog mesh with that character-pinion? Just what is it that kicks the whole thing into a higher gear round about chapter three? And when you know what's going to happen, there's that delicious thrill of watching the pendulum wind up those counterweights to point where the clappers start hammering like crazy on the great big bell.
I could have said all this to my wife at the time, but I didn't want to interrupt Indy while he was jumping off the horse and on to the truck. If he'd gone under the wheels, the Nazis would have got the Ark and then where would we be?
But it got me thinking. Not everyone likes to revisit stories over and over. My wife doesn't. Do you? Is it just some obsessive component of the male personality? Or is it more profound? What is it that makes me want to come back for more?
I think it comes down to this. Experiencing a story - through whatever medium - is a bit like sitting inside a gigantic piece of clockwork. You're surrounded by the machinery of plot and character and performance and scenery and drama and surprise and ... well, all that. All the time you're in there, the clockwork's whirring away. Sometimes it rattles you. Sometimes it purrs smoothly. Sometimes a great big bell starts banging in your ear. It's got a rhythm and a sound and a smell and about a billion spinning widgets you just can't keep your eyes off.
So each time I re-watch Raiders, or re-read Little, Big, or re-experience any number of a small heap of genuine faves, I'm climbing back inside that clockwork knowing my senses are going to be given one hell of a workout. And never mind all that five senses nonsense - when a decent story's bowling you along I reckon you've got upwards of twenty. Because, as a writer, I'm especially interested in how all that clockwork goes together. There's always something new to appreciate: how does this plot-cog mesh with that character-pinion? Just what is it that kicks the whole thing into a higher gear round about chapter three? And when you know what's going to happen, there's that delicious thrill of watching the pendulum wind up those counterweights to point where the clappers start hammering like crazy on the great big bell.
I could have said all this to my wife at the time, but I didn't want to interrupt Indy while he was jumping off the horse and on to the truck. If he'd gone under the wheels, the Nazis would have got the Ark and then where would we be?
Friday 22 January 2010
The Literature Network
Here in Nottingham - and indeed the surrounding region of the UK known as the East Midlands - we're lucky enough to have the Literature Network. Here's what they say about themselves:
"The Literature Network is a nationally unique organisation connecting the literature community in each of the cities and counties of the East Midlands. The Literature Network maintains information resources for the literature community, organises networking and consultation events, supports the work and projects of leading literature practitioners and champions the valuable role of literature as a participatory artform."
The Literature Network runs with the support of Charnwood Arts, Arts Council England and individual local authorities in the East Midlands region. Their website's packed with resources, links and blogs aimed at both promoting literature throughout the region and supporting local writers. Pay them a visit by clicking on the banner below.
"The Literature Network is a nationally unique organisation connecting the literature community in each of the cities and counties of the East Midlands. The Literature Network maintains information resources for the literature community, organises networking and consultation events, supports the work and projects of leading literature practitioners and champions the valuable role of literature as a participatory artform."
The Literature Network runs with the support of Charnwood Arts, Arts Council England and individual local authorities in the East Midlands region. Their website's packed with resources, links and blogs aimed at both promoting literature throughout the region and supporting local writers. Pay them a visit by clicking on the banner below.
Sunday 17 January 2010
Catching lightning
When I started this blog, I told myself I'd keep it positive. No whining. And I intend to keep it that way, but I've realised there's something insidiously negative - not to mention unrealistic - about being too positive. This post is an attempt to redress that balance.
If the writing business is famous for one thing it's the rejection letter. Now, I know this blog is read by a number of people who are aspiring writers, so I hope it provides some comfort to know that rejection really is just part of the business. I've known that for a long time, and continue to have work rejected on a regular basis. By my wife, who tells me this manuscript is lacking a certain sparkle, by my agent, who tells me this manuscript isn't commercial enough for the current market, by editors who tell me that there's no place for this manuscript in their list at the moment. I don't like it any more than you do. In the past I've even been guilty of taking it personally. But it's just the way the kitchen operates, and you know what they say if you can't stand the heat ...
Whenever this subject comes up I think about myfirst days at art college. There we were, fresh out of school, terribly precious with our pencils and convinced that every drawing we did had to be a fine and finished thing. To drum that out of us, the tutors spent the first few lessons mercilessly ripping us to pieces, tearing up work, throwing drawings on the floor and getting us to walk on them. Cruel? Maybe. But the only way to free us of the illusion that the act of the creation is all about the finished thing. Because it's not. It's about the process. Accepting artistic - and commercial - criticism is all part of the game. Accepting editorial advice is something we should all do gratefully, and gracefully.
Does that mean I'm not pissed off when what I thought was a pretty fine piece of work gets roundly trashed by everyone I show it to? Of course not. But it does mean that, after I've thrown things around the room and consumed a bottle or two of Cabernet Shiraz, I either set to work improving it or move on. Because there always is a next thing to move on to - you just have to seek it out.
So my message to all you struggling writers is simply this: the struggle isn't ever going to go away. I've had moderate success over some years, with eight published novels and two more under contract, plus a handful of short stories some of which have enjoyed some critical success. But I've also got trunk novels that have never seen the light of day, a heap of equally unloved short stories and any number of pitches for books that may or may not find a home. More rejections than you can shake a stick at, in other words, the most recent of which came thudding into my inbox just last week.
Is this a negative post, then? Not at all. It's a call to arms. Because the next project beckons. It always does. I'm waiting for some feedback on my latest pitch and who knows, maybe this will be the one that catches the lightning in the bottle. But right now, I've a new short story to finish. And as for you ... haven't you got something to be getting on with too? It won't write itself, you know.
If the writing business is famous for one thing it's the rejection letter. Now, I know this blog is read by a number of people who are aspiring writers, so I hope it provides some comfort to know that rejection really is just part of the business. I've known that for a long time, and continue to have work rejected on a regular basis. By my wife, who tells me this manuscript is lacking a certain sparkle, by my agent, who tells me this manuscript isn't commercial enough for the current market, by editors who tell me that there's no place for this manuscript in their list at the moment. I don't like it any more than you do. In the past I've even been guilty of taking it personally. But it's just the way the kitchen operates, and you know what they say if you can't stand the heat ...
Whenever this subject comes up I think about myfirst days at art college. There we were, fresh out of school, terribly precious with our pencils and convinced that every drawing we did had to be a fine and finished thing. To drum that out of us, the tutors spent the first few lessons mercilessly ripping us to pieces, tearing up work, throwing drawings on the floor and getting us to walk on them. Cruel? Maybe. But the only way to free us of the illusion that the act of the creation is all about the finished thing. Because it's not. It's about the process. Accepting artistic - and commercial - criticism is all part of the game. Accepting editorial advice is something we should all do gratefully, and gracefully.
Does that mean I'm not pissed off when what I thought was a pretty fine piece of work gets roundly trashed by everyone I show it to? Of course not. But it does mean that, after I've thrown things around the room and consumed a bottle or two of Cabernet Shiraz, I either set to work improving it or move on. Because there always is a next thing to move on to - you just have to seek it out.
So my message to all you struggling writers is simply this: the struggle isn't ever going to go away. I've had moderate success over some years, with eight published novels and two more under contract, plus a handful of short stories some of which have enjoyed some critical success. But I've also got trunk novels that have never seen the light of day, a heap of equally unloved short stories and any number of pitches for books that may or may not find a home. More rejections than you can shake a stick at, in other words, the most recent of which came thudding into my inbox just last week.
Is this a negative post, then? Not at all. It's a call to arms. Because the next project beckons. It always does. I'm waiting for some feedback on my latest pitch and who knows, maybe this will be the one that catches the lightning in the bottle. But right now, I've a new short story to finish. And as for you ... haven't you got something to be getting on with too? It won't write itself, you know.
Thursday 14 January 2010
Awards
... and Ellen Datlow's The Best Horror of the Year Volume One has popped up on two awards lists here and here. Yowsa.
Wednesday 13 January 2010
Caffeinated creation
I just spent an enjoyable hour sketching out an idea for a new fantasy detective story featuring my multi-dimensional sleuth. He's appeared in five stories now - starting with The Wooden Baby and all published in Realms of Fantasy – as well as featuring in a sixth unpublished story and an equally (so far) unpublished novel. The question is, will I get this new story down on paper before I have to drop everything for the ghostwriting project that's due to turn up any day now?
It all hinges on coffee. The aforementioned hour was spent in a coffee shop in Nottingham, where much of my recent plotting has taken place. Cappuccino is the key. With a dusting of chocolate, naturally. Though my caffeine intake is moderate (I always go for regular, not large) it's essential to my productivity. So, of all the things I'll miss when the aliens invade or the zombies attack, coffee will be top of the list. We've been battling the snow here for the past few weeks, but of all the things we've run out of, I can assure you coffee is not one of them!
It all hinges on coffee. The aforementioned hour was spent in a coffee shop in Nottingham, where much of my recent plotting has taken place. Cappuccino is the key. With a dusting of chocolate, naturally. Though my caffeine intake is moderate (I always go for regular, not large) it's essential to my productivity. So, of all the things I'll miss when the aliens invade or the zombies attack, coffee will be top of the list. We've been battling the snow here for the past few weeks, but of all the things we've run out of, I can assure you coffee is not one of them!
Tuesday 12 January 2010
Locus reviews Best Horror
Congratulations to Ellen Datlow on another positive review of The Best Horror of the Year Volume One, this time in the December issue of Locus. According to the review, "The 19 horror stories and two poems Datlow has selected as her top picks for 2008 are as eclectic a mix as the contents she has pulled for any previous year. Most are by writers whose names will be instantly recognized by the majority of horror readers, but some of the contributors are relative unknowns whose presence suggests new and emerging talents that are crucial for keeping any type of fiction fresh."
And, in the spirit of shameless self-promotion (one of the remits of this blog) I'm pleased to report that Locus thinks my short story Girl in Pieces is "a magnificent urban fantasy giddy with hardcore horror imagery".
And, in the spirit of shameless self-promotion (one of the remits of this blog) I'm pleased to report that Locus thinks my short story Girl in Pieces is "a magnificent urban fantasy giddy with hardcore horror imagery".
Monday 4 January 2010
Get your free comic strip here!
I thought I'd kick off the New Year with a free gift.
Digging around in my bookshelves over Christmas, I turned up a copy of Colossus, a science fiction comic strip magazine I self-published with my friend Andy Wicks way back in 1985. After leafing through it in teary-eyed nostalgia, I thought it might be fun to scan one of the stories and make it available online.
I've posted some background on the story on my website here, but if you want to cut straight to the chase and read the damn thing, just click on the link right here (PDF file).
All I ask is that you're gentle with it. After all, I was only a student ...
Digging around in my bookshelves over Christmas, I turned up a copy of Colossus, a science fiction comic strip magazine I self-published with my friend Andy Wicks way back in 1985. After leafing through it in teary-eyed nostalgia, I thought it might be fun to scan one of the stories and make it available online.
I've posted some background on the story on my website here, but if you want to cut straight to the chase and read the damn thing, just click on the link right here (PDF file).
All I ask is that you're gentle with it. After all, I was only a student ...
Moon
I finally watched Moon on DVD last night. Very glad I did. Director Duncan Jones has been true to his old-school influences (Silent Running, Solaris, 2001, Alien et al) yet created something genuinely fresh and thought-provoking. At the heart of the movie is Sam Rockwell's stunning performance as Sam Bell, sole operator of a lunar mining base. He's ably supported by Kevin Spacey, channeling HAL9000 in his role as the voice of the base computer Gertie.
As well as great performances and smart direction, Moon boasts slick modelwork (the effects are old-school too, but seriously cool) augmented by invisible CGI, all created with a single purpose: to serve the story. As for the story - it's smart and tight and a genuine SF tale of intelligent ideas and neat twists. I'm not going to say any more than that. I knew very little about the movie before I saw it and, if you're in the same boat, I suggest you watch it fresh too. Don't go Googling those spoiler-laden reviews, tempting though it may be!
As well as great performances and smart direction, Moon boasts slick modelwork (the effects are old-school too, but seriously cool) augmented by invisible CGI, all created with a single purpose: to serve the story. As for the story - it's smart and tight and a genuine SF tale of intelligent ideas and neat twists. I'm not going to say any more than that. I knew very little about the movie before I saw it and, if you're in the same boat, I suggest you watch it fresh too. Don't go Googling those spoiler-laden reviews, tempting though it may be!
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