Had to check my spelling there. Nearly typed 'Coming Son', although that might have increased my site traffic...
Happy New Year! by the way. Two previous posts into 2011 and I completely forgot to say it. Ah well, said it now, and it's still January. The 25th! Jesus, that's nearly 1/12th of the way through the year already. Christ. Talk about yer intimations of mortality, guv.
Anyroad...
Very soon now, some good news. Can't talk about it publicly as yet, but in the next few days all shall be revealed. I will try to restrain myself to wooting, but cannot promise, in spite of all best efforts to the contrary, not to squee. And there shall almost certainly be a happy dance.
Ahem. To resume abnormal service...
With a little less mystery, there will be a guest blogger on this site in a couple of days' time. Thursday night, to be precise, ensure you are a-watchin' of this space...
Who'll be here? Ah, that would be telling. A boy's got to have a few secrets.
Till then.
Showing posts with label Isn't blogging a great way to avoid doing any real work?. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Isn't blogging a great way to avoid doing any real work?. Show all posts
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Friday, 3 September 2010
Taking Stock; a long and self-indulgent post
It's been a busy week, what with a job interview to prep for and Angels Of The Silences to proofread (that one has to be finished today- luckily the brave and awesome chap that is Chris Teague of Pendragon Press knows no fear when it comes to cutting things a bit fine), but writing-wise things are on a bit of a pause.
I've put aside a half-finished novella and a new raft of changes to The Song Of The Sibyl to help put together a comedy series pitch for Radio Two, and after that found myself at a loose end. Whereupon the thought of new story collections came to mind. After all, there were a good few tales lying about loose, after thirteen years in the game. (Jesus, that pulls me up short every time I write it. Where the hell does the time go?)
So this meant (ulp) it was time to make an inventory of the uncollected stuff.
You have to picture: there are three computers in chez Bestwick- my laptop, the trusty and nifty little Netbook I'm writing this blog post on and my old desktop. If they were members of the cast of Dad's Army (pause while American readers google that one) the Netbook would be Private Walker (the spiv and wideboy who always got results), the laptop would be Corporal Jones (determined and thinking he was the bee's knees but prone to malfunctiong- that's what you get with Windows pigging Vista) and the desktop would be Private Godfrey (the doddery old one who looked like a strong breeze would knock him over.) The main reason it's still around is that it can still handle floppy disks and there might still be some useful stuff on some of them. Oh, and because that's where a lot of the old material is.
And so, the trawl began. Exporting stories, novelettes, novellas, nearly all unpublished, onto the pen-drive. Quality control was not a factor, just getting them all into one place.
That Protestant Work Ethic thing is securely embedded in the Bestwick brain, if noting else. When I started writing properly, in 1997, I aimed for a story a week. There are 26 stories listed from that year on the inventory. That doesn't include the completed novel, the two unfinished ones and the 20,000 word novella from that year, plus half a dozen lost stories (mercifully, in the case of several that spring to mind) and the ones that need retyping.
Most of the ones from that year and 1998 were published somewhere, but many of those that followed are yet to see print; back at the end of the '90s (I refuse to write 'the turn of the century', except that I just did) the small press scene imploded, losing a lot of markets. My brain seized up at the prospect of actually trying to work out how to post stuff outside the UK and the internet left me decidedly confused. And shortly thereafter there was a several years-long phase of hating nearly everything I wrote. The reasons for that are long and complicated and for another time, but a lot of stories were written and then thrown aside, convinced they were rubbish. There are thirty-odd unpublished stories from 2001 alone, and nearly as many from 2000. Those were two of the years I had the least confidence as a writer, and kept churning out tales in an effort to feel proud of one of them (thanks to Chris and Barbara Roden at Ash-Tree Press/All Hallows Magazine, who were one of the few markets I placed stories with at the time- that boost to the confidence was very welcome)
2002 saw twenty-odd so-far uncollected stories written, but after that short-story production slacked off. Longer projects beckoned, forays into script-writing, a number of novels that are damn well going to stay in their bottom drawer.
But anyway- the final count?
Over a hundred and ninety.
I'm not saying this to brag (well, OK, maybe a bit.) But it did come as a bit of a shock. And that's not counting another dozen to twenty that only exist in hard copy form and need typing up or scanning. Plus some only written in longhand that still haven't been typed up. Oh, and a couple of short novels that might be worth trying to place...
Obviously, there are a lot of stories here that don't merit publication; they're in the bottom drawer for a bloody good reason, and there they shall stay. But even so... there should be enough material for four or five other collections there. It's quite a sobering thought to see that much stuff accumulated.
One reason for writing: a kind of insurance policy against oblivion. A light that glows in the long darkness after your own's gone out (Christ, that's pretentious. But it's also true, so I'll let it stand.) There's a substantial amount of insurance there.
But bloody hell, 190+ stories? After thirteen years?
God, I feel old.
And so now back to Angels Of The Silences. And prepping for the job interview. And the meeting later today. I used to have a life...
I've put aside a half-finished novella and a new raft of changes to The Song Of The Sibyl to help put together a comedy series pitch for Radio Two, and after that found myself at a loose end. Whereupon the thought of new story collections came to mind. After all, there were a good few tales lying about loose, after thirteen years in the game. (Jesus, that pulls me up short every time I write it. Where the hell does the time go?)
So this meant (ulp) it was time to make an inventory of the uncollected stuff.
You have to picture: there are three computers in chez Bestwick- my laptop, the trusty and nifty little Netbook I'm writing this blog post on and my old desktop. If they were members of the cast of Dad's Army (pause while American readers google that one) the Netbook would be Private Walker (the spiv and wideboy who always got results), the laptop would be Corporal Jones (determined and thinking he was the bee's knees but prone to malfunctiong- that's what you get with Windows pigging Vista) and the desktop would be Private Godfrey (the doddery old one who looked like a strong breeze would knock him over.) The main reason it's still around is that it can still handle floppy disks and there might still be some useful stuff on some of them. Oh, and because that's where a lot of the old material is.
And so, the trawl began. Exporting stories, novelettes, novellas, nearly all unpublished, onto the pen-drive. Quality control was not a factor, just getting them all into one place.
That Protestant Work Ethic thing is securely embedded in the Bestwick brain, if noting else. When I started writing properly, in 1997, I aimed for a story a week. There are 26 stories listed from that year on the inventory. That doesn't include the completed novel, the two unfinished ones and the 20,000 word novella from that year, plus half a dozen lost stories (mercifully, in the case of several that spring to mind) and the ones that need retyping.
Most of the ones from that year and 1998 were published somewhere, but many of those that followed are yet to see print; back at the end of the '90s (I refuse to write 'the turn of the century', except that I just did) the small press scene imploded, losing a lot of markets. My brain seized up at the prospect of actually trying to work out how to post stuff outside the UK and the internet left me decidedly confused. And shortly thereafter there was a several years-long phase of hating nearly everything I wrote. The reasons for that are long and complicated and for another time, but a lot of stories were written and then thrown aside, convinced they were rubbish. There are thirty-odd unpublished stories from 2001 alone, and nearly as many from 2000. Those were two of the years I had the least confidence as a writer, and kept churning out tales in an effort to feel proud of one of them (thanks to Chris and Barbara Roden at Ash-Tree Press/All Hallows Magazine, who were one of the few markets I placed stories with at the time- that boost to the confidence was very welcome)
2002 saw twenty-odd so-far uncollected stories written, but after that short-story production slacked off. Longer projects beckoned, forays into script-writing, a number of novels that are damn well going to stay in their bottom drawer.
But anyway- the final count?
Over a hundred and ninety.
I'm not saying this to brag (well, OK, maybe a bit.) But it did come as a bit of a shock. And that's not counting another dozen to twenty that only exist in hard copy form and need typing up or scanning. Plus some only written in longhand that still haven't been typed up. Oh, and a couple of short novels that might be worth trying to place...
Obviously, there are a lot of stories here that don't merit publication; they're in the bottom drawer for a bloody good reason, and there they shall stay. But even so... there should be enough material for four or five other collections there. It's quite a sobering thought to see that much stuff accumulated.
One reason for writing: a kind of insurance policy against oblivion. A light that glows in the long darkness after your own's gone out (Christ, that's pretentious. But it's also true, so I'll let it stand.) There's a substantial amount of insurance there.
But bloody hell, 190+ stories? After thirteen years?
God, I feel old.
And so now back to Angels Of The Silences. And prepping for the job interview. And the meeting later today. I used to have a life...
Sunday, 4 April 2010
A Short Blog About (Re)Writing
No, I haven't forgotten about the WHC stuff, don't worry. I'll be sticking the next load up at some point, honestly. I'm just a tad busy right now. But not so busy as not to tell you about it.
A couple of my fellow writers, Gary McMahon and Conrad Williams, are blogging about their works-in-progress, and the rather wonderful Cate Gardner (who will soon have her first collection out, guys, so keep your eyes open for it) does so on a regular basis. So might as well jump on the bandwagon...
Somebody once said that writing is rewriting. He or she was right, at least when it comes to novels. You might remember The Song Of The Sibyl, first draft of which was completed back in February. Rewriting is now underway. Here's how it works- at least for this author.
Hunter S. Thompson once said that good writing is all about taking notes. A certain number of notes, musings, bits and pieces, dribs and drabs, have to be jotted down before the story you're telling comes to life and you know how to write the first lines. Next, generally- once the first chapter or two has been roughed out- comes the outline, the plan, i.e. your attempt to con yourself into believing that you have an idea, however vague, of what the hell you're doing and more to the point, where the hell all this is going.
Once that's done, most of the work tends to be showing up- you just write the next right thing and carry on, crossing off the points on the outline one by one. And along the way, you're taking more notes. About stuff that's to happen later on- all the really interesting stuff that's not in the outline, because you didn't know anything about it till you got your characters acting and reacting and talking to each other. Some writers claim not to like writing but to love having written. Never understood that. The actual process of writing, of feeling all these unknown elements flow through you and create something new and (hopefully) vital and interesting, is a blast. Like exercise, maybe- at first you have to force yourself to do it, but once you're underway it's just great and you get used to it, hate doing without it.
Other notes are about things you need to check up on. You know, boring stuff like research. I used to hate that. Now it's interesting. Generally, do the bare minimum before you start, or don't do any at all and wing it. Apart from anything else, once you've finished you'll have a much better idea of what actually needs to be researched. The first draft is the raw material, the framework. The second draft is where salvation lies; the second draft is where you fix things. And you'll find lots of things to fix.
As well as research, there are additional characters who pop up and then vanish, whose little stories need finishing. There are passages where you're telling people what's happened, rather than showing it. There are recurring themes, little subplots that spring into being and have been imperfectly realised, because you can't focus on everything at once in first draft- you have to keep forging ahead and lay the basic framework of the novel- and again, they have to be made complete.
This one's a case in point. Basically, it's got pretty massive, major things happening. Another apocalypse, in a nutshell. And there's chaos, and madness, and suffering and death. All that stuff. It's pretty big and epic. And it's all seen through the eyes of one character, who has a lot of psychological problems to begin with and who also, as the novel progresses, sees ghosts, has visions and generally has quite a few episodes where the reality of what she's experiencing is, well, open to question. All that and, of course, there are other characters in the story, each with their own agendas, their own missions, obsessions, wants.
So on the one hand there's one story, but on the other it's made up of a multitude of others, each of which has to be got just right. This means more and more notes- notes about what needs doing, and how. At first a blizzard of random scribblings, they then get typed up and start getting sorted into order, under different headings. And then, finally, each separate section needs to be looked at and the changes broken down into a series of concrete, specific steps.
There are now 42 pages of notes on The Song Of The Sibyl, and the things that need to be done. It's grown steadily over the last week, not shrunk. But now the first of the changes are being put into place. Please god, let them start to shrink now.
Once that's done, here's still the task of visiting a lot of the locations used in the novel and getting things... just right. Oh, and then, finally, the task of going through the manuscript- which was 171,151 words in first draft, is now a couple of thousand words longer and will be god alone knows how long when all of this is done- and cutting, cutting, cutting. The most famous of White & Strunk's rules- 'omit needless words'. You don't realise how many words you can do without until you get to this point. Alan Garner, of course, is the king of that.
All this has to be done, bear in mind, while still holding down a day job.
So if you run into me and I look a bit tired, dazed and like I might not be quite all there (in the sense of living wholly in the same world as you) hopefully, by now, you should have some idea why.
So much for this being a short blog...
Have a happy Easter, everybody.
A couple of my fellow writers, Gary McMahon and Conrad Williams, are blogging about their works-in-progress, and the rather wonderful Cate Gardner (who will soon have her first collection out, guys, so keep your eyes open for it) does so on a regular basis. So might as well jump on the bandwagon...
Somebody once said that writing is rewriting. He or she was right, at least when it comes to novels. You might remember The Song Of The Sibyl, first draft of which was completed back in February. Rewriting is now underway. Here's how it works- at least for this author.
Hunter S. Thompson once said that good writing is all about taking notes. A certain number of notes, musings, bits and pieces, dribs and drabs, have to be jotted down before the story you're telling comes to life and you know how to write the first lines. Next, generally- once the first chapter or two has been roughed out- comes the outline, the plan, i.e. your attempt to con yourself into believing that you have an idea, however vague, of what the hell you're doing and more to the point, where the hell all this is going.
Once that's done, most of the work tends to be showing up- you just write the next right thing and carry on, crossing off the points on the outline one by one. And along the way, you're taking more notes. About stuff that's to happen later on- all the really interesting stuff that's not in the outline, because you didn't know anything about it till you got your characters acting and reacting and talking to each other. Some writers claim not to like writing but to love having written. Never understood that. The actual process of writing, of feeling all these unknown elements flow through you and create something new and (hopefully) vital and interesting, is a blast. Like exercise, maybe- at first you have to force yourself to do it, but once you're underway it's just great and you get used to it, hate doing without it.
Other notes are about things you need to check up on. You know, boring stuff like research. I used to hate that. Now it's interesting. Generally, do the bare minimum before you start, or don't do any at all and wing it. Apart from anything else, once you've finished you'll have a much better idea of what actually needs to be researched. The first draft is the raw material, the framework. The second draft is where salvation lies; the second draft is where you fix things. And you'll find lots of things to fix.
As well as research, there are additional characters who pop up and then vanish, whose little stories need finishing. There are passages where you're telling people what's happened, rather than showing it. There are recurring themes, little subplots that spring into being and have been imperfectly realised, because you can't focus on everything at once in first draft- you have to keep forging ahead and lay the basic framework of the novel- and again, they have to be made complete.
This one's a case in point. Basically, it's got pretty massive, major things happening. Another apocalypse, in a nutshell. And there's chaos, and madness, and suffering and death. All that stuff. It's pretty big and epic. And it's all seen through the eyes of one character, who has a lot of psychological problems to begin with and who also, as the novel progresses, sees ghosts, has visions and generally has quite a few episodes where the reality of what she's experiencing is, well, open to question. All that and, of course, there are other characters in the story, each with their own agendas, their own missions, obsessions, wants.
So on the one hand there's one story, but on the other it's made up of a multitude of others, each of which has to be got just right. This means more and more notes- notes about what needs doing, and how. At first a blizzard of random scribblings, they then get typed up and start getting sorted into order, under different headings. And then, finally, each separate section needs to be looked at and the changes broken down into a series of concrete, specific steps.
There are now 42 pages of notes on The Song Of The Sibyl, and the things that need to be done. It's grown steadily over the last week, not shrunk. But now the first of the changes are being put into place. Please god, let them start to shrink now.
Once that's done, here's still the task of visiting a lot of the locations used in the novel and getting things... just right. Oh, and then, finally, the task of going through the manuscript- which was 171,151 words in first draft, is now a couple of thousand words longer and will be god alone knows how long when all of this is done- and cutting, cutting, cutting. The most famous of White & Strunk's rules- 'omit needless words'. You don't realise how many words you can do without until you get to this point. Alan Garner, of course, is the king of that.
All this has to be done, bear in mind, while still holding down a day job.
So if you run into me and I look a bit tired, dazed and like I might not be quite all there (in the sense of living wholly in the same world as you) hopefully, by now, you should have some idea why.
So much for this being a short blog...
Have a happy Easter, everybody.
Monday, 9 February 2009
The Tide Is High, But I'm Holding On...
My wonderful publisher, Abaddon Books, has now listed my novel Tide Of Souls on Amazon so you can pre-order it- pre-order it, kids, as it doesn't actually come out on the bookshelves until November. I know, I know- I'm a bloody tease.
Still, at least you can sneak a preview of the cover. To do so, or to actually pre-order my tale of Biblical-scale flooding, flesh-eating zombies and big fucking guns, just click here.
I'm currently hard at work (following my birthday celebrations) to finalise the manuscript, paring down the word count, honing the language, and fact-checking to make sure I haven't fucked up too cataclysmically and made myself look like the biggest arse alive.
Meanwhile, I also have work to do on my short story collection, Pictures Of The Dark. The Table of Contents has been decided, so all I have to do is work out the running order while waiting for Gary Fry at Gray Friar Press to send over a list of edits, alterations and editorial suggestions (as long as none of them involving giving all the stories happy endings and a Cliff Richard soundtrack, we should be OK.) Meanwhile, a cover design bounces back and forth between us, developing slowly but surely.
Two covers and two different approaches. Abaddon's artist, Mark Harrison, had a brief conflab with myself and their Editor, Jon Oliver, then cried 'Eureka! I've got just the idea!' And a month or so later the cover arrives.
Gary Fry first asks 'what would you like to see?' God! Like picking the title for the collection- by far the biggest arseache- this sounds incredibly easy until you actually have to decide. A tentative design appears in the inbox. And the fun begins.
Particularly enjoyable when I went out with a digital camera to get some images for the cover. Most of images needed for the cover are of bleak, urban settings, decaying and rundown. Living around Salford, they were just waiting for me to snap them.
All great, until those occasions when you find yourself thinking 'So here I am, on a deserted industrial estate/the outskirts of a fairly rough council estate, all on my own and brandishing a hundred quid's worth of brand-new digital camera... hm.'
Still, maybe there is a higher, benevolent power that watches over writers as it does the drunken and insane. Or it could be I was just wildly overestimating the dangers. Probably the latter. Although some of my friends based locally don't seem to think so.
Ah well. Point is, those shots are in the bag and there should be more news on that front before much longer. In the meantime, have fun previewing the zombies. And I'll get back to the work I should be doing this after, which the blog has been helping me avoid....
Still, at least you can sneak a preview of the cover. To do so, or to actually pre-order my tale of Biblical-scale flooding, flesh-eating zombies and big fucking guns, just click here.
I'm currently hard at work (following my birthday celebrations) to finalise the manuscript, paring down the word count, honing the language, and fact-checking to make sure I haven't fucked up too cataclysmically and made myself look like the biggest arse alive.
Meanwhile, I also have work to do on my short story collection, Pictures Of The Dark. The Table of Contents has been decided, so all I have to do is work out the running order while waiting for Gary Fry at Gray Friar Press to send over a list of edits, alterations and editorial suggestions (as long as none of them involving giving all the stories happy endings and a Cliff Richard soundtrack, we should be OK.) Meanwhile, a cover design bounces back and forth between us, developing slowly but surely.
Two covers and two different approaches. Abaddon's artist, Mark Harrison, had a brief conflab with myself and their Editor, Jon Oliver, then cried 'Eureka! I've got just the idea!' And a month or so later the cover arrives.
Gary Fry first asks 'what would you like to see?' God! Like picking the title for the collection- by far the biggest arseache- this sounds incredibly easy until you actually have to decide. A tentative design appears in the inbox. And the fun begins.
Particularly enjoyable when I went out with a digital camera to get some images for the cover. Most of images needed for the cover are of bleak, urban settings, decaying and rundown. Living around Salford, they were just waiting for me to snap them.
All great, until those occasions when you find yourself thinking 'So here I am, on a deserted industrial estate/the outskirts of a fairly rough council estate, all on my own and brandishing a hundred quid's worth of brand-new digital camera... hm.'
Still, maybe there is a higher, benevolent power that watches over writers as it does the drunken and insane. Or it could be I was just wildly overestimating the dangers. Probably the latter. Although some of my friends based locally don't seem to think so.
Ah well. Point is, those shots are in the bag and there should be more news on that front before much longer. In the meantime, have fun previewing the zombies. And I'll get back to the work I should be doing this after, which the blog has been helping me avoid....
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