Tag: writing process

Categories
Non-fiction Observations Writing

My Writing Space: what it means to me

If I have learnt nothing else from my time as an aspiring writer it’s that if the space in which I am trying to write in isn’t right then, I am not going to get a lot of writing done.

Sometimes I choose my desk. On it there is a radio, some twinkling fairy lights inside a glass jar (pointless but important), a photo of my Grandad and I at my 21st, candles, place mats, my laptop and an owl pot filled with corks and stones (again, totally useless but crucial).

From my desk I can look out to a view over fields. In the summer this view is gorgeously clear, blue skies and greenery. Occasionally it is blurred through the raindrops hitting the window, but that just makes me more thankful that I am inside and at my desk. On a good winters day the view is spectacularly white from frost or snow and it is, especially when writing, one of my favorite views.

Sometimes I choose the sofa. Since getting our puppy who is extremely lovable if not a little bit of a distraction, I struggle to work upstairs at my desk if nobody else is around. This is why I have acquired a new working space on the corner sofa that is so comfortable that if hungover I simply sleep and no words are written. Sometimes my feet are up, sometimes they are not but always my slippers are on. My dog, Arkley, likes to nestle in between me and my laptop on my lap, listening intently to me reading short stories aloud while editing them.

Sometimes I choose outside. When the weather is being nice, I just have to work outdoors. There is a little bench in my garden and the sun is guartuneed to shine on one seat. That is the seat I choose to sit at. I lay everything out as if on my desk; my laptop, diary, coffee and usually another sugary beverage to spark up some extra motivation. Here, I enjoy the warmth while producing more material.

Then there’s my other place. A house of my friends which I find so special when it comes to my writing. I discovered while house sitting there that it had a good effect on my writing. New ideas flowed and the motivation lingered so that I just couldn’t stop. Whether it was changing my space or something in the air over that pocket of land, I’m not sure, but there is something in it that means a lot to me and my work.

One day, I know (hope) I live in a wonderful house looking out over a lake because water too helps me and my words. Whenever I got to the beach even if I don’t intend to, I write or note down so many ideas which flow out of my overwhelmed mind. Being by water is certainly something for the soul, but it helps my writing too.

So as pernickety as this all may sound, these are the spaces in which I like to write and they are very special to me.

Categories
fiction Writing

Dining Room

Dad and I have been waiting for our starter for over fifteen minutes now since ordering and I am beginning to get impatient. The hunger is very real shown through the embarrassing grumbles in my stomach and the angry expression which I can feel upon my face so I try to take my focus elsewhere to forget about it for a while.

A voice beckons from the entrance where the diners have only just arrived, but a man in a black suit impatiently fidgets which I guess is so that he will be noticed by the wait staff. His wife is swiftly tugging at his suit jacket to prompt him to quit the act, but his frustration is showing through the redness and stern expression all over his face. The quiet atmosphere in the restaurant calls for only whispers so though he is speaking soft but firmly, his words appear as a bellowing as if he’s at a fun fare with a homophone attached to his jaw.

Eventually a nervous waitress attends to them when he almost leads her to an available table and pulls out the chair for himself before his gentlemanly duties of allowing his wife a seat first.

A man to the left of the couple is clearly indulging in a similar form of scrutiny as myself as I can clearly see his right eye glaring at them while attempting to act subtle by keeping his left eye focussed on the menu. His hands are shaking as if he is waiting on a first date with a beautiful lady but the rest of his body appears to be waiting on no one. His gaze keeps shifting between the couple and his menu so that when the waitress asks him if he is ready to order, he directs her away to give him some minutes more.

While the couple to his right are ordering with the poor waitress, his attention shifts to elsewhere in the room bringing my focus there as well. It is at this moment that I realise I am no longer people watching but rather following this man and his thoughts.

A couple are quietly but equally loudly showing their affection for one another. The observing man looks concerned at this but the man involved is beaming with happiness and pride. Having already demolished their starters to not miss out on lovingly kissing while they await the mains, the lady sidles up to the man in a teasing manner ending with her sat upon his knee.

So that I don’t look obvious in my observations and because it’s making me a little queasy, I remove my gaze from the two and back to the single man who looks more depressed than before. The couple to the right are onto their mains when I notice Dad’s Mussels coming out.

Categories
fiction Writing

Chapter 25, Dublin 2018 (an excerpt)

‘To us getting the outcome that we need tomorrow,’ I say, keeping my fingers crossed and wincing a little hoping that my suggestion goes down well.

Granted I am feeling a little tipsy, so I have built the confidence to say more than I would have at the beginning of our dinner, however these are things that need to be addressed so I am glad to be the one that is doing so.

‘Cheers.’ Comes my thankful response and I am both relieved and happy that I dedicated this glass to the event.

‘You know, it’s going to be seriously difficult to see his face again. I always thought him a lovely lad but now, obviously, my opinions have changed entirely and I just want to rip him apart. I never thought I could kill, but now I know that I could.’

It is after Sheila has finished her miniature rant that I realise she too is probably feeling a little drunk and that is why the truth is all coming out. Being so reserved at first I thought this dinner was going to exhaust me but now the conversation, and the correct conversation at that, is coming so smoothly.

‘Did you know anything about the way he treated Brannagh?’ I ask her, genuinely shocked at Brannagh not asking her mother for help but rather coming to a total stranger in a different country – me.

‘Nothing,’ she pauses, and something appears to be on her mind. ‘I suppose occasionally she seemed a little distressed after seeing him or she would shut me off and just retreat to her room, but I always assumed that was down to her being on her period or that they had had an argument. It was never clear that something was actually wrong.’

‘That’s so sad that she couldn’t speak to any of us. I mean, she tried to tell me and I guess it’s easier telling an almost stranger than your mother but even then I am convinced she wasn’t telling me truly how bad it was.’

The service in the restaurant is great and I glance at my watch to check the time once we finish our mains. I can’t believe it is only half past nine, it feels as though we have been here much longer than that. I suppose the intensity of the conversation has prolonged time but still, I would have expected it to be at least an hour later than it is. However, we’re all tired and with a big day tomorrow we decide to take ourselves off to our separate beds, despite Eileen offering Sheila a glass back at her house.

I am glad Sheila declined this offer because I am tired but also wanted to debrief with my aunt on my own before tomorrow. We both feel that our meeting with Sheila went as well as it could have gone and that we covered many bases of difficult conversational topics. As a reward to us both for getting through it and to temporarily lessen our dread for tomorrow, we open a bottle of Champagne, a staple ingredient to the contents of Eileen’s fridge.

Categories
Adulthood Observations Writing

20 ways that my full time job enhances my creative ambition

Having attended university and obtained an above average degree, people often ask me what’s next. I sometimes think that because they can’t physically see the results of my writing and where it could lead, they feel that I go home and do nothing or that I haven’t much ambition at all.

As good as I’ve got at not feeling the need to justify myself anymore, I won’t. Instead, I will tell you all of the wonderful ways that having my full time job at a Post Office and Stores enhances my creative ambition.

  1. It brings new ideas from the situations I encounter
  2. It enhances the personalities of my characters through the variety of people I meet
  3. Providing a break from my desk work is SO HELPFUL
  4. As is earning money so I’m not stressed while I write, since I don’t earn too much from writing yet
  5. It provides another purpose on days when writing isn’t happening
  6. I find so much blog material through working with people
  7. I have many positive chats through my working days about what I am deciding to do
  8. Peers are always interested and encouraging in my slightly off-piste approach, as we chat over the preparation of a bacon sandwich
  9. Hearing how others have overcome hurdles in life and ended up as successful as they are now provides a huge boost
  10. I add to my skill set outside of writing, learning new things every day (including managing the little time that I have to write effectively!)
  11. I get support from customers
  12. I get support from colleagues
  13. I get support from my bosses
  14. Free (amazing, thank you) proofreaders
  15. Advice
  16. Connections
  17. Book recommendations
  18. Opportunities
  19. Inspiration
  20. Happiness
Categories
Observations Writing

Easy Like A Sunday Morning: a writer’s take

Sundays. What a brilliant day. Aren’t they just the best day of the week?

No work (for most people), a quiet space (in most places) and an all round chilled vibe.

As an aspiring writer, I struggle through the week to squeeze everything into my tight schedule. Of course, I have a full time job on top of all the writing that I do because what writer starting out doesn’t? But also I find that I take on so many different projects and this can be both good and bad.

For my brain and writing capabilities it is good to test out different styles and writing for different purposes. I gain experience in writing fiction, press releases, blog posts, academic essays and the list goes on which is great.

On the other hand, it can all get too much and occasionally I find myself unable to work to the best of my ability because I am trying to cram so much into the little time that I have in between shifts.

This is why I LOVE Sundays.

Not only is it an opportunity to have a BREAK and time out away from my laptop (just like I am NOT doing now on a sunny Sunday morning writing this post), but it also gives me time to concentrate, get into the writing zone and dedicate quality time to some of the projects that pass by so fleetingly throughout the week.

Whenever I look back at the work that I have done (whenever I get a chance to do so) the best quality are the pieces I have written on days where I have had more time and haven’t been constantly checking the clock to see how long I have left. Days where I have chosen to sit down and write at the time I choose and for however long it takes are the days where I produce the best stuff.

And there’s no better time to produce the good work than on a Sunday. The air feels clear, the diary is empty and the vibes are strong.

It’s ‘easy like a Sunday morning.’

Categories
Writing

The Write Life is usually fine

There’s a hashtag on Instagram called #writelife and I am so confident in believing that life as a writer is the right life for me. It is the life that I often choose and one that I frequently write about.

In my spare time I decide to write, when I’m not writing I think about writing lots and ideas come rushing to me from all sorts of random sources of life. It’s a busy, creative and happy place in which I give a lot of my life to but sometimes, very occasionally, but something that has to be noted, the writing world isn’t always so rosy.

Writing is a solitary venture. This is one reason why I love it so much because all day I spend talking to people. Small talk, informative discussions, friendly chit chat, advice givings – talking. It’s all good but it does get tiring so in my breaks and on some of my days off I love to lose myself in my writing or nose dive into a book and lose myself there.

However, sometimes this has a negative effect. I read what I’ve written and feel it’s useless but have nobody there to tell me that it’s not or where I can improve it. I feel sad and write about it but the pages aren’t telling me that everything is going to be ok or what I can do to change things. I question the path I am taking but it’s all inside my head and I can create many scenarios – trust me. At times like these, which happen fairly frequently, nobody is with me to tell me that I’m making good choices, that it’s a risky but good move, that it could all lead to something amazing, when all I am thinking is that it is all for nothing and could all go wrong.

Most of the time I am able to believe this myself and repeat these positive sentences inside my head which keeps me going, but sometimes it all gets too much being on my own inside my writing bubble.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love what I do and right now, for an example, I am happily sitting alone with a cup of tea and my laptop in total bliss which is often the case. I also am lucky enough to have a strong support network surrounding me who mostly deliver motivational comments and pride for what I am choosing to do.

So it’s great. The #writelife is great. It’s a new world with never ending limits of creating people and places and stories. Most of the time its the happiest. I can create whatever I want and I feel so free in doing so. However, sometimes, just SOMETIMES, the #writelife is not the best place for me.

(How’s that for contradictory?!) The End.

Categories
Writing

These were all their words, he was all mine

Katie Melua’s cover of What a Wonderful World came out strongly from the speakers because James always saw the goodness in everything and everyone. I was overtaken by past memories that left out the horror of the final years. I was remembering the happy times when our family was one and the times before we had a family at all when we loved every aspect that life threw our way. I could hear Sally crying next to Jack who didn’t know how to react in the situation he was in. His first funeral and it was for his dad. How cruel life was sometimes.

Readings came from the reverend who reeled off all of our blurbs put together mixed in with religious connotations of what he felt that death was to him. Abide with Me was the chosen hymn but my voice box failed me due to my weakness and my tears, so I enjoyed the sound of the organ playing a favourite of mine. The committal was spoken, and the curtains closed giving us all closure to a long-suffering horrendous incident. The brain is such a powerful organ. At least our James suffers no more.

As we exited the building for the part of a funeral that any family member dreads, I took Erin and Jack by the hands to the bouquet that some minutes before lay rested where their father was.

‘Take a daisy each,’ I urged to them, both looking fearful at ruining a beautiful display of flowers. ‘Go on, you’re allowed to.’ They each took their favourite coloured bud and cautiously held it in their small hands. ‘Now whenever you’re missing Daddy, press on this for comfort. He is always going to be with you.’ Erin smiled and Jack remained looking confused as we edged our way to stand and be sent many condolences from everybody who loved James.

A true character. A lovely soul. Kind and thoughtful, always giving his everything. Wonderful. Brilliant. Charming. These were all their words, he was all mine.

Categories
Writing

The Diary of my novel writing process: A First Attempt (section 2)

Keeping diary during my novel writing process was initially an idea that I thought would be interesting to read later down the line but after producing what follows I realise it was a necessity.

Here is my novel writing diary four months in until the end…

30/09/2018 12:23pm

My ‘Novel Ideas’ document which contains my chapter plan is now half complete, the chapters highlighted in green. I have always found so much satisfaction in ticking off lists and figured that in the digital world highlighting brings the same sense of achievement. The fact that the green is covering more than half pleases me no end and gives me the motivation to get to that place – the end.

Once I have a full first draft of my manuscript I am not only going to feel relieved and accomplished having completed an entire novel, I’ll be extremely proud to have stuck it out. Some chapters are much harder to write than others there’s no doubt. One’s with research or a special event from a slightly different culture like the Irish wedding are ones that I’m not overly comfortable with and won’t be until enough people who know have read it.

Writing about an Irish girl and Irish rituals, I have made sure that a close Irish Catholic friend of mine has been the first to read large chunks of my manuscript at a time. I am so grateful for her throughout this process as she is one who would tell me straight firstly about what she thinks of the idea and how it reads but also if I made mistakes within the Irishness.

I am grateful for every reader who willingly reads my work. All the feedback is great and I realise that most are biased being friends and family but it’s still feedback nonetheless.

48,602 words down, around 27,000 to go and hopefully a lifetime of success, launch parties and happiness. Perhaps I’m getting a little ahead of myself. We’ll see…

Sunday 14th October 2018

Thinking today about writing and its solitary ways. It may be the dreary weather outdoors or the three tequila shots that I consumed last night but I’m struggling today. The content I am writing is pretty sad too but I can usually handle this and move myself away from the story. Today, however, I’m finding it hard. The juggling of different projects. The not yet getting anywhere. The fact that time is ticking and I’m working relentlessly to make this work and the thought that it could all be for nothing and I’d be back to square one.

I’m never usually this down about it but today I’m feeling a splurge of the difficulties that, I am sure, all writers face. You sit at your desk creating these extra worlds and people to worry about. You write things that perhaps are for a commission or a course and don’t particularly interest you but it has to be done.

In fact, as is always the case, writing this down has lifted the heavy weight off of my shoulders and I am sat with a fresh coffee ready to keep on going, because after all that is what you have to do, keep going until you get somewhere.

29/11/2018

Final chapter. Flapjack on desk for energy. Coffee for more energy. Window open to let final motivation in. George’s birthday so feeling good. Up early, presents, write. Write. Write. Write.

27/01/2019

The feedback. Feeling thrilled (and shocked) still to have finished my first novel and thoroughly grateful already for the support from friends and family. I have handed it out in hard copy and PDF form to a number of people but with Christmas and New Year it has taken a while to receive feedback.

It’s always good when people support you in something that you love and that is exactly what is happening so far. My mum is the first to have finished and discussing my novel, my characters and my plot line over our bangers and mash this evening has been somewhat surreal. I even read aloud the final two chapters to my sister who liked what she heard and isn’t a reader herself. I must admit I was rather proud of what I had written, words that I had forgotten about entirely. Exciting times ahead, I hope, exciting times indeed.

Categories
Writing

The Diary of my novel writing process: A First Attempt (section 1)

This is something that I wasn’t sure I would publish before sending my novel out to those who will judge it from knowledgeable expertise, but reading it again I think it is quite interesting and perhaps useful to those in similar positions to me.

Here is a glimpse into my diary that I wrote during the process of completing my first ever manuscript. I’m almost ready to take this piece of work further into the big wide world but here is an insight into how it all began!

(There are many more entries that I will let you see soon!)

02/09/2018 12:20pm

For quite some time now I have known that I want to write. I’d love to make a living out of it too one day but for now I am finding my niche and doing as much as I possibly can of what I love the most – writing.

Earlier this year I took the plunge and sent off an idea to over one hundred agents in the UK. The basis was an extension from my dissertation that I had completed last year at university so after speaking to my tutor who told me to go for it, I did just that. The responses that I have so far received have been more encouraging than I had ever expected, and I even have a strong interest from one agent who sees potential so watch this space. . .

While waiting for responses though, which came flooding back thick and fast but over a matter of months, I thought a good use of my time would be to try to write a complete manuscript of a first novel. By this time, I had decided I wanted to be a published author having never been able to put a title to what I would like to do. While sat on an open top bus in Dublin I came up with the opening of my book.

Now about half way through and beginning chapter fourteen tomorrow, I thought I would start to log my experience of the process. Overall, I am loving every minute and very happy with the progress I am making week on week. However, honesty is the best policy and I would be kidding myself if I didn’t address the challenges that I sometimes face.

I think the style that I have chosen to write in has helped masses because each chapter is a different stage of my protagonist’s life so each time I finish a chapter, it’s as if I have a fresh start on the next one which definitely keeps my motivation levels up. I also have given myself a particular wordcount each time which acts as a finishing line and on days when the inspiration is non-existent, I fight through to get to the 3,000 word mark by the end of each week.

As well as lack of motivation some days and looking at the thing as a whole being quite daunting, I occasionally get into the rut of ‘this might all not be worth it.’ I could write an 80,000 novel and send it off to hundreds of agents for them all to come back with a big fat NO. Then again, it only takes one for my dream to be made a reality. Perspective.

I’d rather look at the challenges of writing such a mammoth piece of work as a journey that I am happy to complete. A journey that is going to improve my writing abilities. A journey which at the end will bring me pride no matter what the outcome.

With the biggest challenge I face being writers block which is definitely real, the majority of my time spent writing is therapeutic. An escape from this world into one that is entirely made up and created by moi.