NaNoWriMo - Day 13

November thunders on and my word count creeps ever higher. I just wish I was sprinting up the 50,000 word mountain, rather than limping towards the summit.

I can write approximately 1,000 words an hour by hand, so a couple of hours will result in a fairly healthy word count. I consider this to be a pretty good performance since I know that there are folks out there that can't produce at that rate either by hand or at a computer or typewriter. However, when you're lagging behind your target by over 10,000 words, 1,000 words an hour seems terrifyingly slow.

When you think about it, 1,000 words an hour by hand really isn't that slow: I get an average of just over 200 words per A4 page, so I'm churning out five pages an hour. Unfortunately, no matter how much I want to, I can't do anything to speed up. There's an advantage of writing by hand as my word rate doesn't really vary, even when I'm not motivated, but I also can't hurry up when I'm slipping behind.

This week has brought three early shifts at work, which involve getting up at 4am (or earlier) and then forcing myself to stay awake for at least eight hours. By the time I get home, especially on the first couple of days, I'm usually so tired that my brain is mush and my amoeba-like thoughts are just floating around in the goo. I have been known to fall asleep while eating or drinking, the latter in particular is quite untidy since I usually wake up when I either spill my coffee in my lap, or all over the floor. Sometimes it surprises me that I'm not drooling in front of the TV and I'm sure that sometimes I am! So this week, finding the time to write hasn't been the issue; finding a coherent thought has. Thankfully I'm on my first of three late shifts and I've arranged a half day off on the last one so I can go to the Friday night write-in. After that I'm off work until after my holiday, so there will be plenty of time to catch up.

10,000 words is a lot to think about in terms of hours, but it's not so bad when I remember that there's still 9 days left until the holiday, and 17 days left in November. I only need to write an extra 1,000 words per day to claw back my target and that's only 1 hour extra each day. (Let's not think about Christmas or moving house, shall we.)

NaNoWriMo Stats - Day 13
Normal NaNoWriMo target: 21,671
Target for finishing early: 30,953
Frontloading target: 43,333
Current wordage: 19,556 (-2,115, -11,397, -23,777) and there are still hours left in the day!

NaNoWriMo - What's this 'frontloading target' business?

In the past two posts I have made mention of a frontloading target and I thought it might be a good idea to explain what that is (not least because I might forget myself).

While browsing the NaNoWriMo forums during October, I came across something referred to as 'The Reward System'. I later discovered there are two different motivational methods referred to as 'The Reward System' and I'll cover the other one in a moment; this one's about over-writing in the early stages of NaNoWriMo so that you have to write fewer and fewer words each day as the month progresses.

Generally speaking, NaNoWriMo participants are more motivated in the first week of the month and thus inclined to write more anyway. The benefit is that as your motivation declines, so does your daily goal, leaving you with one, single, solitary, lonely, and quite wonderful word to write on your final day. The agreed upon goals for a 30 day challenge are as follows:

Day 1: 3346 (It’s day one! Hell yeah, go for it!)

Day 2: 3216

Day 3: 3101

Day 4: 2986

Day 5: 2872

Day 6: 2757

Day 7: 2642

Day 8: 2527 (This is the hard part. Week one is out of the way, but you’ve still got some painful quotas left. Just do it!)

Day 9: 2412

Day 10: 2298

Day 11: 2183

Day 12: 2068

Day 13: 1953 (Almost there…)

Day 14: 1838 (Almost there……)

Day 15: 1724 (Halfway point! After this, you’ll be writing less every day than everyone else!)

Day 16: 1609

Day 17: 1494

Day 18: 1379

Day 19: 1264

Day 20: 1150

Day 21: 1035 (Less than a thousand words a day after this!)

Day 22: 920

Day 23: 805

Day 24: 690

Day 25: 576 (That’s a single good Word War! Feel free to laugh at the people with over three times this quota today!)

Day 26: 461

Day 27: 346

Day 28: 231

Day 29: 116

Day 30: 1 (Aww yeah! One word left! Make it a good one!)

(This is from Nicole Cook's blog, Daily Dish Recipes, with thanks.)

My problem is that with a holiday booked for the end of the month, I wanted to finish early (specifically, I'm aiming to hit 50k on the 21st November). Fortunately, a kind soul on the forums posted the goals for completing in 21 days, and that's where the frontloading target you've seen on previous blog posts originated.

However, perhaps you are only now starting NaNoWriMo (yes, there's still time!) and you'd like to use this system. Perhaps you also want to finish early, or you're aiming for a higher target. Well, here's a handy formula that will allow you to calculate your own daily goals.

(( t x 2) / d ) - 1 = g

g / ( d - 1 ) = w

t = word target

d = number of writing days

g = writing goal for day 1

w = amount of words to decrease your goal by for each writing day

I am no mathematician, (I'm a writer!) so I cannot guarantee this is correct mathematical notation, or that it is even right (although I've checked it with a couple of permutations, and it seems to work). I also can't take ANY credit for this at all. I didn't invent the reward system and the formula is stolen from bart6500 on Yahoo! Answers. Also, be warned that due to rounding, you would probably need to 'adjust' (i.e. increase or decrease by the odd word) on a few of the daily goals so that you have your one word left on your final day.

The other reward system involves chocolate. Or sweets. Or luxurious baths. Or time playing your favourite game. It is far less complicated than the above, requires no formula, requires no maths at all. (Hurrah!) What it does require is a willing arbiter, or diamond-like willpower that was fashioned under intense heat and pressure, possibly in the heart of Mordor.

Step one, find your arbiter. Step two, prepare your reward (if it's TV time, or X-Box time and you have those, you're all set). Step three, decide on your daily word count goal. Step four, write. You only get your reward when you've hit your goal for the day. Simples! Of course, if you're feeling really sadistic, you could always combine both reward systems.

NaNoWriMo - Day 6

My previously healthy word count is looking decidedly less healthy. Sure, I broke the 10,000 word mark yesterday with ease and powered on to just over 11k. It was cause for celebration. I ate a chocolate cookie. Day six, however, has once again resulted in a distinct lack of words. This makes me unhappy. It's all work's fault.

Today is my last of three night shifts. Night shifts are normally quiet. Night shifts are normally a time for reading or, on occasions when my brain can't function enough to understand words on a page, watching DVDs. I like my night shifts. They are normally characterised by short bursts of activity interspersed with lots of time waiting for things to happen. These ones, however, have been an almost constant flow of things to do, which means I get nothing done.

So I finish Day 6 on the same word count I started with.

Regardless of this slight disturbance in my writerly flow, I remain positive. I am still ahead of the standard target and my early finish remains in sight. The best part is that I am about to commence my three days off, which will include a Friday night write-in, so there is plenty of opportunity to power through and reclaim my lost time.

NaNoWriMo Stats - Day 6
Normal NaNoWriMo target: 10,002
Target for finishing early: 14,286
Frontloading target: 25,000
Current wordage: 11,362 (+1,360, -2,924, -13,638)

NaNoWriMo - Day 4

I seem to recall I promised I would periodically post during November concerning my NaNoWriMo adventure. I suppose I'd better stick to that promise or you might not come back in the future.

Like so many Hobbits, Wizards, Dwarves and Elves, my fellow NaNoers and I set out, November 1st, on our quest, each seeking their own 50,000 word prize. It was all going so well.

On day one I was riding high. I hit 590 words in my first 30 minutes. I ended my first session on 1,205 with plenty more hours in the day. I made 2,269 in my next session, and rounded off the day with a total of 3,866 words. In one day. All written by hand. I had almost 5 chapters under my belt, I'd introduced four major characters, killed three of them, and killed off a further two minor characters. 

Day two arrived, looking all bright and promising. Despite my husband's best efforts to distract me with his birthday shenanigans, I added a further 1,602 words in my first session and ended the day on 6,731 words. 

On day three, I had a shift at work to contend with and other stuff started to creep into my peripheral vision. Our house has been on the market for a good while and on Sunday we received an offer. A serious one. And the family would like to move before Christmas, please and thank you. And we're on holiday at the end of November. And I've got a job application to do and... ARRRRRRGGGGHHHH! Even with all that, I managed a healthy 2,027 words. I was quite pleased with myself.

Day four, however.... I'd quite like to forget about day four. In fact, as far as NaNoWriMo goes, day four was a total bust. 16 hours in work, plus sleeping and eating time, as well as the aforementioned job thing, really hasn't helped and apart from my diary entry, I haven't written a single word. ::sighs::

However, I'm ahead of the standard NaNoWriMo target, and only slightly in deficit on my target for a pre-holiday finish, so I am feeling reasonably positive. (We won't mention the frontloading target I set myself.) 

On day five, I'm aiming for 12k. If I can get near to 14k I'll be really chuffed. It's only an extra 5,000 words so it isn't impossible, but it would beat my highest writing day so far by an extra 1,200 words. Roll on day five... Long live day five!

NaNoWriMo Stats - Day 4
Normal NaNoWriMo Target: 6,668
Target for finishing early: 9,524
Frontloading target: 17,620
Current words: 8,758 (+2,090, -766, -8,862)

NaNoWriMo 2013

NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. Thirty days and nights of literary abandon.

If you haven't encountered this phenomenon before, it is the challenge of writing 50,000 words in the month of November. Every year hundreds of thousands of writers commit to this challenge; in 2012, over 341,000 people from 586 regions on 6 continents, participated. NaNoWriMo has resulted in the publication of many well-known novels in the past, including Flowers of Baghdad by Bruce Lyman, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern, and Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen.

And tomorrow, the 2013 NaNoWriMo will begin.

I was first turned on to NaNoWriMo in 2009 by a writing pal, Aaron. I attempted it the following year (and also in 2011) but have never been successful. This year I am determined, I am committed, and I'm taking it seriously.

I have spent much of October working towards my NaNovel: outlining, researching, and world-building. (That, and generally stalking other participants on the NaNoWriMo forums.) I'm working on a story that I've been dying to tell for years. It's soft science fiction, set (mostly) in the Andromeda Galaxy. All being well, this will be the first in a trilogy and part one (currently titled Into the Light) will involve mystery, intrigue and a couple of generous tablespoons of action.

In addition to the planning element, part of my NaNoPrep has involved getting my tools together and working out where to write. Having had such a positive experience with hand writing in my diary, I decided (foolishly, perhaps?) to hand write my NaNovel. I have realised that the computer kills creativity. I have had more success writing creatively by hand in the past ten months, than writing on the computer in the last ten years so I've treated myself to a couple of new fountain pens, I've stocked up on Stabilo 88s (a long-standing favourite ink pen) and I have prepared the notebooks and notepads I'll write in. I've also put together a folder, which I'll discuss in a later post, for notes, research and inspiration.

A couple of weeks ago, I also managed to create a little space at home where I can write in peace. This is something I have never had before and something I didn't expect to have this year either, but I had a brain-wave and a few hours later, with upstairs completely reorganised, there it was. It's still a work in progress in this photo (a little bit different now), but you get the gist.

So how do you fancy coming with me? This is an adventure that is as easily accessible to the novice as the professional, that doesn't require you to be in amazing physical shape and, doesn't require any special equipment (not even climbing gear). All you need is paper & pen (or equivalent). NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow but it isn't too late to join. Sign up at NaNoWriMo.org and get your thinking cap on. Not got any idea what to write? It doesn't really matter because you can write anything that your brain can imagine. Go for it! And if you don't want to join, I'll be blogging periodically with my successes and failures (hopefully more of the former) so you can track my progress.

This is my year. Maybe it's your year too.

Good luck to all the NaNoWriMos.

From a Buick 8

I mentioned in my last post that there's been lots happening over the past weeks. I haven't posted much, but I have been writing and also reading. There's been plotting and planning too, but more on that later. If you've read my post about Goodreads (here), you will know I set a reading target this year. My goal is now in sight. I'm in the process of reading my twentieth book, and there's still plenty of reading time left in the year. It helps when I happen across a 400 page book I can read a in three days.

From a Buick 8 by Stephen King is a slightly strange book. On Goodreads the rating graph is a mixed bag. There are few that hate the book, but also few than love it. At the time of writing this, almost 40% of reviewers rated it only three stars. However, I found it completely compelling and couldn't put the damned thing down. Why?

One of the most notable elements of the book is that it lacks the traditional corner stone of storytelling: character development. What little plot exists is delivered in flashback, always returning to the same point in time. I believe that many readers can't see past this, expecting something to change between the beginning and the end. However, as much as this is a story about a dangerous and mysterious thing that appears to be a Buick 8, it's also about obsession, the passing of time and the passing of responsibility from one generation (or individual) to the next. In this sense, perhaps the point of the story is that nothing really changes between the beginning and the end.

At times, Buick 8 is grotesque and macabre, satisfying King's horror fans and this was certainly part of what enthralled me (I won't deny that I was intrigued to find out what the car would do next) , but I was equally, if not more, interested in the characters. Each section of flashback is told by one of the characters; whichever can speak with the most authority on each part of the story. And speak they do. Each character has a distinctive voice (a turn of phrase, an accent, speech pattern or tone). Each flashback is written in the first person, as if the character is addressing the reader directly. As a result, I felt that each character spoke to me as surely as if they were sitting beside me and I couldn't wait to hear what each character had to say.

It might not suit every reader, but I personally found From a Buick 8 thoroughly engaging. I will certainly read it again in the future, and it's probably my favourite read of 2013.

Kat Middleton BA (hons)

So, once again, not a lot of posting going on, but plenty of other stuff, most significant of which being my graduation.

I have written here (and elsewhere) about the Open University and my 'adventures' studying Literature. Finally, after more than ten years, I am officially a graduate and, as proud as I am with my achievement, as I look back I'm also saddened. Because it's over.

Studying with the O.U. has been a roller-coaster of highs and lows. There have been assignments and exams where I have done far better than I expected, and also those where I have struggled to reach a grade I'm happy with. I've had more than my fair share of late nights (or indeed, all-nighters) trying to get assignments finished. I've had trouble paying for my studies, worried and panicked about finishing the degree following the change to university funding that came into affect last year. I've even had tutors that I didn't much like, and done a course that was a horrible mistake! But the truth is, despite the deadlines that always arrived too soon, the torture of studying poetry, the pile of books that loomed over me like the north-face of the Eiger, studying has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, and not just for the fancy piece of paper at the end.

The Open University has exposed me to material I never would have read or studied before. It has surprised me and I have surprised myself. I honestly didn't expect to enjoy Middlemarch as much as I did, and of the parts of the course to excel in, why was it a section studying Napoleon and the French Revolution?

And so, to the Open University, I tip my mortarboard and say, "Thank you."

I am looking forward to never again having to reference the stuff I write.

The Importance of Good Research

A couple of nights ago The Other Half and I watched Olympus Has Fallen on Sky Store. The White House under attack, the President trapped in a bunker, and Gerard Butler doing his Gerard Butler thing; a good formula for en evening's entertainment.

However...

Rather than turning off my brain, enjoying the explosions and Gerard Butler's loveliness, I found myself raging at inaccuracies and giant, gaping plotholes. Since when does the secret service let foreign nationals into a crisis command centre, since when would they evacuate the White House and leave the President's son behind, since when would they evacuate the White House into the firing-line of an armed aircraft, since when did the US Air Force take so long to intercept a rogue aircraft that it was allowed to get over a population, never mind anywhere near the seat of US government, since when would the President and his family be driven by motorcade from Camp David in a blizzard? Are you kidding me? Even the most basic of research (even the most basic of logic) could have avoided such obvious errors and consequently kept my wrath in its box where it belongs.

This got me thinking: We're absorbing information all the time and it's so easy to find stuff online that an audience is potentially more informed than ever before. When writing non-fiction, they say you should do so for your lowest common denominator, in other words, your least informed viewer or reader. The opposite is perhaps true of fiction: Fact and accuracy will never annoy someone who doesn't know about the subject, but mistakes and errors are liable to annoy a person who knows a bit about it. This is a great demonstration of the importance of good research. Or at least, if research isn't possible, the application of logic. All fiction is essentially making it up as you go along, but to really engage your audience it has to make sense and it has to feel real.

Throne Room

A little bit of a story, scribbled down back in Janaury. I've been meant to upload it but the usual pressures of life made me forget about it. Until now. The short sentences and dubious grammar are intentional; I felt it put the reader into the character's head. I hope that it doesn't make for difficult reading.

* * *

Seated on her throne, Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. The indignity: Peeing with someone in the neighbouring cubicle! Why couldn't the interloper have taken the end stall, the one nearest the door, the shortest distance? 

          Elizabeth held her breath. She waited, her knickers around her ankles. Still and silent.

          The other woman finished. There was a rumble from the large, circular toilet paper dispenser, followed by various rustling sounds. A thump on the partition immediately accompanied by an exclamation (Ouch!) startled Elizabeth so that she almost made a sound. A close call. Finally, after more rustling, the clunk of the cistern and the rush of water tumbling into the bowl signalled the other woman's impending departure. The door lock clicked and rasped; metal on metal complaining at the movement. The door squealed a brief objection before banging loudly on the partition. Slender heels clicked, insect-like, on the tiles.

          In her own cubicle Elizabeth waited, expecting the squeak of the tap and the hiss of hot, aerated water. Perhaps there might be a soft thump of sickly soap pumped into the palm of a hand, or the blast of the hand dryer. Instead there was a creak and a heavy bang as the toilet door was pulled open and then swung shut.

          Elizabeth breathed and relaxed. How unpleasant. Her worst fears confirmed. She imagined the woman with untidy hair, clothes by George, a cheap knock-off handbag from eBay. And stiletto heels. In the day time. She didn't even wash her hands. The woman was no-better than a pigeon in the street, a snail in the garden, a house-spider that weaves unsightly webs in corners of rooms, unclean: Elizabeth had just shared her privacy with a person of low breeding. 

          She shuddered, physically shaking the unwelcome thoughts from her mind. She rustled around in her cubicle, arranging herself before emerging. Elizabeth paused in front of the full length mirror and examined herself with a critical eye. Her loose hair curled in a frame around sharp features. Her clothes were neat and tailored. She smoothed her pencil skirt over her hips anyway. She caught a flash of red from the soles of her grey, suede, Louboutin platforms and smiled. Quality assured. She tugged at the corners of her eyes. Wrinkles. The latest potion would be required to correct them. £50 for a minuscule tube but worth the price. She reached into her Valentino clutch for her Dior 'Devilish Pink' and swept it across Botox-inflated lips. She approved what she saw with a nod, stuck her nose in the air and left the toilet. The taps remained silent. The basins were dry.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you. I just don't like to go without washing my hands." 

          A tall, slender woman, dressed in a smart business suit with hair pulled into a tight bun, passed Elizabeth. A woman in a cleaner's coverall followed behind.

          "It's alright, love. I'd have been refilling the soap later anyway." The cleaner said.

          Insect heels clicked across the tiled floor as they entered the toilet.

          "I appreciate it anyway."

Goodreads

Stephen King, in his book On Writing tells us that reading is just as important as writing when it comes to developing your writing craft. He is often quoted: "If you don't have the time to read, you don't have the time, or the tools, to write." Thankfully, reading is something I have been doing in abundance this year.

As one often does around the turn of a year, on 31st December 2012 I set myself some goals, one of which was to read thirteen books (13 for 2013). I'd set a similar goal for 2012 and failed miserably. I think I reached around seven, most of which were finished in the early part of the year. In reading terms, the second half of the year was a waste. But back to the here and now. So far in 2013 I have read seventeen books. And some of these were big beasties, like A Song of Ice and Fire and The Sum of All Fears. I reached the coveted target of thirteen so early that come the 31st December 2013 I hope not only to have read at least twenty books, but to set a higher target again for 2014.

You may ask, "How do you keep track of your reading? How do you know exactly how many books you've read?" Goodreads!

I've been a member of Goodreads.com for a couple of years now. If you're like me, you'll be organised, like lists, like tracking your progress, and you'll love Goodreads. I can keep track my progress on whatever novel (or novels) I'm reading, keep a list of books I want to read, organise my books into categories, genre, or any other list I like, and Goodreads also has an annual reading challenge where you set the target. Mine says I'm "4 books (19%) ahead of schedule!". Goodreads even has a handy app for your tablet or smartphone, which makes tracking your progress very easy.

So if you're an avid reader, or even just read occasionally, check it out. You might like it. Goodreads.com. 

The Creativity of Children

So this is the post I came to publish yesterday. Rather than post twice in one day I thought I save this for today. It was born from The Write Practice writing prompt from 22nd August - a short free write around the theme - that I liked enough to share. There's an irony to the fact that the next Write Practice blog I read was about creating a platform by sharing your stories. Consider this one plank of that platform if you like.

* * *

The Creativity of Children

It's a simple box, corrugated cardboard, unassuming; but inside is an doorway to world I can't see. In the hands of a child that drab, brown husk is a spaceship, or a racing car, or a fort, a princess castle or a dolls house. It may be empty to me, but not to a child who sees through an imaginative eye. The empty box is a toy in a child's hand, but a dead thing in mine. My head is filled with documents and spreadsheets, with worries and responsibilities. My creativity is shouted down by practicality. A blank sheet of paper and a few pots of paint combine to form an exciting masterpiece for a child, but it stares up at me, threatening me, daring me to try, mocking that would even consider it. A child, so free: It doesn't matter if it's 'right', it doesn't matter if it's 'good', it doesn't even have to be 'acceptable' because these are adult labels for things that make us afraid when we grow up.

Growing up. That thing we think of as an improvement - growing physically, growing in knowledge and experience - but at what cost? Is it really such an improvement? Give me the empty box. Give me the blank paper. Give me the world through a child's eyes.

Student Cafe

Edit: Open University course is done - graduation is in October - and I'm very pleased with a 2.1 degree and 81% overall score on the module. Since finishing the course I've had a little break and I've been working on developing some writing projects, but now it's time to get back into the blog. I logged in to post a writing prompt and discovered this post unpublished in drafts. I actually rather liked it on second reading, so I thought it worth posting... here's the original post, including the comment. Enjoy!

I suck at poetry: I don't write it, I rarely read it and I don't really 'get it'. I can't even write Haiku with any degree of success. When it comes to poetry, there's some stuff that I appreciate (rather than 'love' or even 'like') but there's a whole bunch of popular, acclaimed and famous poetry that actually bores me. So I think it's safe to say, I am a poetic philestine.

However, the current OU course had a little section on poetry, specifcally focussing on Villanelle, Pantoum, Sestinas and Sonnets. This is a Pantoum and is a product of that section. It's not the result of a assignment or exercise... just something that sort of happened.

Normally the lines in a Pantoum are of equal length (because the 2nd and 4th lines of each stanza repeat in the next one) but this thing resisted.

So here it is... the first poem I've written since High School... a certain number of unspecified years.

* * *

Student Cafe

Here you gather

notebook in hand, hope in your heart.

Students gathered,

To chat and to fawn and to prove you are smart.

Notebook in hand, hope in your heart;

Now resolved

to chat and to fawn and to prove you are smart:

So evolved!

Now resolved

to despondence and mournful concern that you’re not

so evolved.

“Give me love and a smile; an emotional crutch.”

To despondence and mournful concern that I’m not

worth the bother.

Give me love and a smile; an emotional crutch.

Here we gather.

One Night

Writing, writing, writing, but not a lot that I can put on here. I've been very good with my diary this year. Every page is filled with nonsense. I'm very proud: I have never been able to keep a diary before. If bad habits die hard, good habits are just as hard to bring to life.

Anyway, I finally have something I fancied sharing. This started life as an Open University exercise that ended up leading me down a different path. It's only the start of a story and I haven't worked out where it goes yet, but I like it so far. Eventually, when the time is right and the stars align, I'll have a go at finishing it off.

* * *

The club was dark. Music was pounding. His mates were in a jovial mood, laughing and hooting, knocking back drinks and eyeing up the girls. James was not.

“You wanna get back in the game, mate.” Simon slapped him on the back so that he almost dunked his nose into the pint of beer he’d been nursing for the best part of an hour.

“Yeah.” Dave said. “You gotta go with the flow. Move with the groove.”

“Shots!”

James wasn’t sure which one of his mates had shouted it, but a few minutes later two dozen shots were lined up in front of him, glowing lurid colours in the club light-show. He chugged the first one and it burned its way down but the afterglow felt good. He followed up with several more; each time he lifted a glass his spirits lifted with it. Half an hour later he was feeling very happy as he leaned against the bar waving a twenty and waiting to be served.

There were two people serving: a young woman with a ring through her lower lip and bright green hair, and a tall spindly bloke with scruffy hair. They were busy at the opposite end of the bar, where a group of girls on a hen night was holding their attention. As he waited, a girl stepped up to the bar next to him. She smiled and then focussed on trying to get the attention of one of the servers.

“Hi. I’m James.” He grinned. She smiled at him but said nothing. “You’re pretty.” She smiled again but continued to try and call the attention of the bar staff. “I’m here with my mates, over there.” He turned to point them out but couldn’t see them. He looked around for a moment. “Well, they were there. I guess I’m on my own. Are you here with someone? Boyfriend maybe?” She smiled again, a little longer, trying to figure out if he was worth the trouble, maybe.

“I’m with some friends from uni.”

“Great. Having a good time?”

She shook her head.

“Me neither. I didn’t want to come out tonight. I didn’t feel like it. I’m James.” He said again.

“You said that already.” She laughed. She paused and bit her lip. “Do you want to get some fresh air? The music’s kind of doing my head in.”

“I’ll go out with you if you tell me your name.”

“Maggie.”

She took his hand and led him towards the door.

James woke in a comfortable bed, his face half-buried in a soft pillow that smelled freshly washed. The music from the club was still buzzing in his ears and pounding in his head. He rolled over, expecting to see his dorm room but what he saw was unfamiliar. There was a tidy desk against one wall, with a cork notice board above it. Photos and cards were pinned all over the board. On the wall next to the bed there was a Madonna poster. On the table next to the bed was a short stack of books: Pride and Prejudice, Great Expectations and Pet Cemetery. The latter had a postcard shove between the dog-eared pages. Where the hell was he?

                “Good afternoon sleepyhead.” Maggie entered, wrapped in a fluffy cream towel, with her auburn hair wrapped in another towel on her head.

                James smiled. In a rush he remembered the pretty shy girl from the club. The girl that he’d chatted with in the cold November night until the club had closed. She’d invited him back to the house she shared. They’d kissed and done more.

                “What time is it?”

                “Does it matter? Scoot.” She shuffled at the edge of the bed until he made room for her to sit, then she ruffled his hair. “You need a shower.”

                “I need coffee”

                Maggie kissed him on the cheek.

                “Shower first, then coffee. You’ll feel better.”

James stood naked in the bathroom, his hands either side of the designer basin. He stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was greying at the temples. A few light wrinkles had started to spread outwards from the corners of his eyes. When did he get so old? He looked down at the water running from the tap. The wedding band on his finger glinted in the early morning sunlight. He stared at it.

                “Are you alright in there?”

                “Yeah, I’m fine.” He called out.

                He splashed water on his face, turned the tap off and dabbed the moisture away with a bright white towel from the rail.

                The hotel room was well appointed, decorated in tones of cream, coffee and chocolate. The bed linen was white and expensive-looking, with one of those slippery sashes across the bottom of it. An empty bottle wine bottle bathed in a cooler on a walnut desk, the ice long-since melted. The remnants of room service lay on an oversized tray on the low coffee table in front of an equally low sofa.

                James slid back into the bed.

                “I was about to send out a search party.” His companion wriggled up against him, sliding her leg over his thigh. She propped her head up on one hand so that her hair fell around her bare shoulders in champagne waves. She pressed the duvet down to her waist. “Everything OK?”

                James glanced at the porcelain breasts so blatantly on display.

                “Yeah, fine.”

                “Good, cos I want you at least once more before we have to go down for breakfast.” She leaned over and kissed him, sliding her body over his. For a moment, he considered resisting, but it was only a moment, then she was straddling him and he was kissing her vigorously.

Elusive Sleep

This is a little something that originated from a diary entry. It's a semi-fictional piece in that it is not based on a particular incident, but it's something that happens to all of us sooner or later and something that I've experienced many times.

I lie there. Awake with my eyes closed. Perhaps if I pretend to be asleep I will go to sleep. If I just keep my eyes closed I'll drift off. But who am I kidding? My body isn't obliging tonight. My mind is still aware, still active, still thinking about the things I did today and the things I will do tomorrow.

I roll over. No... roll is the wrong expression; I flip myself over angrily. Angry at no-one and nothing in particular. Except for the sleep that refuses to come.

My arm is in the way now. I fold it under my head but it goes numb. I stick it out of the side of the bed but it goes cold. And my shoulder is getting crushed. There in the dark, with sleep eluding me, I contemplate how badly designed the human body is. It's all bits that stick out in odd directions. And what's the deal with snoring? I silently curse the creator as I flip over again.

Now the sheet has come loose from the corner of the mattress. It's wrinkled up under my shoulder in uncomfortable little folds, razor blades beneath me. Dammit!

I throw back the duvet and the blanket with a flair best reserved for the theatre, and rise from my troublesome nest. I can't tuck the sheet back under the mattress where it belongs without disturbing my softly snoozing partner so I do my best to smooth it out. I pull it under my pillow, which I move down, away from the headboard, hoping that it will tame the belligerent sheet. It probably won't work but it will have to do.

I climb back into the bed and check the clock. 2am. I'm cold now; my feet are tucked into each other and my knees are pulled up. But the sheets have remained blessedly warm from my own body heat. It's very welcome against my chilly limbs. My bed is now suddenly cosy. I pull the covers up over my chin and before I realise it the alarm clock is buzzing 6.30am.

I hit snooze. My cocoon is too comfortable to leave it just yet.

Free Your Writing

Welcome to the New Year, a time for resolutions (that often fall away by the end of January) and good habits (that often fall away before then). I know that it's a hopeless cliche, but I'm relaunching this blog today. By relaunching, I mean that I'm posting after a big period of not posting. Another New Year's resolution? Blog more? Post once a day, once a week, once a month? No, nothing like that. It just feels right.

Today, inspired by The Write Practice, I indulged in my first free-write of the year. What a joy!

In case you don't already know, free writing is a process that puts a stream of consciousness on the page. You can start with a prompt or just whatever words are in your head, but the point is to write non-stop and unedited for a period of time. Don't type, because typing encourages editing: It's not permanent enough, it can be deleted and re-written on a whim. Handwriting, however, is completely permanent: Once it's there on the page, it's there forever. You can cover it up, you can destroy the page, but you can't separate the ink from the paper. You just place the pen (or pencil) on the page and start writing and keep going; 5, 10 or 15 minutes is fine, or you can aim to fill a number of pages. You can either empty the contents of your head onto the page (literary vomitting) or you can write what's going on around you. Allow your mind to wander and jump from subject to subject. If your mind goes quiet and you find you have nothing to write, just keep going. Write the same word over and over if you have to, or switch to writing about what you can hear or see or smell. Just keep going.

What you end up with is nonsense - it isn't meant to be published - but free writing is a breeding ground for ideas that you didn't even know you had. It frees you from your inner editor and awakens your writer inside. And I had forgotten how much I enjoy it; it's liberating and blessedly easy.

I'll return to tonight's free writing in a day or two and see if there's anything I can develop.

So screw restrictive resolutions that commit us to 'blog once a week', or 'write the first novel by the end of the year', they are good goals and very worthy achievements, but this New Year, with my writing at least, I'm going back to basics. My goal is simply to write something every day, even if it's free writing or some other crap that is never unleashed upon the world.