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.