I'm going to jump around in time a bit in these blogs and talk about whatever it happens to be that I'm currently wrestling with or enamored by.
Today, it's the Public Edit at Bloomsbury Publishing (https://www.writersandartists.co.uk/events/the-national-academy-of-writing-public-edit-emma-healey).
The gist is, you submit a piece of work in advance into a lottery. Two pieces are then selected, to be projected for all to see, whilst the writer, Richard Beard, runs a fine tooth comb through line by precious line.
Later, a successful author takes you through their writing process - and a interesting one this month - the London underground sang of little else for much of last year - Emma Healy - Author of Elizabeth is Missing.
The bit that has me in self-doubting knots is the submission. On the one hand, what a fantastic opportunity for a writer who's decided that they really need to hear it, who has readied themselves for the strike - what's horrific? What's cliche? Where is the rot? Then hopefully, somewhere amongst all of the criticism, where am I shining?
There's a bit of me that's not convinced I am prepared, and especially not if there's nothing salvageable. Isn't that the very reason I've been shying away from writing for the past few years, buoying my idea of myself as a writer on a few measly publications in my much younger days?
What if the already weak flame of my belief is extinguished right there in that room, for all to witness? What if after all of this talk, I really am intended for admin and supporting the much more tangible dreams of others?
And breathe.
Or you know, I could just be a coward and fail to submit anything, sit back in the crowd, and continue as I have for so long now, completely without effort.
I'm not going to let that happen.
Why? Because I'm proud of this novel, I know I have a lot to learn, and I really am, thoroughly dissatisfied with the idea that performing admin is the best of me.
There's a lot of things which have helped me float up to this confidence recently - all of which I'll be mulling over in future blogs.
Even if the licking of wounds is required, I'm going to submit the first chapter of my novel and ready myself. I've seen Richard Beard in action and he's brilliant; after a while of listening to his thought process as he's reviewing the text, you find yourself swept up, suddenly able to see the flaws for yourself.
Sure, having your own work stripped naked in front of strangers might not be pleasant, but it is necessary, helpful and ultimately worthwhile, even if you disagree with a few points here and there. Hopefully I still believe this after the fact.
Wish me luck.
Thursday 25 February 2016
Sunday 21 February 2016
Osmosis
In January 2016 I loaded a large, messy clump of writing (If I'm being kind) onto my Kindle and read.
And it struck me, as it never has before at that stage - this book could actually be good. In it's current state, it really wasn't, in fact, it was terrible. But the potential was noted. There was just enough of a tangible plot and just enough passable dialogue amidst the cliches.
Two months on from this realisation and I am finally giving my writing the room it always needed. I am feeling my way around in the dark for what it could be, and the brief flashes of light which illuminate it all, give me hope.
Better still, I finally have enough thoughts (wrong or right) about the all-consuming, torturous, wonderful pursuit of trying to rescue a good novel from a shaky body of work. I have absolutely no idea if I'll make it, if my confidence in this book is ill conceived, or even if, true to form, I'll invent another life-ending obstacle.
Be what may, I'm going to keep going. And I'm going to share my approach, mistakes and hopefully (and however small) victories here. Perhaps like me, you produce your best through osmosis, soaking up every possible source, ensuring you're surrounded, before tentatively trying it out for yourself.
Who knows, this just might serve as a blueprint, be it a limited personal one or also one which can be useful to others. Or maybe each one of the novelly little bastards requires a different treatment, which will continue to flummox and challenge us during every attempt. What a delightful prospect.
And it struck me, as it never has before at that stage - this book could actually be good. In it's current state, it really wasn't, in fact, it was terrible. But the potential was noted. There was just enough of a tangible plot and just enough passable dialogue amidst the cliches.
Two months on from this realisation and I am finally giving my writing the room it always needed. I am feeling my way around in the dark for what it could be, and the brief flashes of light which illuminate it all, give me hope.
Better still, I finally have enough thoughts (wrong or right) about the all-consuming, torturous, wonderful pursuit of trying to rescue a good novel from a shaky body of work. I have absolutely no idea if I'll make it, if my confidence in this book is ill conceived, or even if, true to form, I'll invent another life-ending obstacle.
Be what may, I'm going to keep going. And I'm going to share my approach, mistakes and hopefully (and however small) victories here. Perhaps like me, you produce your best through osmosis, soaking up every possible source, ensuring you're surrounded, before tentatively trying it out for yourself.
Who knows, this just might serve as a blueprint, be it a limited personal one or also one which can be useful to others. Or maybe each one of the novelly little bastards requires a different treatment, which will continue to flummox and challenge us during every attempt. What a delightful prospect.
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