Secret Scribbler

Everything is about balance, I suppose.

From time to time though, days can become overwhelming, due to the pressures we place on ourselves, or have placed upon us, to do everything, and to be everything to many people.  For most, this is of course, impossible.

It can be better sometimes, to start off small - take one’s own counsel and leave the rest.  It can be better, but it’s hard, because the rest of the world is so loud, and it’s often a fine line between knowing your own mind and being hard headed, between self love and selfishness.  It’s an important line nonetheless, and I suppose we have to keep on walking it, no matter how often we may stray onto the wrong side.

When I think about this, I’m usually thinking about writing, which I love, but undeniably it means less time for my family and friends.  It’s something that I imagine everyone has to deal with most, if not all of the time - the ceaseless pull of competing demands, the juggle of priorities, the fear that you are missing out, missing someone, getting things wrong.

I don’t know if that feeling ever goes.  Still, one thing to bear in mind is that a person’s happiness almost always starts with them.  Mary Oliver explains it far better than I could ever hope to in ‘The Journey’.

The Journey
by Mary Oliver (Dream Work, Grove Atlantic)

On the day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.

‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.

It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognised as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.

More info abt Mary Oliver here: http://www.barclayagency.com/oliver.html

awritersruminations:

poesies:

We were driving to your funeral
and our father was not crying
because he has a way
of tying ribbons around grief.
It was the year we learned
the piercing that prefaces the blood
holds the most delicate of darknesses.
Then it was the year we opened
all our faucets & waited for the sea
to bleed to death. Then it was the year
we set fire to your mitt. Then, suddenly
the year we started to believe
every thorn was just a bridge.
Then the year all we talked about
was boxing. Then the year
my stomach hurt all year, & then
the year no one spoke of you.

If there were an antonym for suicide
we could all choose when to be born.
I would have been born after that day
so I could not remember you.
So my fingers would stop pointing
at all the things that aren’t there.

awritersruminations:

the-write-idea:

The entire writing process is fraught with perils. Many writers would argue that the hardest part of writing is beginning. When asked what was the most frightening thing he had ever encountered, novelist Ernest Hemingway said, “A blank sheet of paper.”

Other writers believe that ideas are easy, it’s in the execution of those ideas that the hard work really begins. You have to show up every day and slowly give shape to your ideas, trying to find just the right words, searching for the right turn of phrase, until it all morphs into something real.

Then comes the wait to discover how your writing will be received. Chilean author Isabel Allende once said that writing a book is like putting a message in a bottle and throwing it in the ocean. You never know if it will reach any shores.

So just how do you go about facing an empty page, coaxing your ideas into the world of form, and steering the end result toward shore? You can start by studying the tips and advice from writers presented below.

(continue reading)

Yes, I have just watched the Madonna episode of Glee, why do you ask?

Another old post (well, from about a month ago), from the Blog Which Shall Not be Named.

                                                     ***

Listening to music helps me write. 

I  select songs which form the soundtrack of my life for the days I like to pretend that I’m the star of my own quirky, independent (critically acclaimed, culminating in an Oscars sweep) movie, but I digress.

Make no mistake, sometimes absolute silence works best, especially if I’m trying to work my way of out a plot/character hole, and I’m engaged in a stare down with The Blank Page.  But if things are fairly fluid and idea after idea is rushing to shake my hand, there are few things I like better than typing away for hours with music in the background – either to serve as background noise, or sometimes as inspiration, to help create a particular mood.

There’s probably some kind of formula that explains my various playlist choices but I couldn’t explain it – I just like to listen to the stuff. It can’t be too up tempo, because that lead to me foot tapping, shoulder shaking and then just flat out abandoning my laptop for five minutes in the sometimes disco that is my living room.  Conversely, I don’t like them too slow and mournful, as I suffer from itchy fingers at times, and every second spent searching for the fast forward button is a second away from my characters, damn it!

So just these songs, just like my porridge, have to be just right in order to make it onto the Writing Playlist.  I quite like the idea that one day, I’ll hear a certain song and it will remind me of the afternoon I spent on what turned out to be my favourite chapter, or maybe there’ll be the song that consoled me when I had to jettison pages and pages of manuscript because it was built on a foundation of awfulness.  In short, these songs are my friends!  I don’t know how to express that sentiment without it sounding a little weird, so I’m just going to move right on to over here.

I’m not going to list my entire playlist because it is huge, but below are a few of the old faithfuls that get put on repeat from time to time, either because I just think they sound pretty, or they help me get into the mindset of my protagonist, who, generally speaking, is in a stormy mood.

Check them out if you haven’t come across them before, and if anyone has any recommendations, either for my writing soundtrack or my quirky independent Oscar winning movie reel, I’m all ears!  (geddit?  see what I did there?  An example of straight up quality writing, people).

Transatlanticism (live) - Death Cab for Cutie:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pg2dxsug9HM

Joni Mitchell - Both Sides Now

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKQSlH-LLTQ

Your Love is a Tease - Rod Thomas

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2ITT4C5h54

Somebody Hurt You - A Girl Called Eddy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ka-ekeYrhjQ

Bitter - Me’Shell N’degeocello

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X7BCwekvNbs

Happy writing/listening, my fellow Tumblers!

This was written just after Valentine’s day 2010 (the clue is in the very first sentence after this one…)

(Belated) HappyValentine’s Day!

Someone asked me yesterday to name the most romantic film I could think of, and this was the first thing that came to mind. 

I love this film so much that it’s a little bit scary.  When people tell me they don’t like this film, I can’t help but feel sad.  Mainly at myself for being judgemental, but also for them, for you know, just being so wrong.

I think I like it so much because of the ending – you can take it how you want it.  (Warning: vague spoilers ahead!)  Most days, I prefer a slightly more optimistic interpretation, including the idea that even if you can’t guarantee the outcome, sometimes it’s still worth while giving things a try anyway. 

That said, on other viewings, the ending seems to gel with the sentiment that love/romance  is perhaps just a kind of insanity, because it’s unlikely that doing the same things you’ve done before will somehow end in a different (better) result.

My writing wants to be as layered, complicated and all round fabulous as this film when it grows up – hence the inclusion in the  ’my heart belongs to…’ hall of fame.  Seriously, if you haven’t seen it yet, (because maybe you’re like me, and it takes you several years to catch up on cinema releases), rent it and then tell me what you think about the ending  – happy/sad/awesome either way?

This is a post I’ve stolen from my old blog.  I’m bringing most of them over, so that I can give myself a false sense of accomplishment this evening, as well as putting off the moment where I have to clean my flat.  Squalor only works when you’re scribbling away in a garrett somewhere.  Anywhere else is just lazy.

Anyway.  The following was written on 15/1/2010:

So, I’ve just come back from a short break in Reykjavik which was wonderful for many reasons, one being that the time away helped me to figure out some important background information for one of my main characters.   This was a completely accidental by product of my trip, but it just sounds better if I say I went to Iceland for the sake of the story, so we’ll go with that.

I went in search of the Northern Lights which (unfortunately) were elusive, but somewhere in all that city wandering, mountain views and space, I rediscovered themes and threads I thought I’d forgotten.  I became excited all over again about my manuscript and my characters, reaching that state where the slightest thing, like  a story, a photograph, or a song reminded me of a plot point I’m working on, or a certain mood I’m trying to get across in a particular scene.

So I decided to start this series,’My heart belongs to…’: a virtual scrapbook I suppose, of things I’ve come across which have consumed my attention, even if just fleetingly, and helped push the story along. 

I have the feeling that there might be lots of ‘my heart belongs to…’ moments.  What can I say – I’m easy like that.

So the first entry in the ’MHBT…’ hall of fame belongs to a poem by Stephen Dunn.  I first read it a couple of years ago now – it was one of those times when a passage just gets its hooks into you for some reason and doesn’t let go.  I like the fact that it’s a poem about love,  among other things, but it’s not overly romantic or idealised, because it accepts that these other things can be equally important. 

It accepts that there can be similar episodes of foolishness and ecstasies in love and feelings that are not quite love, but that the latter is not necessarily lesser – just different.  That there are still important discoveries that can be made when not quite in love, and even love, with its shattering disappointments, can be gotten over in the end.

It’s a poem for my protagonist.  I’m going back and forth as to whether she learns its lessons by the end of the novel – answers on a postcard…

Anyway, the poem is called Each from Different Heights, from the collection Between Angels – I definitely recommend his work.

Each from Different Heights

That time I thought I was in love

and calmly said so

was not much different from the time

I was truly in love

and slept poorly and spoke out loud

to the wall

and discovered the hidden genius

of my hands.

And the times I felt less in love,

less than someone,

were, to be honest, not so different

either.

Each was ridiculous in its own way

and each was tender, yes,

sometimes even the false is tender.

I am astounded

by the various kisses we’re capable of.

Each from different heights

diminished, which is simply the  law.

And the big bruise

from the longer fall looked perfectly white

in a few years

That astounded me most of all.

More info on Stephen Dunn: http://www.stephendunnpoet.com/home.htm  Between Angels is available for purchase here: http://bit.ly/6z8MS9

Hello tumblr!

I already have one blog which is withering due to semi neglect and so it seemed a good, sensible idea that I start another. 

So, on 1st January 2010, I wrote the following:

I am a Secret Scribbler and I have a procrastination problem. 

2010 is unlikely to give me a complete personality transplant, but I am thinking just a touch more self discipline wouldn’t go amiss.  If anything, it would mean that I might spend less time pondering on the pros and cons of Thicke vs. Robin Thicke,  and what I’ll do if One Life to Live is cancelled this year.  Although these are very important questions.  Clearly.

The message for this year is just write it.  Finish the draft.  Write it so I can call myself a writer and know that I’ve achieved something, even if that first draft is banished to a dusty drawer, never to be spoken of again.

I actually wrote 100 pages (double sided, cramped longhand) of a book when I was thirteen.  It was an atrocious mix of Mills and Boon, Point Break and whatever procedural crime drama I happened to be watching on any given day. All of these elements perhaps fine in themselves but together – just…no.  

The book was terrible in myriad ways, most beyond description, but I love it because I finished it.  A novel – my novel: the complete article, from its borrowed title, poorly conceived opening, random midsection and contrived ending, with at least at dozen inexplicable segues and tangents in between.

I guess my feeling this year is that if I did it then, I can do it now.  Maybe this is misplaced optimism, but as the police commissioner said in my very first book, before he confiscated the badge and gun of one of my main characters “You’re crazy, kid.  A god damn maverick.  But maybe your idea just might work.”

Yeah, OK, I know.  But I like to think that my 13 yr old self was attempting a skillful (ahem) homage.

So this is what I’m going to do – just write it.  Every day, I’ll write it,even if it’s just a paragraph, or a line that I delete the very next day.  I’ll write and I’ll plan and hopefully, this time next year, I’ll be in front of my laptop and/or notepad, ready for the business of revising. 

The point  of this blog is to try and spur myself into doing it – the equivalent of telling everyone you’re on a diet I suppose. 

And I’d love to hear from other writers, secret  or not so secret scribblers , whatever stage of the writing journey you’re at  – for swapping tips, congratulating successes, commiserating over frustrations, or just forcing each other to keep on building up that word count, or drafting that plan.

Happy New Year, everyone – here’s to 2010 – the year of the novel.

                                                     ~~~

And now it’s May.  I don’t think I’ve done too badly - over 40,000 words, and so I am just over half way through things.  Am going to have to buckle down in the next few months to try and make up for some lost momentum (damn you Glee, damn you to hell!) but as things stand, I think I’m going to do it - a complete first draft is on the way.

I suppose most of my posts here will be about that - the process, the random things, the blind optimism, the long evenings of avoidance and self doubt and the thrilling, indescribable wonderfulness of a sentence that seems to spin itself out from nothing.

Happy writing, fellow scribblers!