• How long do you spend at work, asleep, playing games, watching TV? It would only take a fraction of that time to write your novel. It’s estimated that on average a writer can manage a page in an hour. Write for just one hour every day and you have 365 pages done in a year. To some, that’s what you call a book.
• You want to write, yes? So, chances are you read a lot, you may have done quite a bit of writing in school. You were good, yes? You may have taken writing courses. You almost certainly have had good ideas worth writing about. You’ve got talent in other words. This is already something you’re good at!
• And have you remembered that you enjoyed writing in the past yet? You probably still enjoy it. Even better!
• You’re here, so you already know that if you’re struggling there is help. Plenty. Between blogs like this, online communities, books, writing courses, there is an abundance of help out there!

When you think about it like that, what’s so difficult, really? I want people to use this list as a little bit of motivation when they need something to help them pull themselves together. I’d like you to look at this list and think, that’s right – writing’s great, and I can do it, I have done it, it’s easy!

Has anyone got anything similar they tell themselves? Add it in the comments and it may make it’s way to the list above.

OK, well now that that advice has been readily ignored, allow me to explain.

I was idly going through my files recently, and made the horrific mistake of looking at some old projects. And when I say this, I don’t mean some half written notes or random ideas, I mean I was looking at two projects which I have dedicated a hell of a lot of time to. Not just in terms of physically writing, but also into ‘thought time’, creating ideas, plotting out storylines, dialogue, character depth and so on. One was an idea about a TV show I had, and the other was another book.

Lets leave the TV show for now, and focus more on the book, because this is something I dedicated more time to. Now the idea I had concerned a lot of smaller stories, taken from a particular person’s point of view, that all interwove and overlapped. Due to the nature of the backstory I’d built up, I could – in theory – write this project for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, I revisited it, didn’t I?

And I was appalled. This writing was terrible. Simply terrible. The characters were two dimensional (hell, not even that), the storyline had no cohesion, the dialogue was risible and then I got to the bit I’d almost forgotten about. The horrifically written lesbian sex scene. Jeez, am I not over that already? I actually found myself ashamed to have written this.

But before this turns into a major moaning session, lets turn to how this can help you write. OK, so revisiting old work can be demoralizing. But it can also be very helpful.  This is what I found when I read this piece.  I think more than anything it was just how clumsy it was. Obviously, since it had a lesbian sex scene in it. Any writing that falls back on that is doomed.

But after my initial shock, and despair, and strong desire to never write anything ever again, I looked at the situation pragmatically. ‘OK, so this writing sucks. How do we make it better?’

It can be a very useful writing exercise. Keeping a few of those old projects floating around just to remind you of how much your writing has progressed. Because my main project – my book – has undergone the same kind of evolution. I have, in the past, looked at sections of that and thought how bad they were, but I pushed through and improved them. This is what you can do with the older, less developed work.  I should probably also add that this ‘older work’ isn’t from when I was a teenager either, but from only four years ago. That’s right, this is probably my newest idea, and yet it doesn’t stand up.

But there I am back to the moaning again. How to use this? It’s all in the editing. A piece of writing may be clumsy, it may have few merits, but its all part of the process, isn’t it? As painful as it might be, all of us – as writers – face that point where we may need to scrap large sections of work – maybe even whole projects. I know I’ve had to do it in my book. I had to scrap a three chapter section, which I quite liked, due mainly to the fact that it no longer fit and made the whole thing too long. So I applied the same logic to this ‘old’ idea. Let’s get serious now. I had to ask myself these very important questions:

1. What is the overall aim and purpose of this piece?
2. How does it fit into the larger structure? Is the overall structure working?
3. Is there a definite aim? Am I  procrastinating too much?

This last one is probably the most important one of all. As I’ve said in previous posts, I don’t mind a story that takes its time, as long as its interesting to read, but there is a massive difference between building up to a solid momentum and simply procrastinating for the hell of it.

So what did I tell myself? I have to get on point and stay there. Cut the superfluous characters, the pointless tensions which add nothing to it, solidify the setting, do some research and for god’s sake, get rid of the lesbian sex scene!

Yes, in order to grow as a writer, you do sometimes need to look back at where you’ve come from, in order to drive you forward to where you’re going to.

What’s so good about it? Well, it’s extremely dense, for one thing. That doesn’t sound like a pleasant read, but every page is chock full of science, social commentary and insightful character actions and thoughts. In this the density does not become a slog but the reason to continue. It’s engaging and there’s something to learn on every page.

Now, when I read a good book, it’s often an inspiring thing. Many is the Stephen King or Chuck Palanuik book that’s been finished with one thought echoing round in my head, “I want to write”! But Red Mars is one novel where the mountain looks too steep. I think of just the science alone, and I cringe at the hours, days, weeks that must have been involved to get that level of detail. Then there’s the social and political commentary. While the events that take place are easy enough to dream up, it’s the detail (again) of the characters’ comments, beliefs and ideals that intimidate. Not forgetting that the book spans some thirty odd years in the lives of completely believable characters. And this is the first book in a trilogy!

Now, I do realise that this is quite a bit of whingy hand-wringing on my part. In truth (and even though it’s been quite a while since a book has affected me like this), I shrugged it off fairly quickly. There will always be someone better than you (much, much better probably. No offence), but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a place for you and that you should give up. I’m saying “you” but I am of course referring to myself, too.

I guess I can keep it as an example of something to aspire to, even if I think I’ll never get there. An even better take home message, is that our writing is different, and should stay that way. I should not be intimidated (or even inspired) to alter my writing style in worship of another writer. I shall continue with my writing and let my style grow, not in isolation, but in its own way.

We could get a really terrifying list of books here, but let’s embrace that! What books have intimidated you, and why?

1. Before you start – pick your reviewers carefully

For a start, you don’t want too much feedback, so I think it’s a good idea to limit your number of critics to 5 well thought out selections. Be careful, and honest with yourself about your choice. You want people who:

• will be honest with you and not just say nice things
• Can communicate what they think about your writing
• Read often

You might also want people who are familiar with the genre you are writing in, but that might depend on what your aims are for the piece.

2. Don’t argue.

There will be a temptation to defend your writing when receiving criticism. This is fair enough, but as soon as you start arguing your case, you’ve closed the doors. Instead, force yourself to be quiet when receiving criticism. Don’t reply, other than to thank them (this includes replying in writing). Not arguing forces you to carefully consider what has been said. That does not mean you have to agree. As long as you have taken it in, if you still don’t agree, that’s fine.

3. Weigh up the responses.

You have to decide how much a particular criticism is worth and whether you will take it on. Again, be honest; it can be very easy to find reasons to dismiss all criticism. But if you’ve selected your critics carefully it’s almost certainly not the best option.

Having said that, there may be perfectly good reasons to give greater weight to some people’s comments over others. One person, unfamiliar with the genre, could find one passage confusing, whereas an aficionado in that genre might sail through it without comment or give it particular praise. Now, depending on how accessible you want the piece to be, you could change it to suit one person or the other.

Also, numbers make a difference. A comment that comes up more than once within a group of five people, certainly warrants your attention.

4. Let them know what you expect.

If you are after something specific, tell them. If you want them to just give general comments, tell them that. Give them the list of tips for giving feedback from this website if you like especially if they are not used to giving feedback.

Making sure they know what you are expecting adds value to the comments you get. Otherwise you risk getting something back that you can’t use.

5. Remember, it’s your writing.

You can’t please all the people all the time. There will come a time (numerous times, in fact) when, having considered the comments made against your writing, you simply can’t change it. You just don’t agree with the point being made. And anyway, you know that later in the story, this and this will happen, clearing up the confusion in that exchange and explaining just why the banana ended up there in the first place.

So, you make an executive decision, and you don’t change it. Or you change it in another way entirely. The point is, never relinquish control. This is your piece, and in the end, it’s down to you, and not them.

That’s your lot! I hope that is of some use. But if not, let me know what tips you would give. I welcome any feedback in the comments. Come on, I can take it

The blog

First though, a quick look at the blog itself. Let’s say that number again – 51 blog entries! That’s one a week since we started (well, almost – I had a week off last week. Okay, I’m sorry. I’m a bad person). Now I know that in the grand scheme of blogs, that’s no great achievement, but it was for me! Of course I had some help, and you can see my thankyous in my Christmas message (I feel like the Queen), but I’m genuinely proud of that achievement. And it does seem to have been helping. I have at least done some writing this year, and the posts I write have at times been a great tool for reviewing what I have learnt.

It has not been as successful as I would have liked however. Of course, that is my fault. I know the days of, “build it and they will come”, have long since passed, but in truth I have hardly done anything to promote this site. Again, that is largely to do with time (isn’t everything?) but I will just have to build it into my routine. So, that will form the basis for my goals on the blog.

The writing

Way back in May, I wrote about measuring improvement in writing. I have been gathering these stats ever since, so I now have a good half a year of figures to pour over.

Looking at it overall, I can see that I hit my productivity peak during September. This was when I was approaching the end of a story I was working on. However, after that it drops right down. I started a new piece of work then, and I must confess, I have been rather timid with it. This is of course, not the way to behave when approaching a new piece of work. The best way will always be to take the bull by the horns and go for it! Whatever it is I’m afraid of can be fixed later!

I have been rather down on myself about how much writing I have done this year. I have always had the impression that I was not trying hard enough, and not knuckling down. I was right – there is a huge difference between my best week and my average week. This shows the difference between the potential of my current routine, and the reality of not sticking to it. Still, it is encouraging to know how much writing can be done, even in short bursts. When I total up each month, then the year, it is shocking how much can be achieved. I said that I wanted to see how small improvements can accumulate into big gains when I set up this method of measuring, and I can certainly see that!

I wasn’t writing in 2008, that’s the thing. So, as much as I rightly berate myself for not doing more, I am doing a hell of a lot more than nothing! This in itself is an achievement, but before I pat myself on the back too much (let’s not get carried away now), I have also taken a look at how my best week would look over a whole year. What a difference! I took my best week, multiplied that by 52, and was amazed. I knew that my best week was over double my average (meaning I’m not even reaching half the potential that my routine offers me), bit it is still an eye-opener to see the full number there.

Once again, I must recommend keeping some kind of stats on your writing. If you are doing everything electronically anyway, getting a word count is normally a snap, and it only takes a couple of minutes to add that to a spreadsheet. Seeing the effect of small changes to my habits over time is a real inspiration. And being able to extrapolate from that gives further motivation. If you’re not trying it already, I urge you to give it a go.

I would very much like to hear from anyone who has been measuring their writing over the past year and what hey think of the results. Or if this is part of your new year resolution, please let me know, too. And I would really really like to know if you visited getmewriting last year and found it helpful. All feedback in the coments section below, please.

No big drama here; no tragedy in my life (thankfully); no excuse. I simply fell off the wagon for a week. And at the beginning of a new project, too! It’s true that I have been particularly tired and grumpy this week, but the sad fact is that when I got on the train I just couldn’t (wouldn’t, rather) be bothered.

Not wanting to analyse it too much, there are a couple more contributing factors. I’ve been working on the principle that writing begets more writing. I think that’s true. The more practice you get; the more you keep to a routine, the easier it becomes to just fall into that rythm. But I also think that not writing begets… more not writing (there is, undoubtedly, a better way of saying that).

It’s that old formula of, “the longer you leave it, the harder it becomes,” in microcosm. Simply put, if I don’t knuckle down and do something on Monday, I greatly reduce the chances that I’ll do something on Tuesday. And so on.

Of course, the only cure is to just get on and bloody do it. And perhaps it is worth remembering that how I start the week is just as important as how I finish it.

The second problem is to do with the fact that I am starting something new. I have some anxieties about starting something from scratch without knowing precisely where it’s going. On the other hand, meticulous planning saps some of the joy out of writing, so I thought I’d give the more improvisational approach a go. Craig has written a bit about this, and I’ve added some comments if you want to read more.

So, I’ve written a grand total of two scenes for a new novel, and already the anxiety of not knowing has got to me! They’re good scenes, too. The problem here is not that I don’t know what’s coming next (that’s kind of the point, after all), but that each new section is like starting all over again (I want to use the microcosm word again) – a little journey into the unknown.

The way to make this easier, I’ve decided is not to stop writing when I finish a scene (section, chapter, whatever). The pause I take in between makes that first step look much more daunting. Instead, when I finish a section I must plough on, straight into the next one, and stop at a point where I already know what’s coming next; even if I only know as far as the next paragraph. The point is I can start writing as soon as I next sit down and get straight into a flow. I have even seen some writers recommend stopping mid-sentence, just to keep that sense of flow going, and that sounds like a great idea to me.

So here’s a list of notes-to-self to go with this little review:

• Just bloody do it.
• Work hard right at the beginning of the week and I’ll find it easier to continue
• If I do fall off the horse, get straight back on! Don’t let the cycle build.
• Face the fear and anxiety (then kick it in the nuts)!
• Stop mid-scene
• Stop mid-sentence

I hope these tips for keeping writing will help others as well. I’ll stick to these and let you know how it goes. Any other tips are of course very welcome in the comments.

It also has to do with research. A lot of my fiction usually involves lots of technical “stuff”. Lots of guns, lots of cars, lots of computer jargon, most of which I don’t have the first clue about. Guns, well they shoot bullets don’t they? But personally, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a Glock and a Walther PPK. Cars? They get you from one place to another. But make and type, well, that’s a whole different kettle of fish.

I was reading William Gibson’s All Tomorrows Parties recently, and my attention was drawn to the fact that he does this. For instance, he’ll say that a car is a black Subaru SUV. And I find that’s all the description that’s needed. Hell if I know what a black Subaru SUV looks like specifically, but it gives a general idea of what the car is about, and that’s to the wonderful world of stereotyping, we all know what kind of people drive large black SUVs. This is something I’ve introduced in my own work. Its fine saying “get the car”, most people will fill in the blank anyway. But throw in make and type and, those in the know will be able to picture it, and if you don’t, then hell, it’s a car; it gets you from one place to the other.

It all comes down to that first, and perhaps most sacred writing rule. SHOW DON’T TELL. You can spend paragraphs telling the reader exactly what a character looks like, but to someone like me who has never been particularly good at picturing what I’m reading (I can see the words and the story, but as for setting and place, I’ve never been able to put myself into the world of a book.) its not going to do much good. I guess that’s why most writers don’t really describe their characters in great detail. It has always stuck with me from a number of Robert Rankin’s books; about his character Lazlo Woodbine (some call him Laz). He’s a spoof of those hard boiled private Investigators like Philip Marlowe, who only operates in the first person. He operates this way and is never described so that the reader can picture themselves in the role. And I guess this may be true in a certain sense.

I’ve worried about this greatly. About how much detail to put into describing characters. But if you do your job right, then you get a good sense of the character from their actions, the way they talk, the way they move, the way they live. Get all of that down, and you only need the minimal amount of physical description. This is also true of script writing. Perhaps even more so. Because let’s face it, it’s pointless describing what a character looks like in a script, because it narrows your casting choices. But here’s an exercise for you to try, should you feel the need. If you’re writing a script, or a book, or whatever, try describing all of your main characters in a single sentence each. I think the best description I even came up with for a character was-

Raymond – A young man weighted down by the burden of ordinariness.

So there you are. Have a go, and see how creative you can get.

Although I feel very comfortable with my writing voice during the act of putting pixels to.. er.. pixels I guess, I have often wondered how other people perceive it. I am just as paranoid as the next writer it seems. I have for a long time had the sneaking suspicion that my writing style is… not boring as such, but lacks a certain dynamism. There are very few jokes aside from the dry observational variety, and I sometimes feel I present situations rather plainly. That is as best as I can put it, although you will have the opportunity to judge for yourselves eventually of course (a whole new can of paranoid worms there).

Now, I don’t mean this to be in any way detrimental to Carl Sagan’s writing, which as I mentioned, I am thoroughly enjoying. But I found some relief in knowing that if anything his style of writing was “dryer” than mine. Again, I don’t mean to be critical, and perhaps “dry” is the wrong word to begin with. This is not a situation where I think, “well, his writing is worse than mine, and he got published”. It’s more a case of, “his writing is perhaps plainer, more dry than mine, but it is still interesting to read”. Very much so in fact.

Interesting does not sound like much of a compliment, I’ll grant you, and it perhaps represents a kind of minimum requirement of a text for most people. However, being interesting is very important to me when it comes to the creative endeavors of others. A piece of music does not have to be emotive, or have clever lyrics, or even be pleasant to the ear, for example. But it must be interesting; it must have something about it that keeps me listening. The same goes for visual art or written text.

So, to find another author who exhibits some of the traits that I worry about in my own style, and that I still find interesting to read, and want to read more of, is a great source of reassurance. I guess the lesson is to trust your own style. I often will read something and really love the voice of the author. Something in me tells me I could never write like that. And, of course, that will be true for a great many authors I read. But, perhaps the aim of writing like an admired author is something of a red herring anyway. After all, your aim should never be to write like them, but to write like yourself. That is what your “voice” is all about.

I think you should be less concerned with what other people think of your writing, and be more worried about what you think of it. Do you like it when you write it, and later, when you read it back? Worrying about other people will come later, of course, and at some point you may lose the objectivity that tells you what you’ve written is great (after going through the fifth draft of a chapter, for example), but remember, it’s your voice, and if you find it interesting, chances are someone else will.

Who here is confident about their writing voice, and why? What gave you that confidence?

First off, “On Writing” is an excellent book, and you should read it. I don’t know why I didn’t read it much much earlier.

The chapter in question concerned grammar (it’s only a short bit, and still interesting, so don’t let that put you off). Recently I had been a bit worried about whether to use adjectives or not, and especially in dialogue attribution (he said, angrily, for example). I’ve never liked using it. It always felt wrong and looked childish. But there was a nagging feeling that maybe I should be using it sometimes. After all, the words were invented for a reason.

But Stephen King says otherwise, and as soon as I read it I knew I was being stupid all along. Of course I was right! It didn’t even warrant the slightest bit of worry. Still, it’s nice to have your thoughts confirmed by a master.

I knew it already because Stephen King knew it. I read loads of King when I was younger,  so it’s no surprise that I should pick up good habits from his writing, and others. And that’s the second point of this post. It sounds obvious, but we should all be reading. Read read read read read. You probably don’t read enough – I know I don’t.

Do you sometimes have a crisis of confidence over silly little things? Maybe you disagree about adjectives. Any good examples of where they work really well?