Writing

Need For Read

As of today, I’m on holiday. I’m off to sunny, sunny Scotland. A holiday for me means warm food, cold drinks, and plenty of time for me to catch up on my reading.

“Do lots of reading” has got to be one of the most common pieces of writing advice. Reading should be a basic staple of any writers day, but I have a suspicion it’s often one of the first things that fall by the wayside when time gets tight­­­­. I’m guilty of it, and I know plenty of other writers who are too.

I ran the numbers, and so far this year I’ve definitely read less than ten books, some of those audio-books. Screw you, yes they still count.

I’ve been slacking, and that’s bad.

books 2

I am totally judging these by their covers

One of my favourite Tyrion Lannister quotes from George R.R Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” (better known as Game of Thrones):

‘A mind needs books like a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge. That is why I read so much.’

Reading improves your vocabulary, your sentence structure, your pacing, your dialogue. Basically every part of your writing. Reading helps you spot what works and more importantly what doesn’t. The more you read the more refined your own writing “voice” becomes, the end result is something of an unconscious amalgamation of all your favourite subtleties, and that’s pretty cool.

Reading also helps me a lot when I get stuck with writer’s block. When I get trapped too much in my own head reading a book helps ground the writing process and once again make it an attainable thing. I think, this seems easy enough, maybe I can do this.

Hell, there are reading benefits that non-writers need to get in on too. Studies show reading helps your memory and fights against diseases like Alzheimer’s.

More than that, reading is fun. You get the same pleasure as you would from watching TV, but with the added bonus of it being vaguely intellectual, meaning you can lord it over people.

book man

I’ll have you know Sir, I read books

More seriously, it’s been suggested reading increases analytical thinking ability and a person’s empathy, improving a person’s ability to see things from someone else’s perspective. My God does the world seem to need a bit more of both of those things lately.

I know it sounds dramatic but I really do feel like reading is slowly becoming a lost medium. Literary fiction is in decline, and naturally, that scares the hell out of writers. Movies, TV shows, even big video game releases have become these big cultural events. It doesn’t seem to happen for books anymore, not since the Harry Potter frenzy years ago.

I have faith that it’s a temporary blip, despite the decline there are also reports that millennials are reading more than ever—so maybe the next generation is going to help with a resurgence.

I know I need to start getting more consistent with my own reading. In 2019 I’m setting myself the modest goal of reading at least 50 books, which roughly means reading a book a week. I’m going to set some time aside to read before bed, spending less time on my phone, and hopefully benefit from a better nights sleep as well.

How many books have you read this year? Are you on top or could you stand to do better? Why are people reading less and how can we fix that? Maybe you’re freaking out about all this and want to something to read RIGHT NOW.

– H. L.

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Murder at the Bookstore

Have you noticed that in 2018 the fiction section of your local bookshop is full to bursting with detective novels? Almost every other book is about a P.I Whogivesa or a D.I Whatsit.

I went on holiday last year and thought I’d pick up some reading at the airport. Mistake. It’s a tiny airport bookstore, so I’m not exactly expecting the library of Alexandria. But damn near every fiction book was in the crime genre. If you didn’t want crime you were out of luck. Best accept you’ll be doing Sudoku for the next three hours.

crime

Silver Lining: I actually don’t mind Sudoku

Some of these bloody books are even in disguise. Not content with taking up large section of the shelf, crime-fiction is masquerading as horror-fiction. They have titles like “Pale Ghost” and a book cover featuring an illustration of a demon, then you flip to the blurb and get:

Former homicide detective Quincy Jones has made a lot of mistakes in his career. Now some of these mistakes are coming back to haunt his retirement. Can this disillusioned old cop solve a case that he thought he buried years ago, or will his demons finally destroy him?

Get out of here. That is not cool. You tricked me with your tricky marketing. Bad writer. If crime-fiction is so hot why pretend to be something else?

I’m being sulky. I don’t want to bash the writers knocking these things out. I know they’re not easy to write. Essentially having to work backwards from the end and sprinkle in all sorts of red-herrings along the way. Like baking a cake with only a picture as a frame of reference, and you have to trick people into thinking you made it with a toaster at some point.

toast

Crime.

People have tried to explain the surge in popularity with everything from the stressful times we live in, to the accessibility of Poirot on Netflix.

I don’t really care how the genre got so popular. The only important thing now is sorting out a plan on how to take it down.

Here’s what I’m thinking: we increase actual crime rates. Murder your neighbours, set fire to your communities, generally just go run amok. Only when the real world starts looking like it does in The Purge will people stop turning to crime-fiction for escapism.

Drastic plan? Maybe—but it’s the best one I’ve got.

While I work on that, I understand the wheel is going to keep turning. So. If you really do feel the need to add another detective book to the pile, please, try and mix it up a bit.

There’s been plenty of material out there about various cliches in this genre that should be avoided, but I’ve gone one step further and offered some creative alternatives:

1.) Instead of having your detective addicted to drugs or booze…make him fat. He’s a heifer that buries his angst in goodies. You’ll get some George R.R. Martin-level food description in and it’ll make the chase scenes way more interesting.

2.) Instead of a retired detective sulking over that one case he just couldn’t solve…make him miss it. What if wife made him retire. Maybe playing charades with the neighbours is driving him mad and he longs for the days of being knee deep in blood.

3.) Instead of having your detective be a genius Sherlock type…make him bad at his job. Maybe his uncle is the Chief of Police and nepotism prevailed. Detecting is hard. Be brave enough to have him rub his temples and admit he is really goddamn confused.

Those are my tips. You have about a month or two to use them before this blog blows-up and there is chaos in the streets and variety in our bookshops.

Why do you think crime pays so well? Why is a habitual murder so much more interesting than a hobbit to the common man? Would Harry Potter have done even better if his parent’s murder had been a whodunnit? Let me know in the comments.

– H.L

#2: The Ladder to Inferna

‘Tales From Inferna’ is an ongoing web serial. Part writing exercise, part homage to the pulp-fiction genre. Click here if you’re interested in learning more about the scope and goals of the project. Below you’ll find Issue #2, but be sure to start at the beginning with Issue #1 

ladder

Yura couldn’t climb the ladder any further.

‘Guys,’ he croaked, his arms shaking.

His companions pace quickened.

‘Guys!’ Yura repeated, louder this time.

‘Quiet!’ said the man furthest ahead, climbing ever faster.

They were leaving him. Leaving him to die. He could feel the miles of nothingness below, prickling his back, willing him to fall. He glanced downwards, wondering if he might have enough strength to climb back down. But that path was madness.

‘Mikki, please! I need help!’

The man furthest ahead continued to climb, but there was another behind him who paused.

‘We can’t help you, Yura,’ said Mikki.

‘I can’t climb anymore, Mikki,’ begged Yura. ‘Please don’t leave me behind. You’ve got to–’

‘Shut up!’ shouted the man farthest ahead. He was now out of sight, hidden by the darkness of the tunnel.

‘What our charming leader means is, any energy spent talking is energy not spent climbing. So unless you want to decorate the floor a nice shade of Yura, I suggest you get moving.’ With that, Mikki started climbing again.

Yura found himself all alone.

When Yura was young, he and his friends would play in the tunnels pretending to be hunters. Sometimes they would dare each other to climb the ladder. Yura was the only one who ever made it to the top. Back then the top of the ladder hadn’t been very far; a padlock and a metal grill stopped anyone who shouldn’t be there from climbing too high. To a gang of children though, it was as if Yura had touched Inferna itself.

But this was no longer pretend.

‘Yura!’ came a voice from above. ‘We’ve found the last hatch,’ said the voice again. It came from the leader of the expedition, Koko. ‘Get your arse up here now.’

Yura began to climb, each movement a trial. His body protested in agony, any moment now it would fail and he would plummet to his death.

As his grasp started to waver, two pairs of hands seized him and hoisted him upwards through a narrow opening.

He collapsed. He heard his pulse thumping in his ears, and faintly, the sound of a hatch being closed.

They were so close.

He wished his old friends could see him now: Yura the hunter. It still hadn’t sunk in. He was going to have the adventures they had all imagined, live the life they had dreamed of once upon a time.

‘You still with us, kid?’

Yura opened his eye to see Mikki and Koko standing over him. In the dark, with their identical suits and masks, it was impossible to tell them apart.

‘I’m ok,’ said Yura smiling, holding up a thumbs-up. ‘I am ok.’

Koko shook his head. ‘This isn’t playtime. We’re here to do a serious job.

Yura saw Mikki roll his eyes. ‘I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but it’s the kids first day. Let him have a little fun.’

‘We’ve got hundreds of miles to walk,’ Koko started. ‘Rough sleeping. Nothing but disgusting liquid nutrients to keep us going. All to find a needle in a haystack. Not my idea of fun.’

‘Come on,’ said Yura, smiling. ‘Any day walking on the surface has got to be better than a day down below.’

Koko was silent, for a moment. It was only now Yura realised how thick the mood had been.

‘Let’s not forget why we’ve been sent up here. Amorak is dead. A man I once considered a very good friend. For some reason it just had to be me they sent to find his remains.’ said Koko. ‘So no, to answer your stupid question. The days up here are not “better”. I, for one, want to get this done and go home. Shape up and take this seriously, or maybe you’ll die up here too.’

All day Yura had worn an excited smirk, only now did he realise how it had been grating on Koko’s patience. The verbal walloping caused his face to yo-yo from a deep shade of red to a sickly pale white.

Koko stormed ahead to the next room, muttering.  

‘He’s moodier than usual today,’ said Mikki, offering a hand to help Yura up.

‘I didn’t mean to upset him.’

‘You haven’t done anything. You’re excited to see the surface, no shame in it. The dead bloke we’re looking for, Amorak, is a sore subject with Koko.’

‘Why?’ asked Yura.

‘It’s a whole thing, let’s just leave it at that. Come on, before he explodes again.’

The followed Koko into the next room. One much larger than the tight tunnels and shafts the three had been navigating for most of the day. At the far end of the room, Yura eyed a giant metal door and did his best not to smile.

Koko was kneeling on the floor, spreading open a map. He patted the edges down as they bounced free and let out a frustrated sigh.

‘This is us,’ Koko said, pointing to a section of the map. ‘We’ll hang about here for a bit. It’ll get cooler when the sun starts to set, meaning the suits don’t have to work quite so hard—meaning we’ll save some fuel.’

‘Are you writing this down?’ said Mikki.

‘I… I didn’t bring a pen.’ said Yura.

‘He’s joking.’ muttered Koko stone-faced. ‘He does that.’

‘Oh crack a smile you moody old git,’ said Mikki.

Koko ignored him. His finger slid across the map, resting on a series of crudely drawn houses. He then traced it back an inch and tapped the spot. ‘This is as far as I’m hoping Amorak got. If he made it any further I doubt we’ll ever find him.’

‘We’ll find him,’ said Yura. ‘His family is counting on us.’

Koko and Mikki exchanged a look.

‘What’s that?’ asked Koko.

‘His family? We’re bringing the body back for them surely?’

‘Oh Yura,’ said Mikki chuckling. ‘You sweet innocent babe.’

Yura frowned, confused.

‘We’ve been sent to get his suit. Not the body.’ said Koko. ‘One of these suits are worth a hundred of me or you. The ugly truth of it is…by this point, with nothing powering the suit…there’s not going to be much left of him. You’ll need to prepare yourself.’

Yura didn’t understand. He’d seen a dead body before. Life below in the Empyrean was cramped and people died all the time. How fragile did Koko think he was?

‘I can cope with a stiff.’

Mikki and Koko exchanged a look which filled Yura with unease.

‘He won’t be stiff.’ said Mikki quietly,

‘Huh?’

Look,’ started Mikki uncomfortably. ‘Sitting out there in that ungodly heat. By now there’s a good chance he would have…liquefied.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah,’ nodded Mikki. ‘What’s more, if we find him we’re going to have to open his suit and, err, tip out what’s left of him…’

‘It won’t look pretty,’ Koko continued, ‘it’ll smell something fierce as well, that filter in your mask isn’t going to do a thing about the stench. I tell you this because if upon seeing the remains you throw up inside your own mask—you will not get an opportunity to take off that mask until we return. That is going to be one shitty walk home for you, lad.’

Yura’s stomach churned. He felt like he was going to throw up right now. Was he even allowed to take his mask off now? He’d been told to put it on before they’d started climbing. Yura swallowed hard and tasted bile slide back down his throat.

‘Paints a picture, doesn’t he?” smiled Mikki.

Koko carried on, explaining the finer details of the journey they were about to embark on, but Yura’s attention was gone. He could hear the surface calling him.

He’d waited so long to see what was left of the earth.

‘Turn your suit on.’ said Koko finally. He approached a control panel on the wall, and the hum of a huge motor roared into action. ‘It’s time.’

Yura’s heart thumped hard. He did his best to feign a grim look of determination.

The doors opened, slowly at first, then suddenly all at once. The dark, grimy room became illuminated.

There was a terrible light, and Yura found himself blind.

Issue #3 due out in October

Finding a Place to Write

A year and a bit ago I and my fiance moved into our first home. It took a while to get settled, but we’re finally happy with the place.

OK, I’m happy. The other half is still moving things around. I don’t really like change, it’s a whole thing. I’m getting off point.

The biggest challenges I faced include replacing a built-in-fridge, getting a second-hand futon (fully-assembled!) up a very narrow set of stairs, and of course, finding the perfect spot for me to sit down and write.

Your writing space can mean the difference between sweet success and that other, dark, harrowing thing.

failure.jpg

Failure, that’s the word

Traditional writing advice suggests your work area should be free of distractions, but not barren enough to stifle your creativity. You should be comfortable, but your space also needs to be practical.

My own search hits a few different rooms, which I’m now going to take you on a journey through, but where I finally end up might just surprise you.

The Study

The new house came with a study? Problem solved, right?

Not quite.

“Study” is actually a pretty generous euphemism we use to avoid telling people, this is where we keep all the video games and the second Playstation. Study just sound more…adult.

The best part is the previous owner had this cool multi-coloured mood lighting installed which helps set the tone for whatever I’m working on.

It does have a desk, but it’s littered with all sorts of gadgets and games, all fun, but not exactly conducive for productivity.

I used this room for a bit, but the numerous distractions and the lack of desk space was killer in the end.

Final Score: 5/10

trash.jpg

I was going to provide actual pictures of these rooms, but that would require cleaning

The Conservatory

The conservatory makes for a beautiful writing space. It’s where I envisioned myself getting to work when we were buying the house. Whether looking at the nice view of the garden or having the blinds drawn to create a cosy atmosphere, the room is just brilliant to write it.

But damn it, it’s just not meant to be.

The room has some hella-comfy chairs, but no desk. That means any writing means having a laptop on my lap—and that means less time writing and more time spent worrying about the damage I might be doing to my fertility.

Final Score: 0/10

Notworthit

Not worth it

The Dining Room

The dining room is…serviceable. It has chairs, a table, no immediate threats to my swimmers. Nirvana right?

It’s practical. But so is an ironing board, and neither set’s my world on fire.

Final Score: 6/10

The Kitchen

Yes, this is where I ended up. Hang on, hear me out – it’s cooler than it sounds.

There’s a corner of our kitchen with a breakfast bar we seldom used. I was walking past one day…and inspiration hit.

Think about it. It’s close as you can be to all the local amenities. Snacks and drinks on demand. Plenty of desk space. There’s even a shelf overlooking the garden I’ve decorated with some notebooks and ornaments.

I’ve got a miniature zen sand garden I can rake when I’m stuck on a paragraph. A little quill and ink pot (stylish but not for actual use, I’m a lefty). A raven figurine I think I got from a Game of Thrones Monopoly set. The whole thing is pretty chill.

If you haven’t got your own writing space, take a look at your house with a fresh pair of eyes. The kitchen was the last place I expected to end up, but now I couldn’t be happier with my little corner of the world.

OK, the stools could be comfier, but hey, they keep me humble.

Final Score: 9/10

What does your writing space look like? What have you decorated it with? Do you put more stock in comfort or practicality? Let me know in the comments.

– H. L

How it Feels to Finally Finish Something

Last night I finally finished the final draft of my entry for the writing contest I mentioned a few weeks ago. A short story a little less than 2000 words might not sound like much, but it’s the first creative project I’ve completed in five years and I could not be more chuffed.

celebrate

My mind right now

I won’t hear any more about the contest until October, but rest assured I don’t intend to take it easy until then.

I’m writing my first novel! The project is still in its infancy so I’ve not got any specific details to share at this point, apart from the fact that I am very excited.

I finished the first chapter over half a year ago, and I found myself baffled by how easy it was to write, and how pleased I was with my own writing, two things I don’t get to experience often.

Despite this, I didn’t pick the project back up after that first chapter. But, now that I’m making more of an effort to make time for my writing, it’s full steam ahead. As I said, still very early days—but at least the train has left the station.

When it’s finished I intend to shop it around, and then possibly go down the self-publishing route if I get no takers.

My long-term goal is now getting this book to completion, but I have lots of other things I am working on in the meantime, all of which revolve around this blog.

Tales from Inferna is an ongoing web serial; part writing exercise, part homage to the pulp fiction genre. You can read more about the project at the link.

Formally launched this month, Issue #1 is available to read now, with Issue #2 on its way at some point in September. A must read for any science fiction, horror or dystopia fans.

inferna

How did the world end up like this? How did we survive? Most importantly, what’s hiding in the sands?

I am also putting the finishing touches on a flash fiction which I’m keen on hosting on a different writing blog for some cross promotion. I’ve got my eye on a place, but if you’re reading this interested and you have your own blog feel free to contact me and maybe we can get something set up. The easiest way to reach me is on my Twitter @Handsomelies

I need to give a warm thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and get involved with the blog this past month—the likes, comments, and new followers have all been incredibly encouraging, and have kept me going whereas other times I’ve quit.

Let me know the content you’re enjoying, the stuff you don’t, and anything new you’d like to see. I am determined to make something of this place and this is the time to help shape its future. Do you want articles like this writing tutorial or more feature pieces such as when I blogged about my notebook addiction? Maybe you like the mix.

This month is the most I’ve written in years, touch wood, I’d like to say I’ve finally got my groove back.

How has your month been? Let’s celebrate some successes and bury some failures. Hit me up in the comments below.

– H. L

 

How Not to World Build in Your Opening

Wularz was the youngest son of the prominent Backth family. They lived on Knaphi, and like many others made a good living trading in Abilia, in the warmer seasons at least. Life seemed good, but Wularz’s family were oblivious to his dark secret…for three months he had been a card-carrying member of the Scisac-Clan. Today he was set to be half-blooded.

This is not the opening to my next project. These are the prototypical first three sentences I read in many a novice writers efforts at writing science fiction or fantasy.

I get it. I really do.

The Backth family has a vast and interesting history which spans for generations, and the lore of Knaphi is so incredible you could fill a companion bible with its culture.

But I’m never going to read that bible. I’m not going to hang around long enough to find out that an Abilia is a sort of cow, and that the Scisac-Clan is a street gang, and to be half-blooded means committing assault on their behalf for the first time. And it’s a damn shame I’m not going to hang on, because that all sounds like it has the potential to be a good story.

But you’ve already lost me:

  • Dropping five jargon words in the first paragraph is a red flag.

  • Naming jargon, and then writing about it in a way which sounds like I should already know what it is, is a red flag.

  • Giving supplementary information about jargon, before I even know what the original jargon even is, is a red flag.

I only need one red flag and I’m putting down the book and considering if I’ve made a bad choice. If I get hit with three flags that quick; bang, bang bang – you’re either getting deleted from my Kindle or you’re going in the bin.

magic girl

You’ve put a lot of thought into your magic-system? Think maybe we can talk about that later? Pretty please?

Maybe you think the main problem with that opening is that it was telling all that information, rather than showing. Well, let’s see how showing the same quantity of gobbledygook is just a big a turn off:

The boy looked so pitiable, Wularz didn’t have it in him to strike him again. He was supposed to see an enemy, but all he saw was a child, no older than one of his brothers.

Drospe, a full-blooded, tutted.

‘Why are you even here Wularz, you’ve not got the balls for this kind of work. If you need extra cash why not just run home and ask Mommy Backth?’

This elicited chuckles from the other Scisac-Clan members. Something snapped within Wularz, thoughts of his brothers faded. He had a new family now.

He struck the cowering boy again, hard enough to draw blood.

‘Well look at that,’ said Drospe. ‘All those years tending Abiilia have given Wularz here a fine right hook. You think your hot shit don’t you, Wularz? You think you got the best right hook on all of Knaphi I bet.’

Wularz ignored him. He was being baited, urged to show disrespect. This was all part of the test, and if he passed, he’d finally be half-blooded.

This is a much better opening, but it’s still got too much jargon for my liking.

As a reader, I’m frustrated this blooded thing keeps getting mentioned and I’m still in the dark, it feels like I’m the last one to a party.

The sentence about tending Abiilia giving the character a fine right hook makes perfect sense to the author, but no sense to the reader.

We’re only seven paragraphs in and we’ve managed to overwhelm, exclude, and also confuse the reader.

tap

Your jargon is water coming from a tap. It needs to drip, any faster and the sink overflows, and then you then slip and die.

Let’s fix it. Cut the mention of the family name and establish it later. Cut the mention the blooded system, and establish it later. I might even cut mention of the Scisac-Clan, and establish it later. We have got a whole book to get this stuff in after all.

Let’s see how the scene looks now:

The boy looked so pitiable, Wularz didn’t have it in him to strike him again. He was supposed to see an enemy, but all he saw was a child, no older than one of his brothers.

‘Why are you even here Wularz,’ tutted Drospe. ‘You’ve not got the balls for this kind of work. If you need extra cash why not just run home and ask Mommy?’

This elicited chuckles from the other men. Something snapped within Wularz, thoughts of his brothers faded. He had a new family now.

He struck the cowering boy again, hard enough to draw blood.

‘Well look at that,’ said Drospe. ‘All those years working on his Daddy’s farm has given Wularz here a fine right hook. You think your hot shit don’t you, Wularz? You think you got the best right hook on all of Knaphi I bet.’

Wularz ignored him. He was being baited, urged to show disrespect. This was all part of the test, it would take a better man than Drospe to make him slip up today.

Now we’re rolling. Our jargon count has gone from nine words to three, but we’ve still got the exact same scene.

Of the three jargon words that are left; two are character names. Names are pretty important in prose, duh. If your reader is only going to remember one piece of jargon by the end of your opening, it better be your weird-ass character’s name.

Anyway, that’s the end of today’s lecture. If you liked the small taste of my writing why not check out Inferna – a  web serial/writing exercise hosted for free on this blog.

Have you got any pet peeves that bother you in the first couple pages of a story? Do you have any books to recommend which ease you into the world, rather than throwing you in the deep-end? Let me know in the comments.

– H. L

Making Time to Write

You’ll notice the title of this week’s blog is making time to right, rather than finding time to right.

In my experience, if you go about your week waiting for the perfect time to sit down and write, you’ll never actually get anything done. It’s an easy excuse to blame the malicious voice for my inactivity the last five years, but at least some of the blame has to fall on my shoulders.

Between my day job, spending time with my fiance, visiting my family, chores around the house, the garden, exercise, and actually daring to sit down to watch some TV and play a video game every now and then, I’m not left with a great deal of excess time.

hourglass

I lose like two hours every week just enjoying myself on the toilet

Since I’ve committed to updating my blog once a week, I’ve not actually found any time to do any non-blog related writing. Terrible, I know. I’m never going to get anything done this way, and I can’t exactly run a weekly writing blog if I never actually write anything. That’s just madness.

With that in mind – I’ve decided to keep a very public record of just how much writing I got done in the last week. Shall we?

Day the First (Friday) – Mixed results. While I did manage to drag myself out of bed early, it was to fix a couple of mistakes I’d found on last weeks blog. I should mention that I had a self-imposed writing deadline for a short story that expired today. The plan was to knock it out before work, but that was a no-go now. I had plans later to go to the cinema to see Ant-Man and the Wasp, but I’d surely have time to fit in a little writing after the film, right?

Nope, missed my deadline. Damn you, Marvel.

Day the Second (Saturday) – I woke up at a decent time, but it’d had been a long week at work and I didn’t have a choice, my body wanted a lie in. Not an auspicious start to the day, and unfortunately it set the tone for my productivity, Saturday was a wash.

dog

Actual photo of me from Saturday

Day the Third (Sunday) – Nope. I wasn’t just tired from work, I’d hit writer’s block for my competition entry. I was dangerously close to the word limit but nowhere close to my ending. This needed to be fixed and frankly, I didn’t the energy to do it. I procrastinated, I did chores, I did everything but look at my work – and because of this blog, I was fully conscious of that decision. Yay.

Day the Fourth (Monday) – I knew the logical thing I needed to do. Sit down and write. Get my story finished, and fix the word count in the editing. I know that’s what I should do. But knowing that apparently doesn’t make it any easier…

Day the Fifth (Tuesday) – OK, It’s just embarrassing now. I was very tempted to trash this whole blog post at this point. I did sit down to write, I just didn’t get down any of those pesky words. I did some editing research, and I did some work on this blog entry – but no actual writing, again.

Day the Sixth (Wednesday) – I did it. It feels like I did the literary equivalent of shitting the bed, but I finished the first draft of my story. I don’t feel good about the work right now, but I know that’s natural. It’s the first draft I’ve finished in some time, and bugger me if I’m not a little proud.

Day the Seventh (Thursday) – What a difference a day makes. Clearly, I’m very bad at finishing projects, but boy do I love starting them. If every book was just the first three pages, I’d have written a million. With the short story finally done I actually managed to knock out a flash fiction in a single night. That’s in addition to putting the finishing touches on the blog you’re now reading. Go me!

Final Verdict: Definite room for improvement, but at least I ended on a high.

I only managed to wake up early one day, and I wasted a lot of evenings lamenting about not writing. While sharing this is a little embarrassing, it is useful. If I’m more conscious of my foibles I should get better at overcoming them.

There is after all, always next week.

How did you get on last week? Did you put me to shame or slip even worse? Give me a shout in the comments below.  

– H. L