Well its not so much the writing, its the finding time required to give it the attention it needs in between family duties and work.
I'm finding at the moment that, between my job and catching up on all the day to day life stuff that went on hold during Christmas, my work attention span is exhausted and all I want to do when I do get an hour to myself is vegetate in front of the TV, and bloody enjoyable it is too.
Having said that I've got a couple of the course work exercises from part 2 out of the way this week, but I'm still behind target and will probably let the end date slip a couple of weeks.
I've started to read the book "on Writing" by Stephen King. Its a strange work, falling somewhere between a "how to" manual on writing and an autobiography, but its well written and entertaining as well as informative, and the pages are flying by.
I have to confess I'm not a great fan of Mr King, although I do like some horror fiction (James Herbert has long been on my favourite authors list). Reading this book however has helped me understand why I dont like his work, its too real and it shocks me.
I came to this rather startling (to me anyway) conclusion whilst reading his account of how the shower scene in his first bestseller "Carrie" came to be written. He tells how Carrie herself was based upon two girls from his high school who were bullied basically because they were different, and admits that he joined in the abuse, although in an infrequent and minor way.
The translation of this real life experience is, I believe what makes the scene so shockingly lifelike, and why, ultimately, I don't like it.
With this understanding came the realisation of just how good a writer he must be.
Saturday, 16 January 2010
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
Introducing Characters - Research Notes
There are many ways to describe people, using physical, or emotional descriptives, or by their location or intellect. The following three extracts are from three books of very different natures, which all introduce a main character in their respective tails, using very different means.
Describing Miss Shepherd, an accidental lodger.
“Nearly six foot, she was a commanding figure, and would have been more so had she not been kitted out in greasy raincoat, orange skirt, Ben Hogan golfing-cap and carpet slippers.”
Alan Bennett – Writing Home
In his description of Miss Shepherd, Bennett concentrates on the physical apects of her appearance which make her stand out as unusual, an eccentric. Although the description is quite limited, covering just five points, you immediately have a mental picture of what this woman looks like.
She is the archetypal city centre bag lady, she will have dirty, untidy grey hair, be dressed in mismatched clothes and will walk with a shuffling, stooped gait.
Decribing Katz, a travelling companion.
“For the past three years he had devoted himself to rectitude and – I instantly saw now as he stooped out of the door of the plane, to growing a stomach. He had always been kind of fleshy, but now he brought to mind Orson Welles after a very bad night. He was limping a little and breathing harder than one ought to after a walk of 20 yards.”
Bill Bryson – A Walk in the Woods
In this description Bryson writes about meeting an old friend who he has not seen for some time, and who he will be spending the next few months with whilst they walk the Appalachian Trail together. The text concentrates on one aspect of his friends appearance, or rather changed appearance, the size of his stomach, and the consequential effect of that on their proposed activity.
Whilst virtually nothing is given about Katz physical appearance, the introduction of the character works because of the potential for disaster introduced by the one detail which is described.
Describing Robert Langdon, the novels main character.
“You’re a professor of religious iconology at Harvard University. You’ve written three books on symbology and - ”
Dan Brown – Angels and Demons
In introducing his lead character, by means of a telephone call from a person trying to solicit his help, Brown gives nothing away about his appearance, rather he concentrates on the qualifications of the character, providing in very few words the necessay information for the reader to appreciate the characters ability to fulfill his part in the story.
Describing Miss Shepherd, an accidental lodger.
“Nearly six foot, she was a commanding figure, and would have been more so had she not been kitted out in greasy raincoat, orange skirt, Ben Hogan golfing-cap and carpet slippers.”
Alan Bennett – Writing Home
In his description of Miss Shepherd, Bennett concentrates on the physical apects of her appearance which make her stand out as unusual, an eccentric. Although the description is quite limited, covering just five points, you immediately have a mental picture of what this woman looks like.
She is the archetypal city centre bag lady, she will have dirty, untidy grey hair, be dressed in mismatched clothes and will walk with a shuffling, stooped gait.
Decribing Katz, a travelling companion.
“For the past three years he had devoted himself to rectitude and – I instantly saw now as he stooped out of the door of the plane, to growing a stomach. He had always been kind of fleshy, but now he brought to mind Orson Welles after a very bad night. He was limping a little and breathing harder than one ought to after a walk of 20 yards.”
Bill Bryson – A Walk in the Woods
In this description Bryson writes about meeting an old friend who he has not seen for some time, and who he will be spending the next few months with whilst they walk the Appalachian Trail together. The text concentrates on one aspect of his friends appearance, or rather changed appearance, the size of his stomach, and the consequential effect of that on their proposed activity.
Whilst virtually nothing is given about Katz physical appearance, the introduction of the character works because of the potential for disaster introduced by the one detail which is described.
Describing Robert Langdon, the novels main character.
“You’re a professor of religious iconology at Harvard University. You’ve written three books on symbology and - ”
Dan Brown – Angels and Demons
In introducing his lead character, by means of a telephone call from a person trying to solicit his help, Brown gives nothing away about his appearance, rather he concentrates on the qualifications of the character, providing in very few words the necessay information for the reader to appreciate the characters ability to fulfill his part in the story.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Tutor Feedback
Received feedback on assignment 1 already, thanks Liz, excellent service.
Generally I appear to have done quite well, my weakness being an inability to punctuate properly. this may be down to laziness on my part though.
According to the course notes, I am supposed to incorporate the feedback in my learning log (ie this blog). Not sure how this works practically, so for now I'll just save the comments with the original assignments and cross the bridge as and when I need to.
Want to start assignment 2 but concentration levels still at an all time low :(
Generally I appear to have done quite well, my weakness being an inability to punctuate properly. this may be down to laziness on my part though.
According to the course notes, I am supposed to incorporate the feedback in my learning log (ie this blog). Not sure how this works practically, so for now I'll just save the comments with the original assignments and cross the bridge as and when I need to.
Want to start assignment 2 but concentration levels still at an all time low :(
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Assignment 1
Submitted today. The dreaded swine flu is still lingering and has scuppered my concentration levels to such an extent I can barely string a sentence together, let alone think about study. I hope to begin looking at the second part of the course later this week.
Monday, 21 December 2009
Merry Bloody Christmas
My wife and I are celebrating our twentieth Christmas together this year. It’s safe to say we are not the most fortunate of couples when it comes to this festive period. I cannot recall more than three or perhaps four christmasses which haven’t been blighted by one or the other of us being ill, either on the day itself, or during the frantic week leading up to it.
This year, presumably because a twentieth anniversary is a thing of rareity these days, the curse of Christmas has gone all in and screwed us both over at the same time. We have swine flu.
Well I suspect it’s swine flu, we have all the symptoms, sore throat, high temperatures alternating with spells of shivering, loss of appetite, at least in Sues’ case, whereas I am eating almost constantly.
As I write this, it is day five on the couch. A full nights sleep is a distant memory. Sue retires early each night with a lemsip to the marital bed, and I grab a pillow and a duvet, curl up with the multitude of remote controls for the TV, media streamer and DVD player, a book, snacks and a drink, turn on the TV and promptly drop off to sleep, only to wake gasping for breath ninety minutes later with a throat coated in razor blades and nostrils encrusted in primordial slime, through which it is impossible to draw enough oxygen to sustain life.
The next ten minutes are spent on running repairs to my respiratory system, which involves much snorting, moaning and groaning, before returning to the couch, heart beating excessively fast for so little exertion. This series of events repeats at regular intervals throughout the night, until daylight convinces me it is time to rise, unrefreshed.
But time and tide wait for no man, and neither does Christmas. Presents have to be bought, as does food and drink, cards written and posted. Its not a social experience though this year, its all via the internet. In this season of cheer, cameraderie and goodwill to all men, we are reduced to cowering behind the net curtains, reciting “swine flu, swine flu” in a grotesque parody of the unfortunate medieval lepers “unclean”, imploring delivery men to abandon their packages by the gate for their own safety, and painting a big cross on the front door whilst we await the plaintive cry “bring out your dead”.
Throughout all this, the one to suffer most has been our daughter. Not for her bright childhood memories of joyous christmasses, of parties and laughter, turkey and tinsel. Her memories are, sadly, more of lemsip and linctus. But this year, its even worse.
She has reached the age now where she and a group of friends are able to rent a holiday cottage for the new year. They will do the family thing at Christmas, then pack themselves, a few belongings and no doubt copious quantities of cheap booze into a couple of old bangers and beat a hasty retreat to the coast for an early taste of freedom.
She is doing her best to avoid contact with us during these times of contagion, nights spent at friends houses, days spent anywhere but at home. When she must meet us, she does so with a handkerchief clasped to her face and a look of terror in her eyes.
It will all be to no avail though, the curse will get her, it always wins.
This year, presumably because a twentieth anniversary is a thing of rareity these days, the curse of Christmas has gone all in and screwed us both over at the same time. We have swine flu.
Well I suspect it’s swine flu, we have all the symptoms, sore throat, high temperatures alternating with spells of shivering, loss of appetite, at least in Sues’ case, whereas I am eating almost constantly.
As I write this, it is day five on the couch. A full nights sleep is a distant memory. Sue retires early each night with a lemsip to the marital bed, and I grab a pillow and a duvet, curl up with the multitude of remote controls for the TV, media streamer and DVD player, a book, snacks and a drink, turn on the TV and promptly drop off to sleep, only to wake gasping for breath ninety minutes later with a throat coated in razor blades and nostrils encrusted in primordial slime, through which it is impossible to draw enough oxygen to sustain life.
The next ten minutes are spent on running repairs to my respiratory system, which involves much snorting, moaning and groaning, before returning to the couch, heart beating excessively fast for so little exertion. This series of events repeats at regular intervals throughout the night, until daylight convinces me it is time to rise, unrefreshed.
But time and tide wait for no man, and neither does Christmas. Presents have to be bought, as does food and drink, cards written and posted. Its not a social experience though this year, its all via the internet. In this season of cheer, cameraderie and goodwill to all men, we are reduced to cowering behind the net curtains, reciting “swine flu, swine flu” in a grotesque parody of the unfortunate medieval lepers “unclean”, imploring delivery men to abandon their packages by the gate for their own safety, and painting a big cross on the front door whilst we await the plaintive cry “bring out your dead”.
Throughout all this, the one to suffer most has been our daughter. Not for her bright childhood memories of joyous christmasses, of parties and laughter, turkey and tinsel. Her memories are, sadly, more of lemsip and linctus. But this year, its even worse.
She has reached the age now where she and a group of friends are able to rent a holiday cottage for the new year. They will do the family thing at Christmas, then pack themselves, a few belongings and no doubt copious quantities of cheap booze into a couple of old bangers and beat a hasty retreat to the coast for an early taste of freedom.
She is doing her best to avoid contact with us during these times of contagion, nights spent at friends houses, days spent anywhere but at home. When she must meet us, she does so with a handkerchief clasped to her face and a look of terror in her eyes.
It will all be to no avail though, the curse will get her, it always wins.
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Finally .....
Project 5 is complete, the last exercise involved describing the movement of an animal through poetry, and recommended not using domestic pets. Not having access to a wild animal, I settled down with David Attenborough and his very thoughtful slow motion filming, made a few notes, learned a few things about bats and hummingbirds, and ended up with notes on the movement of elephants, penguins and the albatross.
In closing out the exercise I knocked up a quick 8 liner on the big bird which threatened to rhyme at one point, but faded at the last, which I am secretly pleased about. The elephant notes were poor to be frank, but the penguin ones have plenty of substance which may warrant a return visit at some point.
I dont believe I learned anything new in this final exercise, for me it was more about maintaining the development of the all seeing eye for detail. Or have I missed the point?
Looking over project 6, it appears to be a development of project 4 (introducing descriptive text by writing what is seen) this time bringing in the other four senses, so I expect I'll be walking around for the next week licking and touching things.
In closing out the exercise I knocked up a quick 8 liner on the big bird which threatened to rhyme at one point, but faded at the last, which I am secretly pleased about. The elephant notes were poor to be frank, but the penguin ones have plenty of substance which may warrant a return visit at some point.
I dont believe I learned anything new in this final exercise, for me it was more about maintaining the development of the all seeing eye for detail. Or have I missed the point?
Looking over project 6, it appears to be a development of project 4 (introducing descriptive text by writing what is seen) this time bringing in the other four senses, so I expect I'll be walking around for the next week licking and touching things.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Poetry Saga Continues
Project 5 is proving a challenge, poetry is most definitely not my forte. I've struggled through to exercise 5, so only one more to go before I get a little respite.
What have I learned? the strength of alliteration and assonance in providing both emphasis and rhythm to a piece, that poetry isn't just about getting moon to rhyme with June, that my own preference, if I have one, is for short sharp lines rather than wordy meanderings, and that even just getting moon to rhyme with June is remarkably difficult.
What have I learned? the strength of alliteration and assonance in providing both emphasis and rhythm to a piece, that poetry isn't just about getting moon to rhyme with June, that my own preference, if I have one, is for short sharp lines rather than wordy meanderings, and that even just getting moon to rhyme with June is remarkably difficult.
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