Things I wish I’d written #1

One of the nicer things about summer in the south is the craft shows. Take the car out to a field somewhere and watch folk doing amazingly creative things with odd bits of rock and large blocks of wood. And you know the best part? There’s always cake. Lots of it.

As writers we’re told that we should always carry a notebook to record flashes of inspiration as soon as they strike, but inspiration is often a visual thing, so I find a camera(phone) is just as important. Now I think about it, I actually take quite a lot of pictures at craft shows, not of the exhibits – the artists (ask them first, or at very least, buy something!) They’re such colourful people and are usually very pleased when I tell them I’m gathering characters for future novels. Their next question is usually, ‘I’m not going to die in the first chapter, am I?’ And of course, I don’t know…

Stone cutting by Fergus Wessel
Stone cutting by Fergus Wessel

A few years ago, I was at an event in Henley-on-Thames. I don’t remember much else about it, except it was raining, and I was wearing the wrong shoes. Anyway, tucked away in the corner of the field (quite far away from the cake), there was a stonecutting exhibition that was drawing a pretty big crowd, so, being the nosey sort, I went over to see what all the fuss was about.

And it was this. Definitely worth a few moments of anyone’s admiration, and not just because of the quality of the stone work. I’m not much of an artist, but I’ve always seen the similarity between writing and sculpture: You start out with something rough and then, over time, you chip away at it, cutting away the rough edges, polishing the uneven surfaces until they’re smooth to the touch. I imagine it was this notion of cutting away everything superfluous that drew Fergus Wessel to immortalise the words of An Orange Sleeve, taken from Garden of Bright Waters.

Again, I don’t know very much about poetry, but I know what I like:

  • Simplicity
  • Imagery
  • Rhythm

And I think these few short lines have it all: a whole world and a girl. A few short lines that inspired me to write an entire novel.

Regarding Avalon now available for the iPad!

So, you didn’t get a Kindle; you went the other way instead.

Well not to worry; I’ve finally managed to get Regarding Avalon converted into ePub format so the iPeople can read it too.

The ePub book is hosted at Smashwords, along with a PDF version for folk who like to read books on computer screens.

Getting the most out of your workshop

It sounds a bit dull, but a writing workshop should be approached with the same level of preparation as a board meeting. It needs a clear objective, an enthusiastic chairperson, open-minded participants, and, most importantly, doughnuts.

The objective is much the same every week (or every fortnight, or every month): everyone should leave the session with a warm fuzzy glow, basking in the admiration of their literary prowess, and with a clear idea on what needs fixing. (Personally, I think how they should be fixed is down to the writer, but suggestions are always welcome.) I’m not sure what’s the ideal number for a writing workshop, but in my MA group there were seven and that seemed to work pretty well. Since then I’ve worked with just two other people and that’s been just as good. The important thing is that you meet regularly to keep the momentum going and that everyone has plenty of time to read (carefully!) each piece and make notes. The notes are very important; you don’t want to arrive at the workshop and look as though you read six pieces while driving there. For this reason, it’s often a good idea if the chair sends an email reminder a few days before, just to remind folk.

During the meeting, the chair should keep a close eye on the time to ensure that everyone’s piece gets a fair crack. If you’ve all agreed half an hour per piece then stick to it, rigidly; tolerate no overruns. You can always pick it up again in Starbucks afterward. Make sure everyone has a say and keep the group from straying too far from the point. If there’s some disagreement over factual content then the author can look up the details later; don’t get bogged down in the detail. The aim is to critique the quality of the overall piece. Likewise, stuff like spelling and grammar only needs a brief mention, not a half-hour inquisition. Basically, the writer wants to know if the piece, as a whole, works.
Having said all that, you may occasionally get presented with a ‘rush job’: a piece of work so appalling (poor spelling, missing sentences, shocking grammar, crimes against punctuation) that it takes you an hour to critique the first page. Be patient with it if you can, but bear in mind you have five other pieces to read too. The chances are that others in the group are in the same boat, so drop a polite note to the offending member, point out (carefully!) that this piece wasn’t up to their usual standard, and perhaps he’d like to have another crack at it. Personally, if I haven’t had time to put my best piece of work forward then I’d sooner skip my critique for that session, and I think most people would feel the same.

As well as keeping everyone to time, the chairman should make sure that everyone gets a say. Groups are a mixture: some people are shy, some won’t shut up, but I’ve yet to attend a workshop where someone has nothing of value to contribute – unless they didn’t read the piece.
The thing about the quiet ones is that they’re meticulous readers and so are the most likely to have spotted the hole in your plot big enough to drive a bus through. Ignore them at your peril.

Every so often, you may get asked to explain some part of your work. If one person is asking then fine, they may have missed the point you are trying to make. Tell them what you meant and then make a note to look at revising it later; perhaps it just needs tightening up, or perhaps they read the passage while watching the last few minutes of the Kylie gig (guilty!).
Still, if the whole group looks vacant and treats you to a collective ‘I just don’t get it’ then I’m afraid you still have work to do. I’ve sat in groups where the person under review calmly explains what they meant and seems satisfied when the group nods and moves on. My next comment is usually something like this:

‘When someone buys your book, you won’t be there to explain that to them, will you?’

After the workshop, give yourself a few days to mull over the changes; don’t try to fix everything quickly and don’t slavishly shoehorn in every suggestion the group made. It is possible that all seven of them are wrong (though this is highly unlikely). As the author, the final decision as to what is best for your work rests with you.

Now, on the question of doughnuts. Most of the big chains do a reasonably priced dozen. Krispy Kremes are a bit more expensive but do a nice assortment of flavours. If you’re buying the box then you are well within your rights to nab your favourite before the workshop starts. I have been known to nab two which is not recommended and can lead to violence. If you remember to bring a box of moist wipes, you will be considered a workshop god.

Thanks for reading 🙂