More than Writers

  I’m a big fan of trees.   In fact, I’m fairly certain that heaven will be full of them: glorious edifices of nature waving their arms in welcome and in worship as we take shady shelter beneath them between worshipping the One who invited us to join Him there.   Doubtless we will recognise oaks, beech and horse chestnuts (I remember having to identify these for my nature badge in Jucos a millennia or so ago), but I imagine there will be a diversity of exotic species we’ve never seen before. Not only that, but trees provide a refuge for me when writing grinds to a halt.   When inspiration fails (all too frequently) a wander in the woods usually provides a fruitful and creative thinking space.   I find that trees give me a healthier perspective on life too.   When my nose is up against a deadline or my brain chuntering repeatedly on some imminent challenge that requires untangling skills that are way beyond me, the trees remind me that they have stood for many years before my arrival on

Well, not over. But the sequel to The Dangerous Dance of Emma JJ is written, my edits are done and the final draft has been sent for consideration by my publisher. Although I hate waiting for a verdict on what I have written and feel like I’m in limbo, it is a relief to be on pause. And to have time to review the process. It’s been a battle to write the book against the background of my life being devastated by family illness and death. Yet it has been a refuge taking me to a different place when I have managed to concentrate and step into my characters’ life and thoughts. Not that everything has been going smoothly there either. My protagonist was already doomed by her creator (me) to have to cope with great adversity. This juxtaposition of two worlds brings up the whole question of how our own lives affect our fictional characters when we are burdened with anxiety, loss or grief. I will never know if what I have experienced over the last few months has meant that I have written a ver

In Part One last month , I emphasised that ALL WRITING NEEDS EDITING – even our best efforts! But editing needn’t be a horror-fest. It’s a skill we can learn and develop, with encouragement and practical steps. Today I’m addressing short pieces, such as blogs or articles. How do we keep to a word-count? Understand that it matters hugely that we do! If you are working to a commission – perhaps something for a magazine – the publishers have designated space for your piece. They can’t fit in your extra (beautiful!) 150 words. And even if there’s space, say in a blog, readers have finite time they want to spend reading. If it looks too long, they might not even bother starting. So, how do we stay trim, words-wise? The most important thing is that you start writing in your usual way, getting the ideas out of your head and onto the page. Don’t even think about editing yet. That’s for when you’ve got some words to play with, remember? For now, just enjoy the bit that’s fun: the writing.

My educational cohort were deprived of the rigours of punctuation instruction, so I am easily befuddled by it. Yet despite this fear of humiliation, I do understand that to feel the ‘musical annotation’ of what was written, it is needed. So, I have embarked on a punctuation drive to:  appear more professional;  not bother people so much for help; and  crack this bally thing that has thwarted me since childhood.  Said punctuation drive began with the premise that, there are probably rules that help and I should learn them. So, Lynne Truss of ‘ Eats, Shoots and Leaves ’ fame, was dusted off and an online survey was found. English teacher friends, editor-cousin and others (who are good at this sort of thing) were consulted for advice, solace and inspiration.  My use of the em dash, brackets and commas, were the chief offences.  Honestly, I did not really know the purpose of the em dash — not taught in my education — affirmed by Harris, due to the strictures of its chequered past.

  Today marks another Patriot's Day, a poignant commemoration of the souls lost in the tragic events of September 11, 2001. Many of us remember it vividly—loved ones who went to work never to return home. The pain lingers, and for many, the memories are still fresh. Despite the passage of twenty-two years, some of us remain ensnared by the grief of losing someone unexpectedly. Yet, there is a path forward—a way to get past what we cannot seem to get over. In this blog, we will explore how to turn painful memories into cherished ones, drawing inspiration from John F. Westfall’s profound book, Getting Past What You’ll Never Get Over . Whether you’ve faced the loss of a loved one or a significant setback, this blog aims to offer solace and strategies to transform pain into hope, especially on this day of remembrance. The morning of September 11, 2001, changed countless lives. Families were suddenly torn apart, and the world watched in horror as the events unfolded. For many, the memor

Photo by SHVETS production from Pexels   In I, Claudius by Robert Graves, Claudius wonders if these thoughts he is jotting down will be preserved and remembered. He decides in the end that, even though he is now Caesar, they have a better chance of posterity if he just leaves the scrolls lying around for them to be discovered randomly in a century or few. Fictitious, I know, but who knows exactly how long their written works will last? You can pen what you think is a masterpiece and it blazes into obscurity. You can jot down a few pensées and have an accidental bestseller. I wonder if Paul ever realised or guessed that one day the letters he was firing off to various churches around the Middle East to deal with their local problems would have a higher status with Christians than the Hebrew scriptures he revered so much? (I suspect not, if only because he surely would have added some more clarifying comments. “Obviously, this is particular advice for you Corinthians

  Photo by   Jon Tyson   on   Unsplash   HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME                  T.S Eliot, The Waste Land (1922) Hands up if you also have more than one book on the go at a time? Or are you strictly a one book at a time person?  I'll be honest, initially I chose this subject as I had no idea what to write on, but then a thought stuck me, two of the books I was reading have at their core the theme of love, so there is a connection, but I should get on, so here were go... 1. The Humans by Matt Haig   This was a book I'd read before but I was reading it now as it was the choice of a book group I'm in. Andrew Martin is a mathematician, who's also a lecturer at Corpus Christi college in Cambridge. He's married to Isobel, and they have a teenage son called Gulliver, and a dog called Newton, but all is not as it seems because Andrew Martin is not all that he seems, he's actually an alien from the planet Vonnador. I really like this one. It's funny, moving a

            Image Credit: Kittitee500-Fotolia Since my last monthly blog for ACW on July 02nd last year, I have finally retired. Having reached the age of 60 on October 02nd last year I began drawing on my occupational pension. This means that theoretically at least, I should have more time to devote to different writing projects now that earning an income is no longer of primary importance.  I recently updated my Linked-In profile to read as follows- Doting Grandad, Saracens RFC fanatic, posts the occassional blog. Likes books, music, theatre & anything Cornish esp the ale. Passionate campaigner for and supporter of those living with Motor Neurone Disease (MND). This pretty much sums up life as it currently stands. My eldest Grandson turned thirteen on August 25th which makes me feel my advancing years that little bit more but also knowing that, God willing, I should still be cognisant enough to buy him his first legal pint when he turns eighteen in 2029.  The new rugby season kic

Library: from Latin librarium – a bookcase, chest for books  Local libraries were places where even the squeak of a shoe on the shiny floor was frowned upon and silence was fiercely enforced by stern ladies with oversized glasses and penetrating stares. Nevertheless, I spent a fair bit of time in my local library (Whitstable, Kent) during school years rooting around various sections: science, maths, the paranormal, science fiction, and history all come to mind. It was at University, though, that I successfully distracted myself from my Chemistry degree with fiction - others might have done so with copious amounts of alcohol and other synthetic means – but my forays into Mordor, East of Eden, the Russian Gulag, or Corfu with the Durrels, seemed to be just as intoxicating. Michael Rosen, former Children’s Laureate, has been voicing his ‘horror’ at the latest round of library closures: ‘ Every time I hear of a library being closed I find it…horrifying… a decimation of our cultural entitl

Image by Kiran Hania from Pixabay Do you people-watch? Surely all writers people-watch. Think of all the snatches of conversation you’ve ever heard – on the street, in shops, on the train and the bus. Suddenly you have a glimpse into other people’s lives. Words overheard can be comedic, complaining or cringe-worthy (sadly, Christians are not exempt from this). Or you can overhear a witty exchange, words of affection between two people who know each other well … or, which is much less lovely, morsels of gossip and downright bitching. But all that is grist to a writer’s mill: the good and the bad, the funny and tragic, the dark and the light together. Words overheard can give us a window into people’s lives, if not exactly their souls. You can’t judge a person just on their words. You’re only hearing and seeing one small fragment of that person and who they really are. The nicest person in the world can have an off-day. The saintliest Christian can lose their temper with an

Picture credit: Shutterstock I’ve probably mentioned before that my principal work in progress is a novel called ‘ A Sense of Belonging .’ One character is a vicar called Liv, but, despite being good at her job, she struggles to sensibly articulate the reasons that lie behind her choice of profession. All Liv can really offer is that she didn’t choose the profession. It chose her. No one in Liv’s life had ever recognised her talents or encouraged her to apply for ordination, but she did it anyway. Sound familiar to anyone?  Around 1992, I was a young police constable in London with aspirations to join the CID. The first step was to join the local crime squad and after months of waiting, the chance to apply came around. I needed the support of my sergeant and here’s an extract from our conversation. Me: ‘Hi sarge, they’ve advertised vacancies on the crime squad. I’d like to apply.’ Him: ‘Have you had the nod?’ Me: ‘The nod?’ Him: ‘Yes, you can’t apply without the nod.’ I shall spare you