Pet Shop Boys

I have been reviewing my writing and my ability to actually write. The more I look the more I realise that maybe I'm not really cut out for proper writing, you know, the sort of thing that will actually ever be published or even be read by other people. There's a couple of reasons for this:

1. I never seem to finish anything, first draft or otherwise, and so I have built up an expectation among anyone that ever reads my work that it will never be completed, so no one reads it.

2. I'm not a terribly good writer. My characters are wooden, my descriptions are too damnably long and my writing generally soulless. This leads to no one really reading what I write, augmenting point 1.

However, and this is the thing, I do still want to write. Because, it appears, I am a masochist. To that end, listening to albums from my youth like Please and Actually by the Pet Shop Boys reminds me that I once constructed flimsy narratives based on the order of the songs. In the former, there's a story about crime and love and betrayal in 1980s London and in the latter there's a sequel about revolution, terrorism and failure. In short, all albums, by anyone, suggest stories to me because that's the way my mind works. A basic laziness and inability is all that stands in my way of turning these into functioning narratives that could be actual stories.

Perhaps one day I shall return to writing but it has been over a year now since I did anything approaching fiction writing and this place has grown fallow once more. I shall do what I can to tend the beds here, maybe check on a few seedlings or just plant a few more. If anything flowers that would be nice but, more likely, I shall potter about, turn some soil and then get distracted by bigger and shinier things.

Book List - Part 3

Ah, the final part. I said 'top three' in my last post and, well, I lied. I implied that I had a 'top' of anything. Again, these are just ten of the books that stayed with me "for some reason" and some of them are for different reasons. So far, most of them have been fiction (and I suspect that will remain so) but I ought to explain this apparent bias.

Factual books I love, I do, but I view them as a means to an end - a way to acquire more knowledge or to think in a new way. As a consequence I am strictly utilitarian, mostly, when reading them. Some, like one in this installment, make me think so much in a new way that they stay with me. Most, I dip in and out of chasing references or sources. I am an historian and I read like that all the time. I said before that I do not prize a clever narrative over facts, and I don't, so 'great literature' to me can rarely be factual - mostly I chase information through labyrinthine corridors left by dry academics, and I like that. See a clever bit of prose and I get suspicious - what angle are they going for and why would they want me to focus on the prose rather than the facts?

However, I do respect the fact that some factual books are simply mind-blowing. Here I must plead the arrogance of youth and of my profession. I have worked so long and so hard to appear unfazed that I usually convince myself that mind-blowing information isn't. Now, I have already cited The Politics of Breastfeeding as one of my books and tonight I shall cite two more factual tomes that did blow my mind. But, hopefully, this explains why fiction has such a lasting hold on me.

Book List - Part 2

The click-bait continues! I was asked about ten books that stayed with me "for some reason" and I have only managed to talk about four of them. Because I often don't take the time to breathe (thank you, +Karen Schumacher, you are correct) I took a break and will likely take another yet. Still, I waffle enough and I still haven't done any original writing, so on with the list!

Book List - Part 1

This place has lain fallow for a long time. What with moving jobs and moving house and then settling into a brand new place and then attempting (and failing) nano last year, it's been hard for me to write anything of note and so I haven't been posting here. I don't know if I can make a change just yet (work, though lovely, is still very full at the moment) but someone did ask me what my top ten books were recently.

I know, it's a click-bait list article thing, and I can't really rank the books that I like easily. However, I think I can give you ten books that have stayed with me for "some reason" and briefly explain why. I can't promise any order to the list, any rhyme or reason to the inclusion of books or any great themes that I shall be exploring. Equally, there will be books that are missing simply by dint of me having read them too recently for them to have stayed with me yet, like How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran and Kazuo Ishiguro's Remains of the Day, which are both brilliant books in their own rights and will no doubt make me think for a long while yet but, having only been read in the last few weeks, can't really qualify for the list.

Then there's the influential books that shaped who I am today: Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe series, Tom Clancy's books, Colin Dann's Animals of Farthing Wood series or pretty much anything by John Wyndham (his short story Consider Her Ways was very much part of making me who I am, as was The Trouble with Lichen and, of course, Chocky). Obviously not all of those can make a list of ten books that have stayed with me, so the list will be culled and will be pretty random. Without any further ado then, the list continues after the line break.

Schadenfreude

I've been almost invisible on here recently. Crunch time marking combined with a lack of inspiration and the fact that my partner is writing their own novel that takes up evenings and so I don't write mine? Oh, they're all excuses. I hope to get back into the swing of things soon.

In the meantime a friend of my partner has written and self-published her novel. Naturally we bought a copy. It is not very good at all. The sort of book that gives self-publishing a bad name. But we can't tell this person what we really think because a. they wouldn't listen and my partner would lose a friend and b. it's too late, they've already published. How awful? In the first fifty pages there isn't a single active sentence (six fight scenes though) and 80% of sentences begin with a person's name, 'he' or 'she'. In one scene, the first stirrings of love between the protagonist and the supposed romantic lead, we are treated to a geography lesson about the city. These are the only details given about the date. They even talk about the city instead of, well, anything else.

In an effort to keep myself sane whilst reading it and alleviate the pain, I have decided that I shall rewrite it. In setting up my first draft (long hand so not on here yet) I realised that it already looks sufficiently different that I could turn it into my own story relatively easily. I may do that. Of course, as it's already a book, my rewrite will be also.

I am such a bitch sometimes, sorry!

Christmas Post

It's been too long!

So, I have a beer review. Did I mention that I like drinking beers? I didn't!? Well, that must be rectified!

Here, have a beer review!


Yes, I am actually writing and posting a beer review on Christmas Day. I am that mental. But, it's been a bit of an odd one. No pressure, Him Indoors has done the duty regarding cooking, cleaning, dish-washing... basically all the crap stuff, and I've been on children watch. Which wasn't that hard. Not my forte, but not that hard (I'd've preferred cooking and cleaning if I'm honest, I love doing roasts).

Anyway, tonight I am reviewing Courage's Imperial Russian Stout. Which, if my reading serves me well, is a popular style of brew this year around where I am. I have never seen the like before and so I did ask for a selection of Christmas beer and I got it. Yay!

This comes in a tiny little bottle (275ml) and so straight away you know something about this beer is going to be different. It's also 10% ABV - apparently so it didn't freeze when exported from Britain to Murmansk back in the 1750s. Finally, it also conditions in the bottle for up to 13 years, presumably so that it could last once it arrived in Russia without having to make numerous resupply trips over wacky stormy seas (yes, thank you KLF).

I can claim no knowledge of the veracity of the historical story. However, on opening I can say that the pressure is high and so the head is vigorous and feisty. No whiff of CO2, implying that this was conditioned well and not with added gas in the bottle. The aroma is heavy and malty, with hints of chocolate and wet wood (no, really), and there is a smidge of citrus if you're looking for it, which I was. After the head has died down a little you can get close to the beer itself.

First sip is very chocolatey, reminds me of the Triple Chocolate Stout that I reviewed ages ago, but not so much that it overpowers things. Pleasant sparkle to the fizz with tones of citrus fruits, but these are mild like apples and pears rather than oranges or lemons, mostly one gets the malt and the weight of the beer. This is, I suppose, like Stout ought to be, heavy and malty and interesting. If you met this sip on the street you'd either strike up a conversation and take him home to meet the parents or else you'd quiver in fear and worry that you'd appear somehow less than human by mere comparison. Second sip is much the same, implying good staying power. You can feel the strength of that 10% ABV though, this is not a sessionable ale, but that's why it comes in dinky little bottles.

Overall, this is a heavy, winter warming beer. It's one you'd best enjoy on a cold evening, huddled round a crackling open fire keeping the frost at bay. Wrapped in winter furs, hunted yourself from the wild woods, telling tales and singing songs with good rough company. Don't shave. Don't shave anything for a few days. Don't wash except in water from beneath cracked ice. Then get that fire going, huddle, talk in low voices, laugh long and with feeling, and crack open one or two of these as you smile and joke with your companions. It will be worth it.

On war



A girl plays with a doll in Rhiems, 1917

All the photos in this post are contemporary. None have been colourised. They were taken in colour between 1915 and 1917.

So it turns out that my NaNo effort is mainly focussed on the war that I created for William to grow up in. When I originally concieved of it I had intended that war to play a relatively minor role in the plot. It was there, as in Hitler: the Rise of Evil to provide a backdrop to some minor characterisation and to provide a defeat for the country that William hails from. More to the point, I'm not a fan of novels about war.

No, wait, scratch that.

German soldiers in the ruins of a village in the Somme, 1916

Novels about war inevitably do one of two things, in general, they either romanticise the war involved (The Last Ace by Henry Ziebel, I'm looking at you; anything by Harold Coyle or Tom Clancy, you are as much at fault) or they harp on too much about the human nature of the soldiers involved to actually get to grips with their stories (the latter books of the Sharpe series by Bernard Cornwell, for example; or anything by Larry Bond). All of them look at men at war. All of them are men.

That said, I have read some other books that do a better job. One Spring in Picardy was such a book, as was The Middle Parts of Fortune. Both of these are First World War novels, the latter was written by someone who served in the First World War and the former by a man whose father served and whose uncles all served too. Basically, they knew their stuff. I get the impression that the other authors don't.

What makes me rant so? Simply put - I am a student of the First World War. It occurs to me that what I know of Hitler's experience in the First World War does not gel well with representations that I have seen on screen. Equally, the experiences in All Quiet on the Western Front and the various adaptations do not always fit with what I know from other sources. I remember reading Tony Ashworth's book on trench culture and the letters in books like War of Words and Somme and being completely bowled over by what people said at the time. Lyn MacDonald's excellent series of interviews, though heavily tainted by her own views and the established ideas of AJP Taylor, were magnificent for me as they contextualised a war primarily from the view of those that fought in it.

German soldiers in a well-revetted trench, 1915

As a consequence I have rejected both the poets' views and those of the historians who seek to generalise it or to find in it some exposition of human frailty and the futility of the war. I view the First World War as an aberration, but it was not futile. It cannot be futile. To say so would be to dismiss all those who took part and ignore the effects of what they did. Indeed, when I read All Quiet on the Home Front I discovered yet another angle on the stories from the time.


Rations in a French communication trench, 1917

All of this has clearly been brewing for much longer than I thought. Which was why, when the time came, I ended up writing over 40k words on the First World War analogue in my story. Because the record needed to be set straight. Because such a conflict deserved more than to be a vehicle for the rise of one character. Because wars are what they are and they need their own space to be fully appreciated for what they are. I did not want my novel to become a war novel. I have no direct experience of any such thing, nor can I piggy-back on anyone I know who does have experience. But, oddly, I could draw on my own experiences to write it.

This is strange, and I suppose connected to 'writing what you know', because I know nothing of war, but I am an outsider. I know little of relationships (my own experiences are quite limited) but much of awkwardness. I know nothing of fearing for one's life but much of adapting fear to fit the circumstances one finds oneself in.  I hope, therefore, that I am less of a Clancy and more of a MacDonald or even a Faulks (though his Birdsong was more a piece of erotica disguised as a novel about tunnelling in the First World War).

Which is why, when the time comes, my novel must be published under a female name. I want the novel to bring the war to life in the same way as these colour images do and to do so in a way that surprises people. So, no, I shan't be publishing under a male name to get readers. My concept is served best by publishing as a female.

Playlists, plague and racism

Well, I had to take a day off to see bonfires and then another to keep pace with the day job deluge of drudgery and devilment.  With sickness in the house and multiple vomitings upon my person by other people I was slowly losing the belief that I could carry on.

And tonight has been rather difficult.  There was a long section that relied almost entirely on third person summary, which is not a good way to advance plot, I was so much more into the whole vignette idea to show time passing and also to impart relevant information without 'telling' - one of my worst habits back when I used to write more.

Having an autistic main character has, however, worked wonders.  Now my soulless and technical style is for a reason and helps to characterise William as he slowly develops into the person he becomes by the end of the novel.  This is, unfortunately, going to mean some conversations like the one I wrote this evening - hugely racist with the characters having the discussion not even having the awareness to register the horrors which they bandy about.  Partly I'm glad, the Dandies are supposed to be dangerous and, well, just a little bit seedy but mostly I'm appalled that I could even write it.

William Caston, you are not a terribly nice person you know!

He knows, he's fine with it, being nice is a sign of weakness if it is not used for personal gain.  Everyone is doing it, apparently.

Well, quite.  Thank you William.  And now shut up, the adults are talking.  Oh, I'm back in the swing, but much reduced on daily wordcount: 15,696.

Mount Trepidation

I am so looking forward to NaNo this year.  I know, I know, everyone talks like this and I become one with the sea and tide of opinion.  But, seriously, I haven't done it since 2010 and, in that year, my experience was marred by a whole welter of nastiness elsewhere in life - mainly work - that meant I didn't enjoy it.  I'm anxious to be back.

That said, I do worry about time.  I mean, I've managed to hit the target twice in the past but one year  was without anything else to do.  I mean, I had my job, but that was it.  I also had massive disposable income and several hours a night with nothing to do in them.  I hit 85k words that year, but they were mostly pants (about 8k were usuable and quality) and the story remained stubbornly elusive.  In other words, I hit the target by sheer babbling.

The other success, if it can be called that, was simply writing 55k words in the month.  Three projects were undertaken and each one was abandoned before starting another.  The first, and most boring, was an 'official history' of an alternative First World War in which the Germans developed tanks (see, told you) first.  The second was an attempt at Socialist Britain that got no further than a conversation and a poor bit of background.  Final one was just a general ramble including a 5k piece that was a badly transcribed copy of the nuclear attack warning radio broadcast from 1975.

The rest... I've not hot 50k and I've certainly not got much of worth from the words themselves.  I haven't really attended write-ins though, and I did that first time, and I enjoyed it most when I did.  Even if the finished result was a bit pap.

So, I am looking forward to this year, but it is very much scaling Mount Trepidation now.  It's been four years since a 'success' and six since I really enjoyed it and got the bug.  Here's hoping I can recapture some of that!

Mission Statement

When I get this place up and running I suspect that I'll make this a page rather than the first post, but I'm conscious of the need to post something here so that I actually remember to post here with creative projects.

This is designed as a blog for me writing stuff.  An author's blog if you will where, instead of confessionals about my life and stuff, I blog about ideas and half-formed things.  There will likely be everything from half-baked plots and synopses through to scenes and conversations that serve as fragments of some larger pieces.  I hope to post a few short stories, too, the kind that are too short to ever really be published but may well provide somebody, somewhere, with a few minutes of interest.

It is designed to be public and open, so if there is strong language it will be plot related and I'll signpost it as such.  I may tackle more adult-y themes but not in a 'adult = porn' way - I mean my writings are designed for, well, me, and so probably not always appropriate for young'uns without some adulty guidance along the way.

Who knows, I may even garner a readership that will comment on what I write - even they just say whether or not they like it.  Anyway, that'll do for now.