It has come to this

So now I'm down to bribing myself to write. One mindmap for a short story and I can watch an episode of Once Upon A Time.
Oh yes. I'm a writer, me.

How could you?

How could you face the other side so soon?

How could you not wonder what your life could be?

How could you leave chocolate banana bread?

How could you leave an office, a city full to bursting with friends?

How could you drop such a weight of guilt onto one small set of shoulders?

How could you leave a world with such a variety of tea?

How could you leave pets that endear even as they annoy?

Ho could you be so fearless and fearful in one?

How could you go before growing a handlebar moustache?

How could you not know or not care what fallout you would leave behind?

How could you not see the crowd that would have gathered and given you reasons to live?

The silence is molten, I wish you could tell me

how could you?

Onesie McSingleton

Having been off for a week and a half, I am really, really struggling to get back into my job. To be completely honest I hate it.

On the plus side I went ahead and applied for the £10,000 MMU short story competition. I hold out absolutely no hope that I could win; I did my degree there and I know they will choose a story that is weird for weird's sake. But still I feel like more of a real writer just because I've actually tried.

In other news, not sure if it's good or bad, I've had a sort of idea for a children's story. And I mean children children, like the tiger who came to tea level. 

I don't even like children, never mind think about writing for them. But then I was wallowing in my new single life and updated my status with 'Onesie McSingleton is going to Arta tonight'. Onesie McSingleton. I love the rhythm of it and that must be why it got stuck in my head, repeating over and over until I started to wonder what kind of person would be called Onesie McSingleton.

He's a wee boy in a tartan onesie, who's favourite phrase is "I can do it all by myself". There's also a girl called Tutu (I can't decide on her surname though), and another male character as yet unnamed.

It's strange to be thinking at this level, but at the same time it's nice to know my idea cylinders are still firing.

Write-off

I'm just going to write off the last 6 months. There are very few ways they could have been worse. Two family members died, I faced possible redundancy, I had (am having?) a major Faith issue, and just yesterday my boyfriend decided it's 'best for me' if we break up. I'm calling BS on that last one. In what way is breaking my heart, making the last 18 months of my life a waste of time, and taking away the one solid-seeming thing left in my life 'best for me'?

So yes. Write-off.

On the plus side, I had a new flash of inspiration. I have no idea at the moment how big or small this plot might be as it is so new I still need to work out all the details. It is at least a short story, but definitely has the potential to be a novella/novel. Just need to get the bones written down and in order so I can really work it out and then really work on it! 

Ooh shiny

I am so easily distracted sometimes, I feel like a small child. 

Things currently distracting me from writing:
- crochet
- cross-stitch
- baking
- Thai boxing
- Downton Abbey

Feeble, I know. In the absence of inspirational flashes I really struggle to make myself write. But those flashes are few and far between at the moment so I need to keep kicking myself into gear and just keep up the writing. 

My plan is to dig out my old 'How To Be A Writer' book and do one of the exercises in it before Monday. It'll be better than nothing.

I think too much

In a fit of utter boredom I googled 'writing prompts'. There are some awful, AWFUL writing prompts out there.But that's not the point of this. The point is that one prompt stood out to me:

There was once a chance I didn't take.

It seems simple enough doesn't it. It probably is simple enough, but my brain will not let it go.

I get writing about a chance that you did take. You gave the guy your number and he called you, it blossomed into the most wonderful love ever, you got married, he cheated on you, you divorced him and moved to Brazil.  Logical.

But how do you write a whole story about a chance you didn't take? You could have given him your number, but didn't so you never saw him again...

Where's the story? This is really bugging me. It's two or three days since I did that Google search and I cannot let it go. How can I possibly write about I chance I didn't take?

Inspiration

Last Sunday I took part in the Race for Life. It was incredibly hard and made me feel sick but it was worth it because I raised over £500 for Cancer Research.

It was also worth it because it gave me an idea for a story. Not like a competition brief where I ponder over the idea for days or weeks and then plod through writing the story. A proper, flash of light, couldn't write fast enough to keep up with my imagination, solid idea.

I cannot explain how amazing it felt to be writing like that again. It makes me feel like maybe I am a writer after all.

The inspiration and story both made me cry though. Hopefully next time I get a flash it won't be so personal or painful.

Why I dislike my job #1

New Acquaintance 1: So what do you do for a living?

New Acquaintance 2: I work for a charity. We help people with disabilities get back into work. 
*cue half-hour long monologue about how horrendously difficult but terribly rewarding her job is* 
NA2: What do you do?

NA1: I'm an Occupational Therapist in a hospital. I deal mostly with terminally ill patients and those with addictions.

NA2: Wow, that must be so tough.

NA1: Well yes but it's worth it, you know? Seeing the changes in people as you get to know them better. And what do you do?

Me: I do admin....in a call centre.

NA1: Oh. Right.

*awkward silence*

Curses

It is a children's story competition. Rats.

Thinking about it, I quite like the story I've written and don't really want to change it. So I'm going to recycle Jack and his crazy modern family into a whole new story, just for those not yet old enough to know what hormones are.

The only problem is I have absolutely no plot ideas, and a bake sale on Friday for which I am providing everything. This story is not going to be written this week. For reals. But I suppose baking doesn't take a great deal of brain power so I can set that one bit of my mind to thinking up ideas in the background while I get on with trying to work out how to make and transport enough fairy cakes for 36 people. 

The human brain is a remarkable thing.

P.S. the bake sale is to raise money for my Race For Life this Sunday (shameless plug alert).

http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/hannahthorley-forgrandma

Time for a re-think

While skimming through the competitions on the Writing Magazine website I noticed one small phrase jump out of the modern family competition brief:

'Writing for children'

I do not remember that phrase being in the magazine brief, and I am going to double check the second I get home. Because if that phrase is in there, I have some serious rewriting to do.

Writing for children is so different to writing for adults. There has to be a point for the kids, a moral or lesson to take away from it. You can't just write any old rubbish and call it literary fiction. To be perfectly honest, I don't know if I can write for children. As far as I can remember I have never even tried to write for them, as it's far easier to target those at my mental age (17) so I know what they'll enjoy.

However, after the shambles that was my last attempt at competition-writing I'm going to give it a go anyway. It's definitely free entry so I have nothing to lose.

Who knows, maybe I'll discover that children's writing is actually my calling!

Sod's law

I was planning to enter a writing competition for which the brief was to write about someone who couldn't sleep. After too much thought I bashed out an attempt, which wasn't very good. Because the deadline was so close I decided to abandon the story as I wouldn't have time to properly proof and edit it even if I could fix it.

Deadline day arrived and I was feeling disappointed in myself. I had been so determined to finally enter a competition, but when it came down to it I just couldn't. Then while I was walking home from work I had a sudden flash of inspiration - I could make the story work! And the deadline was midnight so I could still submit in time!

I rushed home, turned my laptop on...and remembered that the story was only saved on my work computer.

Lesson learned: save your work EVERYWHERE.

What's in a name?

I suck at creating titles for my work. Occasionally it just jumps out at me, like it did for my assignment The Meaning of Freedom. But mostly I just sit with the story in front of me, staring at it as though I can force it to give me its name, before giving in and calling it something so unimaginative I'm almost ashamed of myself.

The story about 7-year-old Jack and his modern family is written, hooray! Now I have to name it, not so hooray.  I am starting to wonder if my poor titles affected my marks on my degree, and if they've ever stopped me winning a competition.

How do you even fix that? Is there a 'Title Writing' course out there? I wouldn't be surprised, actually. 

Well I've got at least a month to think about it so maybe something will come to me.

Competition

Yesterday I discovered a short story competition with a prize of £10,000.
Yes, you did read that right. No, I did not accidentally add one too many noughts. It's ten thousand for a maximum of 2,500 words. 

More details here: http://www.manchesterwritingcompetition.co.uk/

There's a part of my brain that thinks a story capable of winning so much money must be epic, and there's no way I can write anything £10,000 good.   There's another part of my brain that's still, almost 24 hours later, going "ten thousand? Ten thousand?? That's just...ten thousand?"  Honestly, I don't know what I would do if I suddenly had that much money. 
And there's that voice again saying I don't need to worry what I would do because I could never write anything good enough.

But I am choosing to ignore that voice. My lovely boyfriend has offered to pay the £17 entry fee for me (apparently it makes him happy when I write) so I have absolutely nothing to lose. I'm going for it!

I'm also going for a slightly less lucrative writing competition in the writing magazine I subscribe to. This month's competition is to write about 7-year-old Jack and his 'modern day' family.  As soon as I read the brief I had an idea for my story, which hasn't happened for a good long while so I'm confident that it will turn out well. Or at least better than my novel.
The prize for this one is only £100 (only!!) but it's free to enter so I may as well.

It's working. I'm starting to feel like a writer again.

(Not really) a book review

I love any and all mythology. Greek, Norse, Celtic, whatever; I can never get enough of it.

Now, you may have noticed in my little side bar that I’m reading a book called Highland Folk Tales. It's quite a lengthy collection of myths, legends and tales from the Scottish Highlands. And I hate it.

Some of the stories aren’t even legends.  Take for example the story of Angie and the Calf, which I will now summarise in a few sentences.

Angie and his Dad own one cow and every year the Dad goes across the water to sell the calf so they can pay the rent for another year. One day Angie is trusted to take the calf and sell it. He does so but on the way home he drinks all the money. The next year his Dad says they’re not selling the calf; they’re going to eat it as Angie drank the last one.

That’s it.  It’s not even a good story.

The only positive thing I can say is that reading the book has been enlightening. I have learned what it is that I love so much about mythology. Put simply, it’s an escape. I love being immersed in a fantastical world where pretty much anything can (and will) happen.

And I know this because Highland Folk Tales is an attempt to be a sort of map book of myths. Chapters start off with phrases like ‘The road from Torridon leads to Kinlochewe, where it meets the A832 which runs north-west along the side of Loch Maree’ 

Instantly all suspension of disbelief is gone. I can’t imagine a story involving fairies with the A832 running through the middle of my brain! The juxtaposition of goblins and motorways is too jarring for me. I can’t escape into it so I’m not enjoying it. 

My only hope is that there will be just one story hidden in there which will spark my imagination the way mythology usually does.

Ideas

This may be entirely wrong, but I feel that there is more money to be made from writing articles rather than short stories.  

I can only name a few magazines that will pay for short stories (but if anyone can name some more I'll gladly take note) and, although being published without pay will look good on my CV, I kind of need to get some money back for my time. Of course, there are probably thousands of short story competitions, but the probability of actually gaining any money from them is not that great. 

There are definitely thousands of magazines, journals, newspapers and the like out there. And I don't even have to pay to submit my pieces to them. So I think this is the side I'm going to focus on most with my spare day.

So, what can I write articles about?

- salsa dancing
- Ceroc dancing
- reading
- writing
- having an 'at risk' job
- baking
- learning to cook healthier
- weight loss
- personal trainers
- being new to running
- getting slightly better at running
- kettlebells
- gluten free, dairy free eating 
- Glasgow
- Crewe
- being on Jobseekers Allowance
- being kicked out of your place of residence (twice...)
- moving house
- finally settling down
- losing someone you love to cancer
- losing someone you love for no apparent reason
- fundraising for charity
- living away from your family
- public transport
- sharing a flat with a European 
- sharing a flat with a cranky distant relative
- making greetings cards
- embroidery and cross stitch
- the desire but complete inability to modify your own clothes

That should keep me going for a wee while.

Serendipity

I did not lose my job - hooray! Instead the other Admin girl and I have been cut down to 4 days per week instead of 5. 

Honestly, now I'm over the shock and relief of it all I'm actually quite looking forward to that spare day. After spending an hour with a calculator, two spreadsheets and my internet bank account I've worked out that I can still survive on 4 day's pay, so I don't need to spend that free day frantically applying for any and all jobs. I could write instead.

This might be the perfect opportunity for me to really make a go of a writing career. I would have one whole day every week with the flat to myself when my flatmate goes to her job; no work to go to, nobody to distract me (aside from myself) and not a great deal to do other than write.  

I've already set part of my brain to thinking up stories and articles I could write, and if I keep running out of jobs to do at work (highly likely) I could even begin writing some of them to get a headstart.


Perhaps this incredibly stressful job-at-risk period is actually one of the best things to happen to me.

Sparked

Well, it worked. Creating those characters seems to have given my writing mind a kick up the backside and now I can't stop. Yesterday I wrote a whole story, start to finish, for the first time in months. It's rubbish but at least I wrote it! Now to begin editing.

I may have more time for writing after today, as this afternoon I have a meeting in which I will find out if I'm being made redundant. Obviously I'd like to keep my job because I need money to live. But at the same time the thought of not having to cram my writing into the evenings is quite appealing.

We'll see what happens.

Lisa Lassek

Okay, now I have been slacking. Or you could call it coping with a family funeral and the threat of redundancy in the same 24 hour time period. Either way, there is no character for yesterday, and today's is fairly basic. But at least I'm writing SOMETHING.

Lisa Lassek is a 35-year-old stay at home Mum and foster carer. She has two children of her own (a boy and a girl) and specialises in fostering siblings together so they don't have to be split up. This is possible because she and her husband live in a massive house. The husband, Markus, has an extremely well-paid job and Lisa got a large sum of money when her Grandmother passed away so they bought a 6-bedroom house expressly for fostering siblings.

Lisa has light brown hair, kept in a bob, and hazel eyes. She is very thin and toned because she gets up at 5am every day to work out before anyone else is awake. She has a secret dream of one day running in the London Marathon.

Paul Askwith, Gabriel Page

I have not been slacking. I wrote up a character on Sunday and Monday, but due to family things I didn't have chance to type them up.

Paul Askwith was hard work. He just did not want to become a fully formed character. So his is more of a character sketch. Gabriel Page, on the other hand, is already pushing me to write his story. So without further ado.

Paul Askwith is 20 years old. He is a student of Sociology in his second year at university. He is not exactly the ideal student; turning up to lectures occasionally and only scraping a pass for every single assignment. This lack of effort is because Paul spends the majority of his time throwing or attending parties in the student halls where he still lives.
He has absolutely no idea what he wants to do with his life, and only took Sociology because his parents expected him to go to uni and it sounded like the easiest course he could actually do. This lack of direction terrifies Paul, which is partly why he won't (or can't) put any effort into his course.

That's it for Paul.

Gabriel Page is a 10-year-old boy who lives at home with his mother, father, brother and two sisters. One sister and the brother are older than Gabriel, and the other sister, Love, is 7 years old.  Gabriel and Love are very close. The elder sister recently revealed she is pregnant which, as she isn't married, makes the house a very tense and hostile place to be. Gabriel often takes Love to a small park across the road from the house to get away from the tension. As well as playing at the park they read together, or read their school reading books to each other.
Gabriel doesn't do very well in any subject at school except for English. He has read all the set books for the year and now his teacher brings in her own books for Gabriel to read. He also finds his own spelling words from the dictionary while the rest of the class learns the set words.
He does have a lot of friends at school, but they all live away in the posh side of town so he never spends any time with them outside of school.
Whenever asked, Gabriel says he wants to be a doctor. But really he wants to be a novelist and has several books and stories hidden under his bed that he has written over the years.

Brian Sparrow

Brian Sparrow is 64 years old. His once-brown hair is now dark grey. It's very thin on top and Brian has considered a comb-over to hide this, but decided against it because he felt it would look silly. His eyes are brown, often hidden behind very thick, round glasses.

He is an accountant and loves his job just as much as when he started at 16 years old. He owns five suits and wears one each day to work; always the same suit on the same day. When one suit gets too worn for work he replaces it with one as similar as possible, and gives the worn suit to a friend who makes and sells rag rugs.

He is average height and quite slim, apart from a bit of wobble around his stomach, because he walks half an hour to work and back each day. 

Brian has few friends at work as they are mostly a lot younger and he's not entirely comfortable talking to them. However, he does still keep in touch with old friends who have moved from the company or retired, and meets a few of them every Friday in his local pub. He is also very active in his church, holding a housegroup for the over 60s in his house every Wednesday evening.

He enjoys reading railway magazines and non-fiction books about steam trains, as well as gardening and walking.


Tomorrow's name: Paul Askwith

Miranda Rivers

It was very difficult not to make her exactly the same as Miranda Hart! Oh the power of a name. Anyway this is what I got:

Miranda is 33 years old, but people often think she's ten to fifteen years older because of the way she dresses, and the fact that her hair is naturally very curly so looks like a perm.
She is very short and has a soft body shape; not highly toned but not fat either. Her hair is dark blonde, almost brown, and her eyes are blue. She wears glasses with small square frames.
Miranda has very few friends as she is extremely shy and soft spoken.
She has a lot of money as both parents died when Miranda was 25 and left enough in their will that she doesn't need to work. She volunteers as a lollipop lady for her local primary school every week day, and is surprisingly fierce with drivers who refuse to slow down or stop.
Miranda has never once painted her nails. She keeps them short because if they get too long she ends up scratching herself accidentally.
She had a boyfriend in college, but they broke up when he moved away to university. Although liking the idea of a relationship, Miranda is too timid to speak to men so it's unlikely she will ever find one. Instead she owns a cocker spaniel and two cats to keep her company.
She lives in a two-bedroom house in which the second bedroom has been turned into a library, with mismatched bookshelves from her parents, grandparents, and Ikea. 
She drinks chamomile tea with a few drops of lemon or hot water, and eats mainly meat from the butchers and fresh veg. Her one indulgence is cinnamon pastries, which she eats secretly in her room even though there is nobody at home to see her.


She sounds very lonely doesn't she? But she's content enough when I imagine her. I don't think she has a sad personality.

Tomorrow's name: Brian Sparrow.

I'm a writer

Or so I keep telling people.

But if I'm completely honest I can't remember the last time I wrote something creative. 

It's not through lack of desire. I love writing and it's an enormous part of who I am. Or it was. 

I suspect it's a confidence issue because (if my memory is correct) I think I haven't written anything since the day I realised my partly finished novel was complete rubbish.

But I'm not ready to admit that my £30,000 student debt is all for nothing because my goal of being a writer is just a childish dream. I am a writer, so I'm going to write! Starting off small so I don't scare myself off.

First prompt: 
I collect names from film credits. Any name that stands out to me gets written in my notebook or saved in my phone 'just in case'. I've been doing it for years, ever since the name Zach Wolf jumped off the screen and presented itself as the name for the male character in my doomed novel.
But since Zach I've never actually used any of the names.

So for the next week I'm going to take one name every day and turn them into a character. As detailed as I can manage in one day with nothing but a name to build on.

I'm already quite excited about this! Usually I have very clear characters in my head and try to find a name that fits them. Working this way round will be a real challenge, which is just what I need.

Tomorrow's name: Miranda Rivers.