Type Writer

When people ask me what I’ve done today, I tell them I’ve done some writing. If I wanted to be pedantic, I should tell them I’ve done some typing.

In the literal sense of using a pen and paper, I don’t really write much. I scribble notes to people on the backs of envelopes. I jot dates and times down in my diary. I scrawl ideas for stories and characters in my notebook. That’s about it.

The last time I really wrote something was probably a letter to my girlfriend. We went through a phase of sending each other old-fashioned love letters. We haven’t done that for months, probably years.

Before that, the last thing I really wrote was probably an essay in an exam and that must have been years ago. I enjoyed exams. Mostly I enjoyed the red callous that formed on the edge of my middle finger after writing furiously for two hours.

Some people might say writing isn’t just using a pen and paper, that writing encompasses everything to do with storytelling. Writing charts the genesis of an idea, to scribbling down ideas for it, to sitting in the dark thinking up the characters, to typing it up, to redrafting it over and over, to printing it out. That sums up what I’ve done today better than telling people I’ve done some typing.

I’m not sad that I don’t use a pen much. I’m not nostalgic, it’s just an observation.

I do feel nostalgic thinking back over learning to type though. I remember first getting a computer and hovering one finger over the keyboard looking for each letter, taking up to a minute to type one word. I remember improving, being able to type quickly. I remember making the transition to touch typing. If my hands are warm and I know what I’m trying to say, typing is a delight. I often type nonsense into a Word document just for the love of typing.

I love sliding my fingers across the keyboard. I adore the taps of the keys on my netbook. I adore the thunk of the heavier keys on the desktop upstairs. I love it when the computer slows down and the cursor remains frozen as I continue to type. I love it when the computer catches up with itself and a flurry of letters flood across the screen faster than I could ever hope to type.

Typing when I’m cold is a chore. I hate it that my fingers go numb and refuse to move quickly. Mistakes come frequently and if I’ve ever written as much 500 words when it’s cold, it’s because I’m truly determined.

I love telling stories and I love typing. Maybe that is writing. I don’t think it really matters. What does strike me as important is that I tell people I write, I never tell anyone that I’m a writer. I wonder if I’ll ever make that transition.

- CS -

Reviewed

I blogged last month that I’d had my first short story published in Issue 35 of Jupiter. I was on the magazine’s blog the other day and saw that the issue, and therefore my story, has been reviewed by SFCrowsnest. I’ve been on the other side of the reviewing mirror before having reviewed several PS3 games for PSM3. It feels weird to being the one under scrutiny.

SFCrowsnest reviews every issue of Jupiter so I knew a review was coming. I was really nervous. Nervous like the way I felt when I first showed one of my stories to someone. Not just nervous, scared.

Now the review’s out there I feel great. It’s a cosy feeling knowing someone out there has not just read my story but has taken the time to write up their opinion on it, to ruminate upon it. Of course it helps that it’s a positive review.

It might seem like a stupidly obvious thing to say, but I feel really proud of myself. I can be quite modest about my writing in person. I find it easier to talk about my writing online where I’m anonymous but speaking to my friends or other writers in person leaves me nothing to hide behind.I tell them little bits and pieces but I sometimes feel embarrassed just telling someone the plot of one of my stories.

Now I’m proud of myself because I’m in print and I’ve been reviewed. I’m telling friends about it. I’m not waiting for them to ask, I’m beaming.

Hopefully the reviewer Rod McDonald’s final sentences on my story ring true:

“According to the author biographies, this is the first published story from Chris Steer. I certainly don’t think it will be the last.”

- CS -

In the end

Endings are hard to get right, especially in novels. In a film you can end with a bang or a fade or a montage. It’s hard to manage something similar with words. Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend has a perfect ending. Forget the terrible ending of the Will Smith film. The novel ends superbly.

The endings that annoy me most are the unnecessary ones – the stories where you could cut off the last chapter or last 5 minutes and not alter the remaining story in any way and the story would be superior.

I was thinking this when I rewatched Source Code the other night. I wasn’t wowed by Source Code when I first saw it but it’s  really grown on me over the past year. I’m still not a fan of the ending. I think it should end about 5 minutes sooner. There’s a very natural ending moment, a freeze frame. I think ending the film then without altering anything else would improve it.

A similar example in literature would be Bob Shaw’s The Peace Machine. It’s a cracking novel that has a great climax. It feels like the story is going to end on a bang, but then there’s a flabby epilogue. I hate epilogues. All they do is unnecessarily tie up loose ends or set up events for a sequel. Next time I read The Peace Machine I’ll stop reading before the epilogue.

A teacher told me that it can be good practice to cut off the last paragraph of your story as sometimes you get an ending that bangs as opposed to one that whimpers out. Or cut two paragraphs or three.

My novel used to have an epilogue. I felt it tied everything up neatly but later realised it just drags out the ending. I cut the ending back and found a place which feels more natural, more powerful. Not everyone likes a story to just end or to not wrap everything up. Maybe I’ll write two versions of the ending. One for them, one for me.

- CS -

Future plans

I’m still working on Draft 4 but, unsurprisingly, the pace has slowed. There are several reasons for this:

- I could never have kept up the blistering pace at which I’d started the rewrites.

- The middle part of the novel is harder to write.

- I don’t have as much free time as I did at the start of the month.

Still, I reckon the deadline I’d set myself of the end of April is still achievable. After that I reckon the novel will need at least one more draft before I see it as finished. It still needs a title too.

At the same time, I’m thinking up plans for what to write next. I have three other novels in my head. All three are SF. I’m getting carried away with fantasising over which I’ll write next.

Option 1 is the least original of the ideas, owing a lot to my favourite novels and films. It will be the most fun and therefore the easiest to write. I don’t think it has a lot of depth and not sure if it will ever be a great novel, merely an entertaining one.

Option 2 is the strongest of the ideas. It will be the hardest to write. I tried writing the beginning of it as a short story last year and found myself struggling. It will need the most work but I think it will be the best final piece, if I can get it to that stage.

Option 3 is the most planned-out of my ideas. I know all the plot points and know most of the characters as opposed to the other options of which I only know the major plot points. In terms of originality, ease to write and whether it’ll be any good, it sits firmly between Option 1 and Option 2.

I won’t make my mind up for sure which route to take until I’m done with the current novel. I know starting a new one will distract me from finishing this one. I already know which direction I’m leaning in, but by the time I come to starting a new novel I may have come up with a new, better idea. Here’s hoping.

- CS -

In print

I’ve had my first story published in the brilliant Jupiter magazine. I’ve had the odd review and article published in magazines before, but this is my first piece of fiction.

It’s called Golden Dragonfly. It’s a strange little piece, the idea for which came to me about a year ago. My dad told me he liked it, so that’s something.

It feels good. Something I’ve poured a little bit of my heart into is in print and in e-book form too. There’s my name, my story for people to read. Hopefully it won’t be the last. We’ll see.

Draft Four

After a year’s break from my novel I’ve finally started draft 4. I’d given it a rest because I wanted to step back from it and focus on writing short stories for a while, but also I have a bad habit of starting things and then forgetting about them.

This isn’t a habit confined to my writing. I’ll be reading a great book, be about two-thirds through it and for one reason or another end up not being able to read for a couple of days. As a result, I never get round to finishing it. I do the same with TV shows. If I take a break of more than a week or two from something, I find it very hard to get the strength to return to it.

Luckily I was horrendously ill last week. I was bedridden for a couple of days and so sat in bed with a pen and my novel. I’ve killed some of my darlings, fixed a couple of plotholes and spent a lot of time trying to mend Chapter 2.

While I’ve always been happy with Chapter 1, Chapter 2 has always been a problem. Yesterday I had a breakthrough. I spent all day working on it and I reckon while it may not be completely fixed, it at least works better than it did.

It’s mainly been a question of exposition. I believe there’s so much information that’s essential to get across this early in the novel before it descends into nonsense. I’ve simplified it a lot, cut out various parts, and stripped back a lot of the prose. We’ll see if it works.

I know I will finish my novel. I’d rather not take decades over it but I will eventually reach the end. For the time being I’ll be happy getting to the end of Draft 4 within a couple of months.

Ambition

I spent last week in the alps snowboarding. I spent most of my time on my bum, asleep, eating tartiflette or playing cards and that left no time nor energy to write. Not that I mind. It was my holiday. I was there with friends. I wasn’t going to lock myself away with pen and paper.

Still, it’s the sort of place I dream of going to to write. I’m not drawn to sun or tourist attractions generally. There aren’t many places in the world I’m desperate to visit. Those I want to see are generally cold, isolated places.

One of my main writing ambitions is to go to the Shetland Islands, get a little cottage on my own for a month and finish a novel. Windswept and cold outside, mugs of tea, packets of business and words and words.

I guess it’s a strange ambition but I guess that’s me.