Friday, 11 December 2009
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Friday, 4 December 2009
Last Beautiful Girl
Thursday, 3 December 2009
No one likes getting ill, and I don't wish this little bug on anyone. It was a good`un! It was mainly a head-cold that made your head feel like all it wanted to do was explode. It wasn't a good feeling.
Reading one of the blogs I follow, I also discovered that she has just suffered from the same, and stated that head colds and writing just don't mix. And it's true - it's so true. It cloads your mind, and the only thing being created in your head is mucus . . . yuk! Unfortunately she was working to a deadline, and just finished short because of it, bless her.
Luckily my novel is finished and I am waiting for the critique, so there hasn't been need for much creativity to take place. I have, though, just started to edit a previous novel. It's a pretty good fantasy story, but badly needs a hair cut as a lot of it is needless dribble. It'll keep me busy until my critique is ready though. . .
Friday, 20 November 2009
Thursday, 19 November 2009
All in all it's taken me about 2 years to write, give or take a few, but that isn't including the 5 - 6 month period between editing stages where I didn't touch it. I just left it to gather dust so that I could go back to it with a fresh eye. It's amazing how different your masterpiece reads after you've left it for so long. I actually quite enjoyed it.
So anyway, it has now seen it's 4th / 5th editing. I know there are still mistakes and plot holes, but I've now reached the stage where I can no longer see them. I've gone over it so many times that I can't see the forest for the trees, so they say. All that is left now is for my trusted colleagues to read through it and pin point my errors. They're good at critiquing, which is what it needs.
After that, and once any new errors have been corrected, it's off on the hunt for an agent . . . and then many more editing stages . . . lol
Friday, 13 November 2009
Monday, 9 November 2009
I finished my novel a little while ago and am now in editing process.
I've made all the big changes that I feel it needs and am now going through it again just to make sure that everything flows nicely before handing it over to my trusted friends for a good critique. I've given myself a deadline of January (sometime within), and by this time I want it as ready as it can be before I take up the challenge of finding an agent. I already have a list of hopefuls.
I have managed to cut my word count to 130,000 now, which I think is a reasonable amount for a novel - if not still a little too long. It's a fantasy tale titled `The Calming of Gorthian,` and I'm sure it will earn me a hundred rejection slips that I can use to decorate my walls (and it's a large wall, so I will be persistent).
I'll keep you informed . . .
Friday, 6 November 2009
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
It was said that we can all tell a story. We can all work on our characters well, bringing them to life, and we can create scenes with no problems at all . . . but we never really think that much about descriptive style. When was the last time you just sat down, put pen to paper, and just let the words flow. They could be meaningless words, just bobbing on the tide, but when spoken aloud and listened to, can create such a beautiful sound that flows together perfectly . . .
Contradiction: The violent crushing sounds breaths a feeling of tranquility whirling softly within. The warmth that churns creates a relaxation that never tires, that never grows old, that never expires. Eyes sit and gaze for hours, hypnotised by the natural forces that drives the world. Each wave crashes on the shore, vicious and unrepentant, yet soft and majestic. Beyond linger mysteries and depths unexplored. Creatures lurk and stir in abysses deeper than any mountain, promising terror and death to any stranger. The crushing confines hold an unwelcome darkness that blinds, a place that wants to be uninhabitable, that wants to be terrifying, and that wants to be feared. But still eyes gaze for hours, hypnotised by it's natural beauty and tranquility. The ocean - such contradiction.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Enjoy . . .
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Standing, looking tall, proud and gorgeous, was a woman, dressed in a flowing blue gown and tall hair, but behind her, among the background, was a dark figure of a man. No one knew who this figure belonged to. In later investigations, I was told that that the portrait was of Lady Frances Finch and the artist was Thomas Hudson. I am still investigating. But our exercise was inspired by this figure, and we had to come up with a short piece revolving around this mystery.
She was a powerful figure in society, a 17th century duchess, loved and respected by all who knew her. Her beauty far excelled all those around her, and where ever she went heads would turn. Her beauty was matched only by her kindness towards her court. Her smile was constantly bright, wide and welcoming . . . but her eyes betrayed her.
Friday, 23 October 2009
I've always admired Nene Thomas, and now I admire her husband too. He is a fellow writer of the fantasy Genre, and publishes sneak previews of his work on their website. Together they are on the path of creating a colourful masterpiece, and the magnificent characters created by Steven's pen are also brought to life by Nene's paintbrush. No doubt you will see many more of Nene's work published on Pic of the Week . . .
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
A few months later the business was done. "What now?" he asked George.
He looked across at her, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why should I want to touch you for?"
George gave a sigh, her eyes ablaze with her fiery hell. "We've just worked for months to bring you down from your heavenly cloud. I thought you wanted to be introduced the glorious act of carnal sin?"
The angel seemed slightly taken back. "Well yes, of course I do, but I didn't expect it to happen right now."
"Why wait?" She sat on the wall, her long legs crossed over each other. Her bare skin glistened in the street lights, her body seeming unearthly within the night. "It is the most pleasurable of sins."
"But I've just-"
"You've just committed your second sin. Greed isn't as pleasurable as lust, I can assure you of that. You have five more acts to commit. Why save the best till last? I certainly can't wait that long."
"But I've always been taught that `patience is a virtue`."
Suddenly her large wings opened up behind her. They were twice her size, with their bony frame appearing black, and with darkened skin stretched like webbing. "Don't you dare preach your `holier than thou` curses to me!" Her eyes glowed red like beacons in the shadows. "Of all people you should know that I will not succumb to such talk!"
"I have worked - slaved - to bring you down here so that you can commit your sins. It was what you wanted, remember? The mundane life in heaven was just too much for your little angelic self." She slipped off her wall and stepped up to him. "I cannot wait for this much longer. I have waited too long for this moment - to become one with an angel from the heavens - and do you even realise what it means?"
He lifted his head, knowing the answer and about to speak, but she cut him off.
"It means that after thousands of years, an eternity of war between good and evil, a child will be spawned. It will possess both the blood of heaven and hell, and will produce a whole new religion, a whole new way of life! Heaven and hell will be united! No longer will the war reign between the Devil and God! No longer will there be sins to break or commandments to uphold. We will have a new king, a new race - our race!"
There was no going back now. The demon was to have her wicked way . . .
Friday, 16 October 2009
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Monday, 12 October 2009
Chosen game: Medal of Honour, Pearl Harbour . . .
The stench of smoke is overpowering. All around me are small fires blazing away, and broken wiring sparking with each lazy swing. Despite the noise from outside, the gangways within the ship are almost silent. No longer is there the normal chatter and clanging of everyday life on board. A deathly eeriness lingers around every corner, and as I start to move through the porthole I notice the dead bodies littering my way.
A yell enters my ears and I realise that someone is calling me, beckoning me to follow them. Coughing the smoke from my lungs, I continue towards them. The rooms I pass are ablaze, the heat engulfing me as I struggle by, and I pray that I make it out alive.
Everything I knew has been destroyed by the explosion, and I approach another of its casualties. This time the sailor is still alive. He calls to me, pleading for me to help, but the man upfront continues to beckon, wanting me desperately to follow. Heavy with guilt, I turn and abandon the injured sailor, knowing only death waits for him.
As I follow my comrade into the remains of what used to be the galley, flames leap out at us. I jump back, trying to protect myself from it's searing heat. I see a fire extinguisher against the wall, and I go to it and pick it up. To get out of the ship alive, I have to battle the flames. The room fills with steam as I aim the extinguisher towards the burning source, and even though I feel temporarily blinded by it's brightness, I realise with relief that they are receding.
As I create a gap for myself to run through, my comrade yells once again. Looking through the smoke, I see a flight of stairs leading up and out to the deck. Racing onwards, I climb the stairs as quickly as I can, eager to be free from the polluted, sizzling confines below and to once again fill my lungs with the clean air that Pearl Harbour has to offer, but I freeze as I reach the top.
I soon realise that the horrors behind me were nothing compared to the ones in front of me.
The skies are black with thick smoke, and the stench of burning is just as strong as below. Ships are engulfed all about me, and the yells and cries and gunfire mixed with the roar of attacking aircraft are deafening. But these sights are short lived. A stray bullet from an over passing plane pierces me body, and I can't help but fall backwards down the stairwell and to my death . . .
Friday, 9 October 2009
Allow me to introduce myself first. I'm a 28 year old aspiring writer who at the moment is in the editing process of their 13th novel (Is it 13 or 14? I can't remember. I'll come back to you on that). I've been writing since the age of 10 when I started my first real fantasy story, and finished it two years later at the age of 12. It was a total of 76 hand scrawled A4 pages long and fully illustrated. Since then there hasn't been a moment gone by that I haven't been writing something. It has been a passion that has seen me through my teen years all the way through to my adult life, and it is still going strong.
Two years ago I joined my local Writers Circle. I met and made many new friends who share this passion with me, and every week we meet up to discuss our work, write some (sometimes rather amusing) exercises, and generally help each other in our quest towards the same goal - getting published. Our aim is not to teach you how to write a bloody good piece, but rather to give you the support that you need and maybe point out errors that you wouldn't necessarily see. It's been a god-send to me, and I haven't looked back. I advice all aspiring writers to join one.
Anyway, the exercises we write can sometimes churn out some rather short but fantastic story ideas. Whether or not we choose to use these ever again is completely down to us, but I feel to just let them sit in your note pad doing nothing is a waste. This is why I have started this blog, so I can share some of these with you. Some of the pieces we drag out from the top of our heads can often be very bizarre. This is why have called them WTF's (What The F**k's), as you may read them and think exactly that. Very fitting in my mind.
But not only will I be publishing some rather strange but wonderful pieces here, I'll also use this blog to chat about writing in general, and if any readers out there feel they need support or have a question to ask . . . I'll be here. I'm not saying I know all there is about writing (if I did I'm sure I'd be published by now) but just like our Writer's Circle, I can offer support, ideas and advice.
Use me as you will . . .