It's been a long time

Hey kids,

Sorry I've been so absent. Do you ever go through stages of just not being able to write? That's how I've been for the past year or so. I go through stages of either writing loads or reading loads. I've been through a lot of books this year and am currently reading Claire E. Smith's The Duke's Trumpet. A gripping read so far but because I would talk with her as she was writing and planning the novel it's made me realise that I need to get on with mine.

It's been long enough now that I've had time to get my head around Sanctuary. I know the technological advances I'm going to make to the base and the characters. I just need to get the peril sorted.

Another friend of mine said she was planning on writing a novel and it got us talking. I said that I wanted to get back to writing 750 words per day but it was so difficult when I wasn't inspired. She said that instead of trying to write some of the novel every day, just work on it. Genius! So I've just finished an hour-long planning session in the middle of my day.

I think I'll be back for a while now. I'm feeling inspired. I want to get this draft written and beta'd to see how it pans out. I'm currently writing a scene-by-scene plan that I can follow. I think there's one plot thread missing, but hopefully I'll be able to find that before I finish. It's the piece of the puzzle that will cause peril and give the characters something to fight for.

I'm now self-employed (woohoo!) so finding time to write should be much easier... in theory.

Oh how I've changed!

I know a lot of you were really enjoying this blog and I'm so pleased that I've kept you all on GFC. I've taken a break from the creative writing side of things. I did work a bit on Heat of the Moment but just hit a wall around the 30k mark.

I know how I want it to end but I just don't know how to get there. I'm not inspired by it at the moment so I decided not to force it.

I started my own business, Jet Social, where I get to write wonderful things about cars, fashion, technology and marketing (as well as providing other services like web design, proof reading and PR) so that's taken up most of my time.

Ever since getting feedback about Sanctuary I've been itching to get writing but have just been stuck on the big bad thing that can act as something to rally against.

Last night I had a dream that just outlined everything perfectly for me. It cemented a character relationship, answered questions about the other people in the world I've created and inspired me to get writing.

NaNoWriMo is coming up so I'm going to use it to get the bulk of this rewrite done. Not much is staying the same, really and I'm going to be introducing a new story arc into it. In the first version there's a character that comes into it about halfway through but his back story is interesting with loads of angst so it's worth showing that.

It'll also give readers a valuable insight into the world and will show them how little the main character and those around her really know about the world they are living in.

I'm currently writing out the scene as it played out in my dream, although it is likely that it would never get into the final thing. For now, though, I need it out of my brain space.

FFF: A doctor's feelings

It's been a while since I've done some flash fiction but I was oddly inspired today. As always, I appreciate feedback.

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When I first started treating Fabian I'd been told he had amnesia due to a head injury. It took a while for it to become clear that his head injury hadn't affected his brain and that the memory loss was down to something else. I tried to delve into his dreams to get a better understanding of what his subconscious had done with those memories but the dreams were disturbing and twisted. They couldn't be memories, they were too fantastical but they did give an insight into how his mind was projecting terrible thoughts as a way of dealing with whatever trauma he'd been through.

Now that the hallucinations have come to light I suspect his illness is more along the lines of PTSD. Although, without any knowledge of his background I can't be sure. I think he's beginning to remember more and more but he's not talking about it. I feel we have become friends but now he seems more closed off. I think he thinks he can get away with not talking to me now. He completely closes down and now that he has a job, there are times were I barely see him. He gets out of our sessions because he says he has to work.

I didn't want to push him at first because I know that he struggles to talk to me. He still feels like I am going to judge him. He doesn't realise that talking about what is going on in his head is a way to exorcise it. When he was forced to talk to me it helped.

I am fond of him and I think letting him move into my house may have been a mistake. He sees us as friends. The doctor/patient relationship doesn't seem to apply, in his eyes, any more.

I probably was quite ignorant to how he'd react to this new found freedom. He's doing well and, in most ways, he is coping. He's fantastic at his job, he has colleagues who love him and he has a social life. However, there are small areas of his life where he still struggles. He can't be on his own and if he is then he seeks attention. His reaction to authority figures is getting better but he's had more than one run in with his boss and there have been multiple times where he's ended up screaming at me.

The search still continues for his identity. His name brings up nothing and we can't get anything from the tattoo on his shoulder. I first thought it might be a prisoner's number, it had that sort of format. Firstly, though, who would tattoo their prisoners in such a way? And secondly, it doesn't match up with any prison   in the world. At least not one with records. It could be the number is something to do with slave trading, which would explain a lot, but something tells me that's not the case. He's not submissive, he's not weak. His memory loss might make him very different to his former self but I can't imagine him being forced into servitude by anyone.

I do think my relationship with Fabian has become a little inappropriate. I'm trying to keep my distance from him and let him get on with his life, job and new friends. I'm there as his doctor and only that. We became too close and I think that began to affect his treatment. I'm tempted to refer him to another doctor, it would be the best course of action for his treatment but I can't help but feel he needs me.

Perhaps I should speak to him directly about me continuing his treatment. The fact that the hallucinations are getting so violent that he is hurting himself is worrying enough but the fact that he won't talk to me about any of it makes me wonder if he'd speak to another doctor.

As far as I'm aware, he's keeping most of this from his colleagues. He's just said he doesn't remember who he is and gives no reason for it. I wondering if the memories are coming back and he's struggling to deal with them. They're manifesting themselves as horrific hallucinations.

I was only present for one, the rest have been while Fabian has been on his own. The one I witnessed was violent, Fabian was thrashing out as if attacking some unseen assailant. It was a glimpse into how he was feeling and it terrified me. I should've been calm and collected about the whole thing but I was worried for Fabian's safety. It's starting to hurt me just to think what he's going through and I hate that I can't be objective anymore. I care about him and I want him to get better but because of that I'm struggling to help him.

Research and absence

I was doing some research for Sanctuary (an excuse, really, for not writing) while in London. I floated around Westminster, hopped through some Tube stations and was filled with glee when I found a pub call the Sherlock Holmes.

I also found this:

 

A real Sanctuary on top of my fictional one. There's also a pub nearby of the same name. I don't know what to think or say! It seems like I have inadvertently given my location some back story without knowing it. Perhaps the base was named after the location it was under.

I haven't really posted here because I haven't been writing. Not properly anyway. I've lost all want to write the novels that I've been working on and I have no desire to start anything new. I have been writing down anything that does come to me but generally it tends to fall into the realm of fan fiction that I'd never share. In fact, my 750words is full of awful drivel but at least I'm keeping the words flowing.

I also entered a Future Food writing competition. A short piece that I quite liked but don't expect to get anywhere with.

I suppose I have to keep slogging away hoping the muse will return. For now it's snippets of novels and all the fan fiction my head can contain. I think if work were less busy then at least I'd be able to force myself to write. However, I've never been this busy. I'm exhausted!

Misty drabble

This is a very short Sanctuary-based thing I attempted on 750word.com. I like the writing but I just don't have the motivation to continue with it!

The mist was grabbing at the buildings, pausing at the open roads and swirling across to engulf them. The road changed from bright and glorious to shrouded in a fuzzy, suffocating grey. They moved through each of these patches, unsure as to whether the brightness of the sun was best or the cover of the mist.

Ryssa didn't mind either. She was still revelling in weather and sunshine, it was keeping her mind off the things she'd seen over the last 24 hours. There was no way that seeing this world for the first time in 20 years wasn't going to be a fantastic distraction.

The captain moved up alongside her. "Everything all right?"

Ryssa looked at him, his face and hair were damp from the wet air but his eyes glittered with the same excitement that she was feeling. "Fine, sir."

Update - Reading not writing

I think my muse has been stolen by all the books I've been reading. I've read some fantastic stuff over the last few months. Namely The Book Thief. What an utterly amazing book. A fantastic point of view, beautiful writing and a story that made me cry!

I'm now working my way though Clash of Kings by George R. R. Martin. I'm enjoying it more than Game of Thrones (which I read after I'd seen the TV show) but it's so long! I'm half way through and already itching to read one of the other new books I have.

I have been writing. I'm about half way through Tain's story and am beginning to consider rewriting Sanctuary. I've got ideas for it, lots to change, more baddies and general peril. I'm glad the ideas are coming but I'm still not ready to give it another go.

Writing has just been difficult. I thing GRRM has stolen my mojo. I can't even write the drabbly bits of Flash Fiction I love so dearly. I'm focusing a lot on my fashion blog and I am buying a house so there's lots in my life that's just getting in the way of writing.

I've got ideas and stories in my head but when I sit down to get on with it I'm hit with a huge sense of apathy. I just can't be bothered. I may leave it for a while and not bother too much about getting on with anything until after I've moved. Hopefully once that's all sorted and Christmas is out of the way I can get on with Tain.

The Crash

I'd left work, it had been a stressful day. The sky was clear but it was beginning to get dark, it seemed like the perfect time to go for a run. With work being so busy I'd been neglecting my fitness regime, I was going to take this time to zone out, to just think about the burn in my muscles rather than everything else I had to deal with.

My plan was to run through the suburbs, towards the city and back. I was running down a road, one not often used by cars. My feet crunched over  fallen, orange leaves and trees hung over my head. There were a few houses down that road, each of them had a dog tied up outside. Those dogs barked at me as I ran past. I remember thinking how weird that was. Why were all those dogs outside?

I paused to catch my breath as I came out of the trees. I could see the city ahead of me. There was a shuttle being launched, one of those huge ones that was probably carrying all sorts of cargo up to the space station. At first I didn't realise quite how lethargically it was moving. It was climbing at an angle I'd never seen from such a large space shuttle. It climbed and slowed before arching over the city. I realised what was going on. Gravity grabbed it and began to sink downwards, now picking up pace.

I knew I should run, get away from what was no doubt going to be a huge explosion. I doubted that the crew would be able to right the ship now. But I couldn't drag my eyes away as it sunk behind the trees. Moments later a cloud of fire and smoke shot upwards and the ground shook. I could feel an immense heat, the smell of smoke filled the air and the sky turned red.

I began to run, north and away from the city. Back home. I wondered if my father had the sense to leave his lab and make his way home at a normal time. God, I hoped so. I spared a quick thought for all of those in the blast radius. Even I, a few miles away, could feel that heat. I was still worried that a ripple of fire was making its way towards me. I ran faster than I ever had before and didn't stop until I'd arrived at my house two miles away.

I tried to ring my father but the line was dead.

What I've been up to

I've been off doing lots of stuff since I last posted. I went on holiday, watched fast cars drive round in circles, attended a wedding and ran lots.

Something I haven't really been doing is writing. I got a bit stuck on some of the more science-y elements of Tain's story. Stuff to do with temporal anomalies mostly. I seem to have got over that hurdle by chatting it out with my writing buddy.

Then I got stuck on a plot point and nothing seemed to flow. Over the last couple of days I seem to have pushed past the tough bits and I now have a 45k novel. There's still loads to write a bit more to work out but I'm much happier with this than I ever was with Sanctuary.

As for Sanctuary, I'm still putting off the rewrite. I've got more ideas to make it a bit darker, more technological and how to develop the characters more but I don't feel ready to write it just yet.

Zombies in Norwich is coming along. I've got three chapters done. I want to wait until I've got five completed before I begin posting. Then at least I have a five week lead time should I get lazy and no finish what I'm supposed to.

Anyway, onwards and upwards!

What have you all been up to?

An interview with an alien

I was directed to a post on Jan Morrill's blog that made me tingle. You can read it here. It's her talking to one of her characters at happy hour and is the first thing to inspire such a writing spurt in me for a long time.

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I sit down with Tain in the most beautiful bar I think I've ever seen. The walls are peppered with obscure prints and photographs of the regulars; the bar is lit up from beneath and boasts an impressive whiskey selection that practically makes me drool. Tain is already waving over a barman and then chats animatedly with him for a moment. She seems in her element here, there's an anticipatory glimmer in her dark eyes and the barman looks as if he's melting under her gaze. He gives her a winning smile and swishes off to do her bidding.

She turns her attention back to me. I’m hot in this bar; it's full enough that the body heat of the people inside is just leaking into the air, making it almost stuffy. My cardigan was off before we'd even sat down but I notice that that Tain is still wearing a heavy leather jacket and a scarf. It’s strange that despite the fact I know she is an alien, it’s easy to forget it. She blends in so well with the humans around her.

She exudes confidence and gives me a small smile as she leans across the table; she’s very close to me, presumably trying to soak up some of my body heat. Her movements are somewhat predatory and I wonder what she is thinking.

"I was thinking about how flattered I am that you are so interested in me. I was under the impression you knew everything there was to know about me." She smiles and turns as our drinks are brought to us.

You can't really forget about her telepathy but it's always a surprise when you realise she is in your head. My drink is perfect, exactly what I would've ordered. Scotch, no ice.

She slides the glass over to me and I take it. A really good Single Malt too. "I know a lot about you but it doesn't run that deep," I say. "There's a lot you keep to yourself."

She tilts her head and inhales over her whiskey glass. "I suppose I do... Go on then, ask away." This seems like a challenge to Tain, she gives me another wry smile and takes a sip of her drink.

"Do you miss owning a bar in London?"

"Of course I do. It's the only thing on this planet that just feels right. I belong in bars even though we didn't really have anything similar on Tzaahl."

"Tell me about your planet."

Tain sighs. "There's not much to tell. It's smaller than Earth and has a much hotter climate. Only half the planet is habitable, the rest is far too hot even for us, not to mention all the active volcanoes."

"And your people?" I say it a little more quietly, I know this is a potentially touchy subject.

"Violent, merciless, ruthless and stronger than you could ever imagine. Everything is so militarised. The military runs every aspect of the Tzaahl way of life; every Tzaahl is trained in some aspect of the planet's armed forces. Also, unlike this planet, it is a matriarchal society." She grins at me and it's not hard to tell that it would've been a shock for her coming to a planet dominated by the male of the species.

"Where are you living now?" She's much more receptive to my questions than I had expected. It seems like all of this is some sort of elaborate game to her.

"Outside of London now. In the countryside, although it's not exactly by choice. Give me the city any day. I live with three..." she paused to think for a moment, taking a long sip of whiskey, "friends."

"Friends?"

"Well, colleagues, I suppose. Rupert, Annie and Harry." Tain sounds a little unsure as to how she should class these people.

"Tell me about Harry."

Her eyes darken and her eyebrows drop, she suddenly looks a lot less willing to talk. "Why Harry?"

I don't let her gaze affect me. "Because I know you two have a history and I want to know about it. Start from the beginning. You know I know most of what you are going to say."

Tain looks at me for what seems like an age and I know she is trying to work out whether she can trust me. "It's so complicated." She sighs and her whole demeanour changes. That hard edge disappears and she looks like a girl in love who has suffered the worst of betrayals and I know that's exactly what she is.

"I still wonder now if he ever did love me. Part of me would like to think that he did but deep down I know that he used me to get hold of my ship. I don't know if this would be easier if he had loved me. We had some good times and I miss that. When I look back on it, despite being in the middle of a war, we had a fantastic time and I wouldn't change that for the world. Until, of course, I think about what happened afterwards."

Tain takes a larger gulp of whiskey and for a moment I think I can feel the pain from all those years ago emanating from her.

"He stole my fucking ship. I didn't even get a kiss goodbye… he just left. He doesn't even know what that meant and he still doesn't understand what he did wrong.” She’s been incrementally raising her voice. She takes a deep breath in some sort of attempt to rein that in. “He said his situation warranted drastic action and he would've been killed had he not left there and then." She shudders and pulls her jacket further around her.

"So after all that you meet him again and now what? What's the relationship like now?"

“Tenuous. We are tolerating one another. Although I sure he thinks I’m going to attack him at any moment. I can’t help but snap at him, it’s distracting us from our work so I’m making a concerted effort to be civil and put everything in the past.

“It’s not always easy though because occasionally I’ll see a glimpse of that charming, chivalrous man I fell in love with. Someone that took me so by surprise and treated me like I was the only person in the world. There are tiny snippets in time where I forget what he did and how much I hate him for it. I forget that it’s his fault that I can’t go back to my own planet and that the armies I once commanded now have orders to capture and kill me.” She takes a deep breath and relinquishes her too-tight grip on her glass.

“He’s changed a lot, either that or the Harry I knew in the forties was just an act to win me over and steal my ship. He’s quick to anger and not as patient as he was, there’s nothing gentle about him, he always seems like he wants to fight. And I know he takes great pleasure in pushing me and aggravating me.”

“Don’t you think that’s because of the way you treat him? You don’t hide the fact that you hate him, why should he bother being any more than just civil to you if he’s going to get no more in return.” I was pushing her a little bit now and was fully expecting her to fly off the handle.

“Rupert said the same thing,” she says eventually. Her fingers are tapping distractedly against the table as she finishes off her drink. “Let’s do this again some time.”

That’s the conversation over and Tain looks drained. There’s no sincerity in her voice about doing it again, she’s just being polite. But when she smiles it’s genuine, I don’t think she has anyone else to talk to about stuff like this.

Fantasy Fiction Friday - Magic and Fire

I suppose this is a bit of a cop-out on the flash front. I wrote this a while back and am recycling for the purposes of this blog. In other news, I'm exhausted and have a personal training session in two hours! Here is my attempt at fantasy...

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The cave was dark now; the light that had once filled it had faded out and taken within the magic of the world. Two old, wizened mages stood guarding the place in which magic had once burned. They did nothing to relight the flame as they already knew it was no use. Time would only tell if magic would return to the world and, from now, their job was to protect the place in which magic had been born and died.

The myths and legends of the world told of magic coming from the heavens; a great ball of fire and ice hurtling from the sky and crashing in this very spot. The fire had burned for thousands and thousands of years and it now it had fizzled out like a candle caught by the breeze. There was no explanation nor any warning and yet it was evident that something very dark was casting its shadow over the world.

The mages knew there would be questions asked across the world and battles would be lost without magic but it was just a matter of time. If the gods deemed it necessary to return magic to the world than there would be a sign, another ball of fire and ice would fall from the sky.

"Eldred, are we to guard this flame when no magic exists and we are crippled?" One mage turned the other, his wrinkled face was crossed with more lines and he looked tired for the first time in 300 years.

"I would not worry, Sylas. The magic will return when the gods allow it.  For now, we are to keep the secret of the flame from those who would do anything to learn of its whereabouts. Whilst no flame exists, this is holy ground and only those of our order are to set foot here." Eldred had a kind face and he knew more about the laws of magic and the world of the gods than anyone else across the kingdoms.

They didn't speak any further, words seemed such trivial things when magic flowed through your veins. It was difficult for both of them to lose their life source. The residual magic coursing through them would be enough to keep them alive for a while longer but there was now the fear that both of them would die before the next members of the order could step in and take over.

Friday Flash: The beginnings of the Intergalactic Championship

No prizes for guessing what inspired this! Please comment and leave any links to your own Friday Flash pieces so I can have a read!

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I ran my hand across the carbon fibre body of the little ship. My ship. A nervous excitement shuddered through me. I was only a few hours away from competing in a race I’d only dreamed of. I’d won the Solar Championship three times but I was stepping into a world fuelled by politics, cash and some very talented pilots.

I couldn’t help but feel a little out of my depth as I talked with the engineers but I was Jackson Knight, I was known for that brave face and cocky smile. So I acted as if nothing was wrong. I kept the nerves under the surface and chatted away as if this were any other race.

The first race of the intergalactic season was around a planet named Tellar. Somewhere I’d only been once before and had never raced around until yesterday. The practice went well but I wasn’t exactly fast. It was going to be very difficult going from winning every race to being at the back of the field.

It also hadn’t escaped my mind that the Intergalactic Championship was also much, much more dangerous than the Solars. You often heard about two ships colliding along the course. Tellar was a desert planet so the track was dusty, visibility was limited and there were strict fly height restrictions to stop ships rising above the course to get away from the dust. The spectators loved to see a good crash.

“We’ve added filters to the engine outlets and air intake tubes, it should reduce the chance of dust getting inside the ship. You shouldn’t have the problems you had yesterday.”

I looked around at my chief engineer, Derryl Ryth and smiled. I slapped him hard on the back. “Great. I can win this.” Maybe I did have a good shot. Winning might be out of the question but I wanted to be at the front of the mid-field at least.

Derryl laughed and patted me on the cheek. “That’s the spirit, boy.”

For some reason he’d insisted on calling me ‘boy’, I didn’t mind. It was endearing but he couldn’t have been more than ten years older than me and I wasn’t exactly young. I’d come into this sport late; I was older than some of the competitors who had been racing the Intergalactics for years.

I ran my hands through my hair and took the helmet from someone who had just handed it to me. I was now in the zone; a haze of pre-race adrenaline had taken over my body and was now drawing me towards the ship. It was best get myself sorted and begin all those checks that I was still getting used to.

I climbed into the ship and the hydraulics shut the door behind me with a hiss. The cockpit was narrow but I had adequate legroom and I felt protected. However, I knew there was so much power running through that ship that one real, serious mistake and I would be in trouble. It would be difficult for me to get out; there would be the risk of fire and the possibility that 30 ships could come crashing into the back of me (if I was at the front, of course).

I slid on my helmet and instantly heard the voices of the engineers. It was time to begin the checks. We got through them quite quickly and I then began to move the ship out onto the track. It looked like I was one of the first out and I did my best to smile and wave as I moved slowly. Part of this type of racing was about sponsors and the teams with the most money were often the fastest.

My new team had money and some good sponsors but nothing compared to the teams who could afford the latest technology, the best testing methods and the most talented drivers.

I was talented. I’d proved that with the Solars and then being picked up by a fairly good Intergalactic team, but I wasn’t sure I could compete with some of the men I’d been watching and admiring for years.

Again, I didn’t let the nerves show and I moved out to the starting grid. I was in position 21 out of 32 ships. The first race of the season was always started in a random order. The following races would be in reverse from the finishing position of the previous race.

That meant that even if I came last in this race, I’d be able to start from the front in the next. Not that I was going to do that, winning meant too much. I had to win and I had to push myself to show that I wasn’t willing to be counted out after the first corner.

Other ships came to join me, hovering just above the track. I began to prepare myself for the start; this was the hardest part, often with the most crashes. The buzz was growing around the track, the press were moving from ship to ship, talking to those who had their doors open. I kept mine shut and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath and went over my strategy once again. Most ships moved up at the start in order to avoid kicking up any of the dust below them. I’d decided I wasn’t going to do that. I was going to risk low visibility and put my faith in my instincts and sensors. I might be able to clear the pack and get up to the front.

When I opened my eyes again the track was almost cleared and announcement bells were ringing. A voice rang out in my ship. “Welcome to the first race of the season here on Tellar. We have 32 ships racing today with a few newcomers to the track. Look out for Ashton Willis in ship 32 and Jackson Knight in ship 31. Five minutes to go”

I looked up to my in-ship camera and gave a wink. The viewers would love that.

Those next five minutes passed with lightning speed and I gripped the controls of my ship. The starting cannon went off and most of the ships in front of my swooped up. I sped forwards with maybe a little more zeal than I should’ve and swerved to avoid a ship that hadn’t managed to get off its line. From what my sensors were telling me, I was underneath the main pack and would struggle if any of them dipped down to avoid the jam. I heard the crunch of metal on metal somewhere above me but didn’t allow myself a glance up to see who had been taken out.

The dust began to rise and I glanced between the track and the sensors to try and feel my way around the first two corners. The pack began to spread out but I was now stuck at the bottom. As things began to settle down and I could take a moment to look around. The sensors were showing that I was in 14^th place, not bad for the first couple of corners. It seemed there were now only 29 ships in the running and it was bound to be a lot less by the end of the race.

The next 20 laps passed without incident and I managed to gain another four places due to some clever refuelling on the part of my tactical team. I was in tenth place, relatively unknown and in one of the, usually, lower-ranking teams. I bet the commentators were going mad. I then realised how odd it was to be flying in this race rather than watching it. I hadn’t missed an Intergalactic race for years.

As I was gaining a bit of height to get past some people I’d lapped the ship started to shudder. The same problem we’d had in practice. The engines weren’t designed to eat up this much desert dust and the ship was struggling. I adjusted the air intake and moved a little higher. Hopefully the ship would last for the next 10 laps.

The orange dust was swirling up around my ship and all of a sudden there was a ball of fire heading directly towards me. I didn’t have time to look where I was going and dove down. The whole ship shuddered with an impact and my console began to flash. I’d damaged the port side of my hull as I’d dropped down almost on top of another ship.

Almost immediately I had Derryl on the comm system calling me into the pit. I growled into my helmet and coaxed my ship around the next few corners. I saw that the number of ships still in the running had dropped to 24. Whatever had caused the fire had taken out a good chunk of my competition and I couldn’t be the only one still running who had been damaged.

The pit stop took too long, a good five seconds for my hull to be repaired but soon I was off. I joined the track in 15^th place.

With nine laps to go I had to make some progress. Again I stuck close to the ground and relied on my senses to guide me through the thick orange blanket. There were fewer ships down here and no one could see me to defend their position.

By the last lap I was in eighth place and had no intention of slowing down. I passed one more ship by going right over the top of it on the final straight. I crossed the finish line in seventh place.

My whole body relaxed for the first time in two hours. My hands were shaking and my mind reeling from an exciting and exhausting race. My first race and I’d scored points. Mind you only two points, but points nonetheless!

I did waste any time in exiting my car and running into the open arms of the team. This was a good time for them. I was quickly told that my team mate had finished just outside the points in 10^th. Such a shame but I was beating a team mate who had three years experience on me. That felt good.

The muse has run away with me...

It's amazing the things you can create when you are super inspired. Firstly, I have no idea why I didn't start writing Tain's story earlier. I know it so well and just writing down an outline has helped me to cement it all in my head. She is, without a doubt, my favourite character.

This week so far I've written 6500 words and we've got right into the heart of the action.

It wouldn't surprise me if the word count has overtaken Frankie's story by the end of the week. I just want to keep writing (which is hampered somewhat by work and the desperate need to continue reading Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins - wow) and writing.

I'll just sit down to churn out a few words and the next thing I know I've written 2000. All very easily and in a very short amount of time.

This makes me wonder if Sanctuary wasn't ready to be written because I struggled so much with it. Or maybe I've just learnt so much writing it that book two is much, much easier.

Did you find a difference in the ease of writing between your first and second novel attempts?

From pantser to plotter

With Sanctuary I made a brief outline but realised I didn't really know where I wanted to go with it. I just assumed that as I wrote all the ideas would come to me. In a way that happened but I found myself getting to points where I was stuck and had no where to go.

During revisions I fixed all those filler scenes and made the plot a little stronger. Then I sent it to beta readers. It seems my plot is still full of holes.

I've also been reminded of all the grammatical issues there is with Sanctuary. There is so much that needs fixing. The problem with a piece that is so full of conspiracy and twists that it's easy to forget something. I was told by my beta reader that the creatures in the book weren't explained. They are but clearly not well enough. My simple explanation was enough for me but clearly won't be enough for readers to be pointed in the right direction to make their own assumptions.

So I've started writing out every plot point in an attempt to make all of it gel together a bit better. Once I've finished that (I'm struggling with conflict and a big baddie) I'm going to rewrite. Probably almost from scratch.

At the moment my muse isn't playing ball with Sanctuary so I've decided to leave it alone and only work on it when I really, really want to.

Instead I've spent my last two evenings writing up the ENTIRE plot for In the Heat of the Moment (working title), which is Tain's story.

I have a whole plot written down for the first time ever. I'm still not sure about the ending I've created but hopefully it'll all slot into place when I start writing (uhoh, here we go again).

So I've gone from just winging it to needing every tiny bit of plot written out. I really think this is best for me. I have a tendency to assume that readers are thinking what I'm thinking and as a result tend to be rather vague with any explanations.

I want to know, are you lost pantsers or plotters?

Indulge in a 10k day once in a while

If I'm feeling a bit lost for inspiration or feel I haven't written much in a while then I will set aside a day to get a shit load of writing done.

A whole day dedicated just to churning out a lot of words with no thoughts to editing. Just words that will kick start the muse and move the story along.

A few Mondays ago I did just that. I'd intended to work on Frankie's story but when I sat down to actually write I had no inspiration.

What was inspiring me, however, was Forgotten (working title), a piece about a gentleman named Fabian who wakes up in the middle of London with no idea who he is. He's taken in by a rather dashing doctor who helps him get back on his feet. But as Fabian's memories start to return, he realises that he doesn't quite belong and that remembering who he is might not be the best thing for him or those he cares about.

I took at 17k story up to 24k. I didn't quite hit my 10k target but I got loads done and fuelled my passion for writing all over again. Since then I haven't been able to stop!


Do you ever set aside days to just write fuck loads of words? If so what's the most you've ever achieved?

Guest post: Writing the apocalypse

Image by Suziwahoozi

I’m Anninyn, and I write about the Apocalypse.

Writing about the apocalypse can present many exciting challenges for an author. Of course, all writing, in all genres has its challenges – and is also a lot harder than it seems. But the particular challenges that come along with writing about the Apocalypse can be ridiculously difficult to navigate.

The first is world-building. All good authors should build the world in their books so it rings true, so it feels real. Writing the Apocalypse involves taking the world you see, and wrecking it. Destroying the buildings. Making that pond radioactive sludge. It requires an odd mindset, to be sure. I constantly look at the world with this sort of- overlay- of post apocalyptic decay. It can be strange, living with that in your head.

Most fiction requires a great deal of research. Good research gives you a base on which to build your story, makes the work feel solid. But that base is narrower and shakier for those that write worlds that don’t exist. We have very little idea of what this world would be like, as by definition we haven’t seen it. We can guess, from ghost towns and the like- how long would it take for buildings to collapse? How long would it take Tarmac to crack? But beyond that it’s a blank. An unknowable, unpredictable future that changes with every thought. 

And no matter how much you research, how ‘real’ you try to make your world, there are many hard-core post apocalyptic enthusiasts out there who will disagree with you. Vehemently. They’ll tell you it wouldn’t happen that way, and what about this consideration and HOW DARE YOU. This is true of all fiction, especially genre fiction, but as with everything with a dedicated fan base, with Post Apocalyptia it can get pretty intense. And it can certainly be exciting writing in what feels like a metaphorical firefight.

But every single frustration is worth it for the sheer joy that it brings in its wake. I enjoy writing about the apocalypse in a way I don’t enjoy writing about anything else, and I think I’ve finally pinned down why. With it, you can strip humans and human interaction down to their most basic components. You can do what fiction is supposed to do- show the reader human nature, at it’s best or worst. And you can do it without the distraction or complexity of modern life. It becomes people merely being human in a fantastic situation. You can do anything with it- explore feudalism, survival instincts, utopia and dystopia, and you can do it with relative freedom.

I’m Anninyn, and I’m ready for the end.

--
Anninyn writes fiction and articles for Post Apocalyptic Blog In Case Of Survival. She is working on her first novel.

Fiction Friday: I miss my best friend

As part of Write Anything's Fiction Friday I've decided to introduce you to Fabian and his futuristic pinings for a certain doctor (no, not that Doctor). The prompt is 'I miss my best friend'. Again, first person. All my writing is usually in third and yet I get my flash on and it's all first. Oh well, enjoy. (Prepare for some tense fail. I hate first person.)

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I paused outside the casino and wondered if I should pop in. It was glittering at me and I could hear the soft trill of all the machines inside. There were people I liked in there and there were exciting things like cards, chips and money. But it was too close to home, my former work mates would gossip and eventually it would get back to Rae. I didn't want him to know I'd been here.

With a weary sigh I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and continued on. I missed Rae so much. It was a heart-wrenching ache that left me feeling empty but there was no way he would ever accept me back into his life.

He'd worked so hard to look after me when I had no idea who I was. He'd grown to be my best friend and the only person I thought I could trust. I understood why he wanted to stop being my doctor and pass me off to Dr. Morgan but I thought I could trust him when the memories did surface. I always knew they would be bad, that I'd be distressed and terrified of my own past. But I'd never expected him to kick me out after learning what I'd done.

I think it was my lack of remorse that threw him.

With these memories I'm a different person. I can see how I was when I knew nothing but him, his house, that stupid cat and the casino. I was happy, carefree and without the weight of such torment resting on my shoulders.

Shooting someone didn't bother me. I knew I was right doing what I did. Rae, of course, didn't think so. Regardless of the situation, to him, killing someone was wrong.

The killing didn't bother me. It was what followed that mentally scarred me. I was once again looking over my shoulder, despite the fact I was in a much safer world that had a much lower concentration of evil robots, rape gangs and temporal earthquakes.

Rae was never going to forgive me and that broke my heart.

Improving on your first drafts

If you've read some earlier posts on this blog then you may know that I might not be the best at taking critique. Mainly because I've never had to do it before. My writing had always been for me and only me, that was until I began Sanctuary. I want to get it published so it's with beta readers.

Since sending it to those readers I've realised where I've made technical errors, I've learned more about structure and I've realised that the beginning chapters are too sparse and need fleshing out. I need more description and I need to fix the awkwardly worded parts. But I think I have a good story, there are twists, turns and peril. Hopefully it's a little scary too.


One beta reader who has finished Sanctuary is an amazing writer. I know her line-edits will help me improve and I can't wait to hear what else she has to say. I know that most of her critique will lead to me having to change and rewrite quite a lot. That's what Sanctuary needs, I feel there's something missing and there's something not working for me.

This is why beta readers are great. They can pinpoint all the little things that we, as writers, may miss because the world in our story is so firmly cemented into our heads.

I also have another beta reader who is putting together a document on how I can make my soldiers more military and other medical/army stuff I don't quite understand. I'm excited.

I think I'm going to find the critiques hard in the sense that I'll feel the need to fix Sanctuary instantly. I'll know that my writing is substandard in some way. Once these critiques come back don't expect to see me for a while.

How do you all feel about critiques, how do you feel when you read what someone has to say about your work? Positive or negative.

Here's to improvement! 

My body is physically holding me back from my writing

This isn't a post about writers' block or laziness.

I have repetitive strain injury. RSI has held me back in my writing for a long time. I went to the doctor's on Saturday after my hand had been hurting more and more. I've been prescribed painkillers and told to rest my wrist and hand absolutely. Well, that's shit. It's not really possible when I have to drive to work, do work and write.

I'm feeling pretty miserable now. I have the voice software that helps me to write but it's not the same. The creativity doesn't flow in the same way.

One day the doctors won't fob me off and someone will be able to fix this.

I hope...

Facing your written world

Picture by Metacheetr

I know full well that London is a real place and that many of the locations I've used in Sanctuary do exist. But I'm not a Londoner and I don't go to London all that often.

On Tuesday I hopped on the train and found myself if the big city. I'd already planned to look at it through a writer's eyes, to take in certain aspects of the city that may help me to get the description in Sanctuary perfect.

I looked at everything through a post-apocalyptic haze. That was until I got to the Tube. I find the underground system really scary at the best of times. But the difference now is that I've written a super scary scene about the exact place I was travelling through. One of the scarier scenes of Sanctuary takes place underground between Westminster station and Embankment. Passing through those two places on the way to Chelsea freaked me out a little bit.

I had to clear to the post-apocalyptic haze and go back to carefree PR girl. Although every time those lights flickered my heart jumped into my throat.

So, what I've written scares me. I know the world, I created it, and yet I'm terrified of it and the mere thought of the places mentioned in it. That's amazing! Hopefully I can instil a sense of fear in all who read Sanctuary.

Is it a good thing that my own writing can freak me out? Does that mean it will scare others?

Zombies in Norwich

Fire-folk on Gentleman's Walk may or may not be zombies.

I've been talking a lot about this on my LoveNorfolk Twitter account. I really want to write a story about zombies invading my home city in Norwich. It would mainly be for people in Norfolk, something a bit different to the usual scenarios. It would touch on famous landmarks and my own personal zombie plan. (You heard me.)

I've got all these great ideas but I'm wondering about how I should go about writing it. I was thinking of taking different scenarios (football stadium, castle, mall etc.) and putting vastly different characters into each to show their reactions to the situation. There would be a few characters cropping up more than once to follow their journey through the zombie-fest. These would be the main characters and our heroes.

Second of all, what format do I use to get it out to people? I was thinking a blog serial, on here. And then promoted to Norfolk folk via Twitter and Love Norfolk.

I'd be interested to know what you all think.