Finding Your Voice

You have sheets and sheets of paper, all filled with plot, character sketches and situations. Maybe you've made one of those line chart things where you plot your main story points against an axis of the page number on which they will appear. You have your ending with the killer twist.

You know exactly what you want to say...but do you know how you're going to say it?

I don't mean the point of narrative: what I'm talking about is, well, talking. How do your characters speak? 

As an English person living in Canada I am often acutely aware that I don't sound like the majority of people around me. I am not the archetypal tea-drinking, leg-before-wicket, Hugh Grant foppish stereotypical Englishman so beloved of Hollywood and the media. Rather I am a hairy-arsed, rough-and-tumble, beer-swilling, pasty-eating roustabout Sandancer Geordie from South Shields, rarely encountered much further south of Scotch Corner let alone in North America and definitely not in Hollywood.

Hang on, I'll just clarify that...there are famous Geordies:-

• Sting
• Eric Idle

To name but two...

Thing is, when you here them talk you wouldn't get a clue as to their origins...they have lost their regional accent. To my ear they sound like they come from nowhere...and characters need to come from somewhere!

As an experiment I am writing another blog in my local dialect, http://howaymanhinny.blogspot.ca/ ,with the words and phrases spelled out phonetically. It's hard going, even for a native speaker like me, translating the sounds into words and I've found it's also quite difficult for someone not familiar with the patois to read internally. However, it is a lot easier to read aloud.

Try writing some direct speech exactly as you would say it aloud, including all the err's, um's and you-know-what-I-mean's. Better still, record yourself talking casually, then play it back and transcribe it, using ellipses to fill in the pauses. Listen to the contractions you use, and the endings of words you miss off (I always miss of the G in words that end in 'ing' for instance).

I know a lot of people don't like listening to recording of themselves but hey, get over it! 

Listen to speech patterns, the form as well as the content. We're all different, and when you transfer this 'difference' to your characters you imbue them with an essential layer of depth to the point the reader will be able to identify who is 'speaking' on the page just by the pattern of their words.

Have a look at http://howaymanhinny.blogspot.ca/ ...translations are available on request!

Ideas?

Ask any writer which question they are asked most (apart from 'Which question are you asked most?') and they will probably answer 'Where do you get you ideas from?'

The answer is usually something pretty nebulous, along the lines of 'well, they just come to me'. This can come across as sounding glib and condescending but really, what other answer is there? There isn't a store we can go to and 'buy' a bagful of ideas to see us through the weekend; we can't plant a thought in the garden and expect to harvest an idea tree in the autumn.

No, ideas really do just 'come to us' all the time. Every one of us. The difference with writers is they are more receptive to :-

a) recognising them, and
b) doing something with them

My number one piece of advice to anyone even considering a hobby (or, dare I say, a CAREER) in writing is to record your thoughts! Carry a notebook always and write yourself little two / three word reminders of things you see and experience as you go about your everyday business.

You know those times when some jerk cuts you up on the road and you think of the perfect insult minutes later when he's miles down the road? Record that!

The feeling of cold on your face when you open the freezer door in a heatwave. Record that!

The punchline in need of a feed? Record that!

Of course, you will end up with loads of little books full of little notes and, to be fair, not all of them will be of any use whatsoever. I tend to write on anything that's handy (including my hand) and my desk is soon overflowing with scraps of scribble they just have to be 'thrown away' (which in my case means sticking them in a drawer), but it's a habit you get into. I'm too old to change now!

In an ideal world there would be ample time to catalogue all these 'idealets' properly, maybe construct a computer database or card index so you can pinpoint any one at any given time, but of course there isn't. Forget what some of these 'How To Write A Bestselling Novel' type books tell you on that score...if they had there way you would sepnd all your time prepping and none writing.

If you are reading this thinking 'but my ideas have all been done before' you are not alone. Of course they have - there are only seven different basic types of story (or is it twelve?) - but they haven't been done by YOU. When you are reading a book and think 'well, I would have done this bit differently' - that is your Inner Writer putting Your Stamp on the story. Congratulations!

Is it possible to force ideas to come? In my experience it is, but it's hard, frustrating work (usually done as the result of a deadline missed due to excessive partying) and isn't at all enjoyable. When every syllable has to be prised from your brain like a septic splinter you will never do your best work.

If you record your ideas casually as they come to you, you shouldn't have to be forcing yourself, anyway!

TTFN and keep scribbling.

Part The Second Of Twos (Pt II)

Welcome back. Now where was I?

1999 should have been your answer had you read part one. If you haven't it's just up there ^^^. I'll wait for you.

OK. Good. Let's crack on...

The turn of the Millennium turned out to be not such a great time for me personally. I was a post-grad student at Sunderland Uni for the first part on a computing Masters course, and I had a great time. Too great a time as it turns out...I fell behind with the course work through my insistance on being first into and last out of the bar on any given occasion. If I wasn't hacking code I was boozing, and frequently doing both.

It shouldn't have came as any great surprise that my health suffered and I one day in 2002, not long before my 30th birthday, I had my first cardiac scare. Initially it was diagnosed as a simple arrythmia, but the attacks became more frequent and severe, eventually landing me in hospital for a week attached to all manner of machines and scanners and whatnot. After all this prodding and testing we finally got to the root of my heart problems and I was really relieved to find out the episodes were being caused by nothing more than an intolerance to caffeine! My eight cup a day coffee habit had to end, along with the vodka and Red Bull cocktails which had become my poison of choice.

Of course during this time I wasn't writing at all, not even handwritten scribbles. Five years of constant study had worn my brain out, and the other health bother had left me feeling bone tired. All I could bring myself to do was read and play video games. Even watching regular TV was a chore to be avoided, and it was around about this time I became absorbed in the medium of radio.

By this time I now had internet access in my computer area (bedroom corner) and struck up several 'virtual' friendships with folk around the world. It also provided an instant link to my local BBC radio station which one night asked for opinions on some news topic of the day.

I typed out a quick paragraph and to my utter astonishment I heard my word being read out not 30 seconds after pressing 'send'. I was hooked, and pretty soon became a regular correspondant, almost to the point of being a Program Producer. As quickly as that I was in love with writing again...not only did I have a purpose to write, I also had an audience! I volunteered at my local hospital and soon had a show on their internal radio network once a week, too.

Good fortune was smiling on me then. Reading through one of the newspapers I saw a course in Radio Production being advertised at Sunderland University leading to a Master of Arts qualification. Could I go back to school for a 3rd time? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I applied and with a little help from the BBC (who provided me with a glowing reference) I was one of 18 people accepted onto the course.

It was brilliant. I was reasonably au fait with the technical aspects of production so concentrated on the nuts and bolts of copywriting and drama scripting (even a little bit of dramatic radio acting and commercial work). Yes, I can safely say 2005 was one of the better years of my life, and not least because Doctor Who returned to the TV screens!

I was churning stuff out like there was no tomorrow for my new preferred medium of radio (or 'The Wireless' as I affectionately call it), and I didn't care if nobody was employing me 'properly' as it was enough just to here my words being used on air.

Then reality sets in. They were getting my stuff for free...surely a little payment would be in order...a little freelance contract somewhere along the line? 

SLAM!

Did you hear that door being shut? As soon as payment for my services was mentioned I became a pariah. How dare I expect to be recompensed!

I should clarify that this didn't just happen at one institution, it was four or five. Just covering my legal arse there!

Maybe it was the fact I was older and less hot-headed but this didn't lead to my falling out of love with writing for what would have been the third (and most likely final) time. No, 'f*** it', I thought, 'I'll do this myself'. And then...

Illness struck me again! The aches and pains I had been suffering for a few months were diagnosed as psoriatic arthritis and within just over a year I went from being a fit, active man about town to being a virtual cripple who couldn't walk more than a few yards without help and fingers that twisted so out of shape I had to give up playing guitar.

Anyone who is unable to get out of the house much will tell you how invaluable they find the internet. My daily routine (I was no longer fit for work and had to give up teaching) revolved around pain medication and long conversations on various chat sites.

Then I found Facebook. And from Facebook I found a girl who was to become my fiancee and, in 2009, my wife. The fact that she was Canadian and lived in Ontario was besides the point...I took the plunge, upped sticks, packed my spotted hanky and jumped on an aeroplane. And that just about brings things up to date.

My journey to this point has been, shall we say, interesting but after it all I am still writing and still awaiting that 'big break', the magnum opus, the Pulitzer prizewinner.

I suppose my ultimate massage here is to not give up and don't give yourself an excuse to fail. Just do it. And keep doing it!

A Brief-ish Personal Introduction (Pt 1)

When I first decided to 'be' a writer I thought it would be easy. I mean, really, what could be hard about sitting at a desk bashing away on a keyboard for hours on end? It took me about five minutes (that long, I can hear you cry!) to realise how naive I was.

First of all I realised I couldn't just 'sit down', never mind write. The room had to be at just the right temperature, with just the right amount of light for a start. It also had to be the right size. There was something about large rooms I found very unconducive to writing - smaller was better as far as the me of all those years ago was concerned. I can clearly remember my first 'space' ; my bedroom, with the typewriter (a Brother 9000, I think) balanced on top of my guitar amp and me perched on the edge of my bed, hunched over like a snail.

Uncomfortable as it sounds (and, in practise, was) I actually pretty productive. Not published, or even widely read, but I could churn out a couple of thousand words a night, including thirty odd pages of my first attempt at a novel.

'The Blue Light', whatever became of you?

After a few weeks I began to get pains in my back and shoulders so decided to try writing at the kitchen table. Big mistake! Apart from being environmentally wrong (and too big) it was also a main thoroughfayre in our house, and it is impossible to do anything with family members and visitors peering over your shoulder in mid-sentence.

So, back upstairs it was, and I managed to fashion together a sort of desk which was reasonably ergonomic and that suited me just dandy.

Then I discovered a typewriter, electric and with some pretty snazzy built-in features as it was, just wasn't good enough for THIS writer! I needed a computer. At the time (late 80s) they were all over the TV and I really, really hankered after a word processor. Just think how much more productive I would be if I had one of those...my word count would multiply ten-fold!

Using the plain old typewriter became a chore...every word committed directly to paper was begrudged. My words deserved to be converted into binary code and stored on disk!

The inevitable happened; I fell out of love with writing. I got to the end of the ribbon I was using and packed the typewriter away at the back of the cupboard (where it sits to this day) telling myself it would one day be on display in a museum dedicated to great authors of the 20th century.

It took me years to get a computer. A serious one I mean. I had a Sinclair Spectrum for years (and even tried the word processor which was available for that - TasWord) and Christmas 1991 saw a Commodore Amiga 500+ land in my stocking, but they were for playing games on! I mean, Commodore were trumpeting the Amiga as a business machine but they were marketing it at the time in a 'Cartoon Pack' with games like 'Bart Simpson vs The Space Mutants' and 'Captain Eco'. I did eventually get round to using it for computer art, but not before wasting far too much time playing Lemmings and Geoff Crammond's Grand Prix.

I should say that during this time I was still writing stuff, but it was literally notebooks full of scribbles and doodles. Looking back through some of these now it's interesting to note just how neat and cursive my handwriting was. Oh, the youthful exuberance!

Roll on to the mid-90s and, thanks to getting a place at university and the accompanying grant and loan I was finally able to buy myself a PC. I can see it now : a VTech branded Intel 486/DX66 processor with 4 megabytes of RAM, a 50 meg hard drive, 4xspeed CD-ROM and a 14inch CRT monitor. Best of all it came with Lotus Office installed which included a word processor!

For about a month I was on it every spare minute of the day. I didn't have internet access (more of this later) so there were no distractions and, in the UK at least, PC compatible games were pretty hard to come by (and they were usually pretty crappy anyway).

Then the itch started again. This Lotus software isn't the market leader. All the magazines talk about Microsoft Word. I want Microsoft Word. I MUST HAVE MICROSOFT WORD!

It just so happened that a friend of mine had a copy of Microsoft Office that he didn't need so he gave it to me...all 26 3.5inch disks and six thick printed manuals of it. The box took up half a shelf.

Word was duelly installed and, after poking about in the other programs (Excel - yuck, it's all maths, and Access - oh great, I'm going to catalogue my CD collection...but whats the point, I know what I've got) I set about practising my craft in the Rolls Royce of writing environments.

Itch itch itch.

Editing on screen was all well and good but I needed hard copies. I needed a printer, but not just any old printer...I needed a colour inkjet printer! That took up the second portion of my student loan, costing something like 350UKP.

Finally, in 1997, I was ready (by this time I had 'borrowed' the kitchen table and put it in my bedroom so no more hunching over a guitar amp). Everything was prepared. The blockbusters would just roll out of me, unbound and unchecked.

For the first time in my life I had writer's block. Not one single fresh idea would come into my head. I dug out an old handwritten script and committed that to everlasting .doc status, and in my more desperate moments I would copy-type pages of Stephen King novels just to see words on my screen. The fear of a blank screen became almost tangible and I would invent excuses so as not have to switch the computer on that night.

So, back to scribbling in notebooks and only using the computer to produce essays and assignments for university (some of which were works of art, if I say so myself - especially the one about Star Trek but I digress).

Oh, is that the time! We seem to have arrived at 1999 which is as good a place as any to make a comfort stop. Please come back soon to read the conclusion of this tale...