I'm trying to write a review of the year. I'm doing something for the NVT New Year's Eve party, and I've decided to try and do a retrospective of the last twelve months. I'm banking on most of the party goers being far too drunk by the time I get to my bit. I always think that New Year's Eve is a very odd night, anyway. For instance, last Saturday I'd come home after seeing a show, and was settling down for the night, watching the odd TV adaptation of Bag Of Bones. I'd just this week read the book, after having had it on my shelf for ten years. The edition I have was handed to me by Stephen King himself, after having signed it, at one of his very few UK appearances. But anyway, I'm getting off the subject here. That happens a lot, I'm really going to have to reel it in. I was at home, being reasonably unimpressed by Bag Of Bones, when a friend called up and got me out drinking, which ended up in a local nightclub. This almost never happens, but the reason I mention it was on that night, like most other nights, time was fluid - it got to about three in the morning without anyone really paying attention. New Year's Eve, however .. What the hell is it about New Year's Eve? Time slows to a crawl. And it doesn't matter if you're with good company. Such is the pressure about the midnight hour, that EVERYTHING becomes about the midnight hour, and you find yourself glancing at the clock, only to discover that it isn't yet nine.
Having said that, time is running out for me, and I still don't really know what it is I'm going to be talking about to tonight. I'm not even going to have a chance to think about what new year resolutions I'm going to attempt to break this month. I don't think I'm going to attempt too much in the way of resolution, since it can always get far too depressing when you stumble - or, as it's more commonly referred to, fail. I am writing more at the moment than I was at the beginning of the year, and it would be good to keep that momentum going. This is always a dangerous time in the year, because I have a job that actually does give me the full two weeks off for Christmas. (don't worry, I pay for it with my soul and hope). The problem behind that is, at this point in proceedings, I'm beginning to actually feel human again, and feel like I have time for a coffee and for a spot of writing. Which, of course, at this exact time, I do. It's when we shunt into next week (and next year) that my mood will down-shift into the grimace where it truly belongs.
Not that there isn't stuff to look forward to. There's a couple of writing deadlines looming (as I've mentioned before, there are few things more valuable to a writer than looming deadlines), and I have a double shift of improvisation workshops coming up. The Iron Clad Improv, which started up in October, begins again on January 6th at the Duke Box Theatre, and I'm doing a short series of long form improv classes at the New Venture Theatre for three Mondays, starting on the 7th.
The reason for these long form classes, apart from the actual just-having-fun aspect of them all, is for my first major project of 2013 ... For the Brighton Festival Fringe, I'm going to be producing an entirely improvised play: that's a production in which my cast, for five nights, will rock up to the stage with absolutely no script, no plot and no idea of what play they're about to put on. It could be terrible. It could be magical. Much like the next 365 days.
Happy New Year ..
ANDREW ALLEN IS DISTRACTED
- Andrew Allen
- Brighton, UK, United Kingdom
- Andrew is a Brighton based writer and director. He also acts (BEST ACTOR, Brighton And Hove AC for 'Art'), does occasional stand-up, & runs improv workshops every Sunday. This blog can be delivered to your Kindle: By subscribing via this link here -or you can carry on reading it here for free ..
Monday 31 December 2012
Saturday 22 December 2012
Not Long Now
Christmas is going to creep up on me this year. I think it's because it's on a Tuesday. Monday's in the holiday season can just be added to the proceeding weekend, and Wednesdays or Thursdays mean that the entire week has been dismantled and sold off for parts, but with the big day falling on Tuesday, I rather suspect that I'm going to be caught unawares. Even though I'm writing a blog entry about it right now.
I feel a little big groggy, and I suspect that that's all to do with my body holding off the worst of the illnesses and fatigues for the past fifteen weeks, and waiting for a period of time where I'm not constantly dashing from one place to the next, and taking that as a signal that I can just shut down. I'm determined not too, however, and to still make good use of the time that I have off, knowing that it will be over all too soon. I had intended to do some writing, but my main computer has died. I do most of my writing in cafes and suchlike, finding that if I try to write at home, all too often I'll get distracted by the lure of a DVD, a sandwich, a book, or equally often, the chance to doze. So I'll come out to a cafe, and try to write as much as I can that way. I'm not always good at avoiding those cafes in Brighton that have a free wifi connection, but at least I'm making an effort. I'm aware that there are a great many writers who are unable to write unless it's quiet all around them. I'm not one of those writers. I quite enjoy the hustle and bustle and muttering of people around me, music playing that I'm not familiar with (even if the Mad Hatter, where I am now, has a seeming over-fondness for the oeuvre of Gloria Estefan). It's even better on a day like today, when the weather is miserable, and all you have to do is write out a few words, fuelled by decent hot chocolate. I almost remember what being human feels like. If I could get paid to do this every day, then I'd consider myself very lucky.
However, as I said, my computer has died. I forgot to keep it charged, and it has no power on it. It means that I'll have to move on to another cafe very soon, and plug it in there. I would try to plug it in here, but the usual spot has been taken up by something like fairy lights (you see, once again, Christmas leaping out at me unawares). I am running the risk of being one of those people in coffee shops who sets up camp at a table with their laptop and a mocha for a couple of hours at a stretch, writing absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever.
Last night, I was at Brighton's Burning Of The Clocks, which sounds a lot more traditional and paganistic than it actually is, whereas in fact it's only been around for five years. It marks the winter solstice and is mainly a children's festival. Thousands of people (it certainly seemed like thousands last night) gather with paper mâché lanterns which are lit, and finally end up on a huge bonfire on Brighton Beach, followed by an impressive fireworks display. Oddly enough, I was there partly because of research, since there's a sequence in a book that will take place during this event. I can safely talk about this scene on this blog with little fear of somebody else stealing it, because - if I'm honest - I'm reasonably doubtful if this particular book will get started, let alone finished. It's book four in a series of six, and so far I've only had vague ideas about how to put them together. I'm certainly in danger of becoming (or continuing to be) one of those people who talk about their upcoming projects as a way of avoiding actually doing them, but things have started to lock in a different way. The NaNoWriMo book was one point. The book itself might be awful (it actually might be; I haven't dared read it in the past month), but it was a extraordinarily useful tool in learning how to discipline my writing methods. It's a tool that's easily forgotten about if you're not careful, but it's still there for grabs. The other thing, of course, is the sending off short stories for competitions. Now, it remains to be seen if those stories actually get anywhere - the best method once they've been posted is to simply forget about them - but the whole process of completing the stories and sending them off to some kind of destination is incredibly useful - it gives you some kind of closure, rather than having to constantly return to them, or even worse, have what's more - much more - than a half decent idea - and, by not doing all that much about it, allowing it to wither and die.
And therefore, there's another thing worth noting. Aside from the fact that I'm generally quite a morose person, I've been very encouraged by the amount of - well, encouragement - I've received from so many people on my writing and directing and even acting this year. It's these kind of voices in the darkness, particularly after you've had a tough nine hours at the day job - that really give you the strength to carry on writing, to carry on trying, and - most elusively, most magically - give you the strength to occasionally consider the possibility:
"I can do this"
I feel a little big groggy, and I suspect that that's all to do with my body holding off the worst of the illnesses and fatigues for the past fifteen weeks, and waiting for a period of time where I'm not constantly dashing from one place to the next, and taking that as a signal that I can just shut down. I'm determined not too, however, and to still make good use of the time that I have off, knowing that it will be over all too soon. I had intended to do some writing, but my main computer has died. I do most of my writing in cafes and suchlike, finding that if I try to write at home, all too often I'll get distracted by the lure of a DVD, a sandwich, a book, or equally often, the chance to doze. So I'll come out to a cafe, and try to write as much as I can that way. I'm not always good at avoiding those cafes in Brighton that have a free wifi connection, but at least I'm making an effort. I'm aware that there are a great many writers who are unable to write unless it's quiet all around them. I'm not one of those writers. I quite enjoy the hustle and bustle and muttering of people around me, music playing that I'm not familiar with (even if the Mad Hatter, where I am now, has a seeming over-fondness for the oeuvre of Gloria Estefan). It's even better on a day like today, when the weather is miserable, and all you have to do is write out a few words, fuelled by decent hot chocolate. I almost remember what being human feels like. If I could get paid to do this every day, then I'd consider myself very lucky.
However, as I said, my computer has died. I forgot to keep it charged, and it has no power on it. It means that I'll have to move on to another cafe very soon, and plug it in there. I would try to plug it in here, but the usual spot has been taken up by something like fairy lights (you see, once again, Christmas leaping out at me unawares). I am running the risk of being one of those people in coffee shops who sets up camp at a table with their laptop and a mocha for a couple of hours at a stretch, writing absolutely nothing of any value whatsoever.
Last night, I was at Brighton's Burning Of The Clocks, which sounds a lot more traditional and paganistic than it actually is, whereas in fact it's only been around for five years. It marks the winter solstice and is mainly a children's festival. Thousands of people (it certainly seemed like thousands last night) gather with paper mâché lanterns which are lit, and finally end up on a huge bonfire on Brighton Beach, followed by an impressive fireworks display. Oddly enough, I was there partly because of research, since there's a sequence in a book that will take place during this event. I can safely talk about this scene on this blog with little fear of somebody else stealing it, because - if I'm honest - I'm reasonably doubtful if this particular book will get started, let alone finished. It's book four in a series of six, and so far I've only had vague ideas about how to put them together. I'm certainly in danger of becoming (or continuing to be) one of those people who talk about their upcoming projects as a way of avoiding actually doing them, but things have started to lock in a different way. The NaNoWriMo book was one point. The book itself might be awful (it actually might be; I haven't dared read it in the past month), but it was a extraordinarily useful tool in learning how to discipline my writing methods. It's a tool that's easily forgotten about if you're not careful, but it's still there for grabs. The other thing, of course, is the sending off short stories for competitions. Now, it remains to be seen if those stories actually get anywhere - the best method once they've been posted is to simply forget about them - but the whole process of completing the stories and sending them off to some kind of destination is incredibly useful - it gives you some kind of closure, rather than having to constantly return to them, or even worse, have what's more - much more - than a half decent idea - and, by not doing all that much about it, allowing it to wither and die.
And therefore, there's another thing worth noting. Aside from the fact that I'm generally quite a morose person, I've been very encouraged by the amount of - well, encouragement - I've received from so many people on my writing and directing and even acting this year. It's these kind of voices in the darkness, particularly after you've had a tough nine hours at the day job - that really give you the strength to carry on writing, to carry on trying, and - most elusively, most magically - give you the strength to occasionally consider the possibility:
"I can do this"
Friday 21 December 2012
And I Feel Fine
So, the world didn't end today. Not as far as I know, in any case. Maybe it did. To be honest, I haven't had a chance to catch up with any news transmissions all day. It hasn't come up in my twitter feed, anyway.
What did end for me today was work, at least for the rest of the year. Sincere apologies for those of you reading who still have to work, especially as - if indeed you are working over the season - that probably means that you're having to deal with members of the public who are, as we are all painfully aware, almost entirely morons. The public generally don't see those that serve them as any way human. And even when they do, it is in some weird, fragmented way. When I used to work in a pub (OK, a Wetherspooons), a bloke used to greet me on Friday afternoons with the phrase 'I bet you're glad it's the weekend, eh?', hoping that I would be able to share in his recently attained glee at being released from the office shackles. He seemingly was never able to comprehend that Friday afternoon, for me, was like his version of Monday morning. The only difference being that I also had the Monday morning experience on, well, Monday morning as well.
Christmas in Brighton really kicks in tonight, with the Burning Of The Clocks, an annual event which be somewhat elegantly explained by its title. Local kids make paper mâché clocks that they carry through the streets of Brighton, lit from within. It all ends with a bonfire. It's all quite magical and lovely, although I suspect the effect is heightened if you have kids with you (not to throw on the bonfire). I have no idea who else is going to be there, but I'm hoping to brave the cold later and cheer the crowds on.
I've only watched a couple of Christmas themed movies so far: Scrooged, and Elf. I might be saving It's A Wonderful Life for closer to the day itself. Either that, or Gremlins.
What did end for me today was work, at least for the rest of the year. Sincere apologies for those of you reading who still have to work, especially as - if indeed you are working over the season - that probably means that you're having to deal with members of the public who are, as we are all painfully aware, almost entirely morons. The public generally don't see those that serve them as any way human. And even when they do, it is in some weird, fragmented way. When I used to work in a pub (OK, a Wetherspooons), a bloke used to greet me on Friday afternoons with the phrase 'I bet you're glad it's the weekend, eh?', hoping that I would be able to share in his recently attained glee at being released from the office shackles. He seemingly was never able to comprehend that Friday afternoon, for me, was like his version of Monday morning. The only difference being that I also had the Monday morning experience on, well, Monday morning as well.
Christmas in Brighton really kicks in tonight, with the Burning Of The Clocks, an annual event which be somewhat elegantly explained by its title. Local kids make paper mâché clocks that they carry through the streets of Brighton, lit from within. It all ends with a bonfire. It's all quite magical and lovely, although I suspect the effect is heightened if you have kids with you (not to throw on the bonfire). I have no idea who else is going to be there, but I'm hoping to brave the cold later and cheer the crowds on.
I've only watched a couple of Christmas themed movies so far: Scrooged, and Elf. I might be saving It's A Wonderful Life for closer to the day itself. Either that, or Gremlins.
Thursday 20 December 2012
Cult Box Feature
Just a grab from something I wrote for CultBox earlier this week:
Jane Espenson
Jane Goldman
Caitlin Moran
Abi Morgan
Michelle Paver
5 female writers we'd like on 'Doctor Who'
It’s time for the girls to get their geek on: since Doctor Who returned to our screens in 2005, only one woman has written for the series: Helen Raynor, who gave us ‘Evolution Of The Daleks’ and ‘The Sontaran Stratagem’. With such a wealth of creative women in this country, it seems an imbalance that can be easily corrected. So here are five of the best female writers working today whose names we’d like to see at the top of an episode...
Jane Espenson
Former writer for Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Jane Espenson is responsible for some of that series’ most sharp, witty and scary episodes, (‘Gingerbread’, ‘Earshot’, ‘Band Candy’) and won an award for ‘Conversations With Dead People’.
Her affinity with British genre TV is evident: she is reported to be currently working on a Syfy remake of Randall And Hopkirk (Deceased). Perhaps more pertinently, however, she’s already indulged in the universe of Doctor Who with writing duties on Torchwood: Miracle Day.
Jane Goldman
Goldman’s star can only rise further, with Kick Ass, Stardust and X Men: First Class already under her belt, as well as modern Hammer Horror hit The Woman In Black.
Her ability to mix wildly colourful fantasy with gothic horror could inspire a Hinchcliffe-era style adventure. One of the most successful writers under both the criteria that we’re discussing here (female, genre), the TARDIS crew would be wise to nab her before she’s out of our reach.
Caitlin Moran
Her columns (in The Times) are funny, furious, pithy and moving – usually all at once, and in five hundred words or less. Frankly, it seems a slinky fit for Doctor Who’s DNA.
A prolific tweeter, which should keep the fanboys happy, Moran is currently working on an ‘anti-chick flick’ based on her own bestseller How To Be A Woman, and has a BBC sitcom in the pipeline. She has a devoted army of fans, and of all the people on our list, an episode by Moran is the most likely to pump up the audience figures with people who perhaps wouldn’t usually watch the show.
Abi Morgan
If Team Moffat are able to persuade the great and good Gaiman to knock out an episode or two, then there’s no reason whatsoever why they couldn’t fire off a request to Abi Morgan, who is frankly one of the UK’s most important screenwriters, full stop – no matter about the gender.
Garnering praise and controversy for film projects such as Brick Lane and Shame, she also writes BBC Two’s drama about the BBC, The Hour. As Doctor Who sails past its fiftieth year, who better to celebrate the Verity Lambert/Delia Derbyshire magic that started it all?
Michelle Paver
As yet, Michelle Paver hasn’t written for TV, but that hasn’t stopped her books being some of the must hungrily devoured in the fantasy fiction section.
Her stories involve an Earth of the past – namely, the Prehistoric and Bronze eras, and in the case of Wolf Brother, feature a lonely traveller, cast adrift from his clan but finally assisted by his loyal companions. Which pretty much sounds like every episode of Doctor Who we’ve ever watched...
Who would you like to see write for the show? Let us know below...
Watch the Series 7 trailer...
RELATED ARTICLES
Pre Four Play
Deadlines are so useful. I have about twenty to thirty short story ideas on the boil at the moment, but it seems that the only way I can get any of them finished is to find that they're suitable for any one of the hundreds of short story competitions that are going on at any one time. That, I've found, seems to concentrate the mind wonderfully, concentrating your focus into an idea that is actually finished (as opposed to one that might be finished, one of these days). In this respect, then, I'm a very poor writer, in that I've not yet managed to get myself into some kind of routine where I'm writing at least something every single day ... you'd think that that would be something that I would learn from the heady days of NaNoWriMo, but, unfortunately, it wasn't something I even achieved while doing NaNoWriMo: there would be long stretches of days when I didn't manage to write anything at all (hence, I suppose, the wrist breaking strain of having out about 9,000 words on the last day). The other advantage of writing competitions, of course, is that it gets your name out there, and sometimes comes with a cash prize. I won't let the fact that I have never won one yet put me off. Too much.
Two Christmases ago, I was putting the final touches to a script of mine called Four Play. Well, I say final touches. It turned out that I had to do a major redraft in order to get it ready for the Brighton Festival Fringe that year. Well, I say that. It's still not finished, not really, which is alarming, since there was an early version of this play knocking around over ten years ago. And it's still not done, not really. This isn't so much an example of a writer not being able to leave well alone (not entirely, anyway), but the result of too many people telling me that the play has a future. A professional future, I mean. You need too many people telling you stuff like that. Obviously, after every production - as writer, actor, director, whatever - you have a certain number of people telling you nice things, and usually you're able to tell whether they mean it, or if they're just being polite. There's nothing wrong with just being polite, of course, but I think we have all - certainly in the non-professional arena of theatre, anyway - seen lots of stuff that is perfectly fine. You know, it's OK. There's nothing wrong with it. Certainly, there's also a lot of productions that are truly excellent, or come across as professional - or whatever it is we regard as professional. And since I tend to be a fairly paranoid little writer/director/actor, it takes a lot of persuasion to convince me that your compliment isn't just false flattery. I'm not saying that I'm wanting you to repeat the flattery again and again (I am a bit), but it is true that if you hear the same compliments from different sources, and, most importantly, from sources who seemingly don't have anything to gain one way or the other, then you do begin to consider the possibility that there might be something of a future in something you've written. Fear of failure (and indeed, fear of success, which we'll get into another time) can only go on so long before it just gets boring. Or - more disturbingly - part of your DNA.
But, anyway, the damn play still isn't finished. I hope to get a good chunks of it done this holiday season, mainly because once 2013 kicks in, so do quite a few other projects that will begin to take up my time. But, here's the thing: Four Play is currently too long to be a successful touring production. By a good 50 minutes. What's going to challenge me over the next couple of weeks isn't so much what to write next: but what to cut out ..
Tuesday 11 December 2012
Cover Me
So, today, I posted off an entry to a short story competition - Opening Lines, at BBC Radio 4. It's the first time I've sent anything off to the BBC, so naturally I'm slightly nervous. But on the other hand, I'm not expecting to hear anything in response until at least March 2013, so the best thing is just to forget about it, and go about writing the next short story.
That seems to be the thing at the moment, for me: short stories. It makes sense, because normally I'm a terrible procrastinator (by which I mean of course that I'm excellent at it), and working on short stories lends itself naturally to seeking out writing completions, which are generally weighted towards the short story - even if there isn't a great deal of agreement as to an appropriate length that can constitute a 'short' story. There's a good few different stories that I'm working on at the moment, and I have this vague idea that at some point I might bundle them together on the kindle. Well, it's the modern way, isn't it?
This week will be my last improv workshop of 2012. Considering how nervous I was back in September that nobody would ever turn up to any of the workshops, I've been very pleased by the support and amount of returning customers. As I say, this Sunday is the last one this year, so if you're around the Iron Duke around 7pm, do please drop in and say hi. There might even be mince pies. (no promises)
I say that I've been working on short stories, but this week that's almost a lie, apart from the Opening Lines entry, and the fact that I had an idea for another story this afternoon. What I've actually been doing in the last couple of days for the most part is mocking up covers for the kindle short story collections. There are a good few very decent free photo editing programs littering up the Internet, and I've begun to have some ideas about how to make this (as yet non existent) collection look more attractive to the average browser online. Since I haven't actually finished all the stories, this is of course roughly equal to avoiding doing your homework, but ensuring that you use lots of brightly coloured felt tips to decorate the folder it comes in. But I guess it's not entirely procrastination: having a potential cover makes the whole thing tangible, even if, being an online book, it isn't literally tangible. As the year races to the close, I'm thinking that occasionally - just occasionally - I'm getting some writing actually finished. It's been a hell of a long time coming.
That seems to be the thing at the moment, for me: short stories. It makes sense, because normally I'm a terrible procrastinator (by which I mean of course that I'm excellent at it), and working on short stories lends itself naturally to seeking out writing completions, which are generally weighted towards the short story - even if there isn't a great deal of agreement as to an appropriate length that can constitute a 'short' story. There's a good few different stories that I'm working on at the moment, and I have this vague idea that at some point I might bundle them together on the kindle. Well, it's the modern way, isn't it?
This week will be my last improv workshop of 2012. Considering how nervous I was back in September that nobody would ever turn up to any of the workshops, I've been very pleased by the support and amount of returning customers. As I say, this Sunday is the last one this year, so if you're around the Iron Duke around 7pm, do please drop in and say hi. There might even be mince pies. (no promises)
I say that I've been working on short stories, but this week that's almost a lie, apart from the Opening Lines entry, and the fact that I had an idea for another story this afternoon. What I've actually been doing in the last couple of days for the most part is mocking up covers for the kindle short story collections. There are a good few very decent free photo editing programs littering up the Internet, and I've begun to have some ideas about how to make this (as yet non existent) collection look more attractive to the average browser online. Since I haven't actually finished all the stories, this is of course roughly equal to avoiding doing your homework, but ensuring that you use lots of brightly coloured felt tips to decorate the folder it comes in. But I guess it's not entirely procrastination: having a potential cover makes the whole thing tangible, even if, being an online book, it isn't literally tangible. As the year races to the close, I'm thinking that occasionally - just occasionally - I'm getting some writing actually finished. It's been a hell of a long time coming.
Sunday 2 December 2012
NaNoWriMo: The Storm Before The Calm
Well, we're done. There were times - far too many times, really, sometimes lasting as long as a week - when I didn't really add to my NaNoWriMo word count at all. On the final day, Friday, I still had 10,000 words to make the total, didn't really have any major scenes to insert, and - just to make things more interesting - had to go to work, and had a stand up gig to deliver in the evening. I had roughly six hours to come up with 10k, which sounds roughly like the plot to a straight to DVD movie featuring Shia LaBeouf, and just about as impossible to sit through.
The thing about me having to a stand up gig that night was particularly apt, though. Set Up, Punch is a book that's set around the amateur stand up scene in Brighton, and so it seemed fitting that the final thousand or so words were hacked out in the downstairs room of a pub whilst I could hear the laughs and cheers of the comedy gig above me. Luckily enough, I was first up, so it meant that I could get my set out of the way. I never normally say that - I hate going on first, I don't think I'm a natural choice for an opening act, and I think it's far too easy to simply die horribly if you haven't judged the mood of the audience right. That said, so far, audiences have been very kind to me and laughed in all the right places. It might not need saying that, as well as not liking going on first, I don't generally like whatever I do at all. About 70% of my set (which was probably only about seven minutes long) was new, and while not brilliant, was OK enough to get the audience on side (and had a watching comedy night organiser, who was also performing at night, compelled enough to ask me if I wanted to do a spot at his night, so presumably I wasn't as painfully terrible as I was convinced I must be). After waiting for the first interval, I then popped downstairs to see if I could finish the novel. It took ages, and my hands were beginning to cramp (I'm not even a very good typist), and as I got closer to the 50,000 mark, I realised a very fundamental thing: I wasn't in one of my usual writing haunts that comes with free wifi. It was entirely possible that I was going to be able to write enough words to make the count, but not be able to validate it on the NaNoWriMo word count in time. Not without hacking out the final chapter, hopping on a bike, racing to an entirely different location, and delivering the manuscript with literally minutes to spare. I imagine this is how Douglas Adams' producers must have felt during the second radio series of Hitchhikers Guide.
In the event, I actually managed to validate the novel (with, according to the website, roughly 500 words more than I thought I'd managed). I'll now leave it alone for a bit before I begin to attack it in an attempt to bring it up to the status of first draft (ever mindful that, confiding the conditions under which it was written, I'm not exactly waiting for the moment when I have 'more time' to work on it). Interestingly, I suspect it needs another 20,000ish words on it to make the story really work. I mean, when it's done, it's not going to be a demanding read - it's very much an example of 'big mac and fries' style writing - if you don't read a great deal, it'll pass by in a pleasant enough fortnight, equally, if you're the sort of reader that tends to have about six books on the go at any one time, then you'll probably be able to sink this one in a single evening. Now that the book is done (of course it's not done, it's about six drafts from being done), I think I need to read some more in loosely connected genres. Modesty Blaise springs to mind, as do the books of Peter James, none of which I've yet read.
There are about eight other books that I've never gotten around to writing yet (six of them part of the same series), and it does seem like NaNoWriMo is an excellent launch pad to actually get the bloody things started - particularly in the case of the six-series, where the overall arc is so twisty turny that I've avoided actually writing it for years, but for now I'm going to attempt to retain a grip on the fact that I was able to hack out 50k in a month where I was relatively busy elsewhere. If I'm capable of that, then a couple of short stories should be no problem.
Next up: a couple of short stories. You know, when I've got the time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)