CjEggett

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Sun, 17 Mar 2013 18:10:36 +0000

Concerning A Haunting

Fri, 29 Jun 2012 15:59:02 +0100

The ghost of a sparrow flitted through one wall and out the other. The sky was bright white and clear of any embellishment. The lake, cool in the January morning was reflecting a white sheet up against the sky, mirroring it, but broken with the wet soggy islands poking through, their dead and spindly trees reaching out towards the more perfect and unblemished whiteness above.

A Romantic At The End Of The Universe

Wed, 02 May 2012 19:31:00 +0100

There’s a time limit on this universe, before it’s all blown away in one big puff.

We had the chance to leave, to make a mark on a new land, a new time, and a new space. We stood at the end.

Some time ago we decided to stay, you and I.

There was no guarantee the jump would place us together, and neither of us knew if we could live in a world where the other would not be guaranteed.

Now I look at this as a sign

A shiny tube propels them into the jump, the others. We watch from the large ship built for many, with just us two, soon to be the entirety of our people. We watched those we thought we loved less pass through into a new world; breaking the skin of the jump pool as their silver bullets were consumed.

To begin with it was beautiful, the nebulas throbbed and distance dead stars imploded - an explosion of deep dark. They said it would be beautiful. We would be the only of our race to see the end of this universe, so I do not know how they knew.

I look back at it as a sign. We were not willing to search for one another again, maybe because the search wasn’t even worth it in this universe.

You said this is because I am an old sceptic. I am not sure what would you say now. I am not sure I could bring myself to ask you again, like I did openly then.

We piloted the ship towards the centre, for they said it would all collapse inward – a tide of darkness bringing rolling in from those outer edges crashing into darkness, as it became the outside of anything which could exist.

Do you remember me talking about how the fabric of the universe would rip itself open in front of our eyes? We said, in frank and earnest terms that this would be easier to endure, than the ripped of the fabric of us. You called me an old romantic that time. This I can certain agree with.

We would be the final sentient drop at the centre of this reversed ripple.

The destruction seemed romantic, sexy even, again, I now take this as a sign. We wished to live at the edge of the final rushing wave. We craved death or the closeness, not one another.

And we might not even get that now. Caught as we are. I admit it may be more a fault of mine than yours – but the argument was broken. I knew it was over as soon as we go caught by the rip, it suddenly dragging our ship towards it.

You panicked at tried to save us. Had you meant it you would have simply flung yourself into my arms.

We can sit here suspended, boosters holding on, so inelegantly. We can watch the tide rush in and maybe hold one another’s hand – pathetically pretending this is what we both want. Or we could turn the boosters off and fall gloriously into the rip which would happen to swallow us. I suppose there is a choice, but the different doesn’t seem as big to me as it does to you.

And some time ago we both decided to stay. Some time ago when we were still in love.

A submission for Chuck Wendig’s Blackbirds-related How You...

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 12:40:51 +0000

A submission for Chuck Wendig’s Blackbirds-related How You Die Tumblr.

Missing Scenes

Wed, 18 Jan 2012 19:00:23 +0000

A list of scenes which I omitted while writing the first draft. They’re in no order. I hope it makes the whole things seem appealing though (imagine what I actually put in!).

1• A conversation on willows

2• The King’s speech (page 98)

3• The Bus

4• The Scottish Port

5• Descriptions from dragon feeders

6• More radio news

7• Visiting the orphanage

8• Something about the “Job”

9• Thom and Valarie’s house

10• A shopping list for camping in an abandonded house

11• A list of books owned by a young person 20 years ago

12• The quilt

13• The death of her parents

14• Can you name that band?

1• A conversation on willows

2• The King’s speech (page 98)

3• The Bus

4• The Scottish Port

5• Descriptions from dragon feeders

6• More radio news

7• Visiting the orphanage

8• Something about the “Job”

9• Thom and Valarie’s house

10• A shopping list for camping in an abandonded house

11• A list of books owned by a young person 20 years ago

12• The quilt

13• The death of her parents

14• Can you name that band?

How To Win #NaNoWriMo 2011 (Or 5 Ways To Take NaNoWriMo In Your Stride)

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 14:00:16 +0000

My NaNoWriMo currently stands at 13,155 words, we’re on the 4th day (and I’ve had 3 days of writing). I feel pretty good about it, I’ve not hit a block yet, I’ve not decided that what I’ve written so far is a sloshing fuck-bucket of nonsense, hey I’ve even got time to squeeze a blog post in, I am taking it all in my stride.

Here’s how:

(One quick note before I run through this top 5: I really like seeing the progress of others doing NaNoWriMo, the little blue bar filling up the idea that thousands of worlds are being plucked into existence during this month and nailed to a page; sure some will be dead from the gates, but with the sheer number of writers cracking away this month there’s bound to be a Gem amongst it all. What I am saying is: Buddy up here on NaNoWriMo AND/OR follow me on twitter - even if you intend to unfollow me when we’re done, I’d like to have more NaNoWriMoers in my stream for the month.)

5 Ways To Take NaNoWriMo In Your Stride:

Reread What You Wrote Yesterday - This is especially good for “pantsers” (writers who NaNoWriMo without any planning). It’ll put you back in the mood and give you a sense of where you should be going.
Write Out Bullet Points Of Events For The Day’s Word-count - However long that may be, just make sure you park some tent-poles up before you fire into something. Sure you might be inspired enough as you go along but having checkpoints to run between can be a godsend to getting shit done.
JUMP THOSE KNOWLEDGE HURDLES! - One of the biggest problems for NaNoWriMoer’s is often we don’t have the luxury of research time. We can’t go off when we hit a road-block in our knowledge and fill in the gaps, we have to jump these hurdles. Here’s how: write it down in your notebook at the end of the session. I have a list of 8-9 things my characters started saying and doing (including: draining an oil boiler, the contents of a bookshelf in an abandoned house, and a description of a quilt) which I was unsure about. Other NaNoWriMo entrants talk about the way they “pad out” a book, this is how you’ll do it, dashing back at the end to fill in these little gaps once you’ve managed to find a moment to do some research!
Run The Next Scene As A Back Ground Process - Once finished for the day try thinking about the next part of the world. If you write in the evening try and set your head to this just before sleeping. While at work (“real” work I mean!) take some time while making a cup of tea to think about the next actions in the novel. This can really help out planning (see no.1!)
Write 300 Extra Words A Day - Or more, but this isn’t for your word-count. If you don’t work in a a job where you’re writing all day (as I am) you may in yourself a little rusty during the acceleration period (the first 300 words). This happens to me too, mostly on the weekends though (and so I write these reviews to warm up). You’re going to want to throw away these 300 words away every day , so make sure you plan this “roughage” into your word-count!

That’s all I’ve got for keeping the good ship sailing a fair course! Good luck!

Brevity is a Virtue

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 19:21:00 +0100

“Patience is a Virtue”

“Pardon?”

“She’s a Virtue, as well as policeman - woman even.”

“You mean she’s your sister?”

“Yes” said Brevity. “How long has Prose been in there?” she asked the Landlord.

“A long time, I mean, I am not exact-“

Brevity thumped the door thunderously “HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN THERE PROSE?!” she bellowed at the door.

“I think I heard a noise,” said the landlord.

“He’s probably dead then,” said Brevity

“Dead?! I’m not su-“

“Or it could just be snakes.”

“Snakes?!”

“What else would have been able to climb through the pipes and kill him in that way?”

“Why does he have to be dead?!” Said the Landlord, naturally concerned that having a killer snake riddled aparment might make it tricky to find a new tennant.

“That’s more of a existential question really.” said Brevity. She rummaged in her large bludgesome handbag and produced a mobile phone. She selected a number, squinting at the screen with her glasses pushed up into her cloud of hair. She handed it to him:

“Tell Patience to hurry up and get down here, she owes me.”

“I feel like I am in the center of a joke here…” he said with the phone to his ear.

“Really do think we need to get away from the existential questions dear.” She said before viciously attacking the door with her fist again: “SNAKES! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! OPEN THE DOOR!”

The landlord walked down the sticky-carpeted hallway and turned the corner so he could hear the ringing phone.

It rang for a long time. He’d usually expect the phone to kick into voicemail by now. A feeling of urgency came to him, sucking the air from the hallway around him, he remembered what he was meant to be doing today, in - checking his watch - less than an hour; and now this! Prose had beena good tenant, but what a cunt to die on a day a busy as this-

“Hellooo?” a voice called from far away down the phone. The barrage thundered around the corner.

“Hi” sighed the landlord into the phone. A silence of a moving vehicle rattling around the seemingly point of the mic.

“Yes?”

“It’s your brother.”

“Do you mean my half brother?”

“I don’t know. Your sister said he’s turned into a snake, or had been eaten by them, or something.”

“She’s always rushing to conclusions that girl. He’s our brother by marriage. Our parents married you see.”

“Well, yes, I assumed. Do you think you could -“

“I’ll be along in time,” said Patience. “You should have known he was only a half-brother with a name like that.”

“A name like what?”

“Prose. Who are you, shouldn’t you know his name if you’re calling me?”

“I’m his landload.”

“And you don’t know his name?”

“I do, I meant-” There was a soft breathe-filled chuckle from the reciever.

”- I am only having fun with you. I’ll be there eventually. We’re a little stuck in traffic, but I have just clocked off. See you soon.”

“Bye”

“Bye.” Click.

Understanding his fate intensely the landlord rounded the corner again to find Brevity trying to peer through the viewfinder. She caught him in the corner of her eye and rounded on him.

“Well?”

“She’ll bealong eventually, she said-“

“OHforfucksake.” Said Brevity, “If we don’t get in there soon the snakes may have eaten him entirely - and you wont be able to identify him and get your rent money. Amongst other things.” She fisted the door again, denting the old paintwork.

“Could you stop that please?” said the landlord sheepishly, feeling small as she stood over her.

She looked taken aback for a moment, before scowling a “why?” at him.

The landlord leant back and glanced around in the new silence and whispered “the neighbours”.

“Oh.” she mouthed. He handed her back her phone and it began ringing.

“Yes?” She snapped into it and walked around the corner. The landlord relaxed and settled in to waiting for Patience Virtue to arrive.

[What could be considered “Part 1” is here]

5 Places I Would Like To Write My NaNoWriMo From This Year

Tue, 04 Oct 2011 22:33:00 +0100

Everyone talks about their writing space when it comes up to NaNoWriMo time, Whether it is social (turning the phone off, promising nice things to the due-to-be-ignored, etc) or physical space (“I arrange the entire room into a pentagram of writing books, with me at the middle - if I leave, I die” etc).

But what about actual spaces? Here’s my Top 5 Place I Would like to Write My NaNoWriMo from This Year:

5. Roden Crater: Roden Crater is one of the finest pieces of modern land art. Created by land artist James Turrell the idea is that the land is formed into several natural observatories in the desert. Mostly made from forming aspects of a dormant volcano there are few more majestic places you could hammer out your needed word-count.

Known issues: It’s an ongoing project, so it might be a bit loud, like being on a massive building site. Also deserts are fairly simple affairs so running water and shade might be a premium.

4. The Winchester House: The Winchester House has many benefits as a NaNoWriMo “zone”. Firstly, there’s no problem with finding the “right space” in this place. Sometimes you want to write in a breezey open room, sometimes you want to work in a windowless basement with stairs downwards going to nowhere (just me?). As long as I had a laptop and a couple of power sockets I could write in a different room each day.

Downsides? Well, there are supposed to be the ghosts of all those killed by Winchester Rifles. This is why dear Sarah Winchester went completely insane and attempted to sleep in a newly build room every day, so the ghosts wouldn’t get her. So I guess if I was to be finely attuned to the spirit world it might be a bit crowded, and I’ve never been one to work well in groups.

3. In a Glass Submarine Under The Antarctic:
In terms of sublime serenity I cannot think of a better place than that of Werner Herzog’s “Encounters at The End of The World”. They refer to this under-water world as “The Cathedral”. The submarine would have to be made of glass for better viewing angles - those little windows that comes as standard just won’t do.

The catch? Apart from the fact you probably can’t make a submine out of glass it’s likely to be fairly cold and those star-fish things are likely to attempt to moon you - which would be quite distracting.

2. Space, Possibly the Moon:
Space feels like a place where you can really get things done. The Moon, assuming you could get a decent coffee machine and fresh pastries, could similarly be a great productive space.

The issue: You’re completely fucked by lunar standard time: it’s hardly NaNoWriMo if there’s no November. Movemberists wishing to go to space may also find this disheartening.

1. A Series of Bars in Berlin:
Anyone who has yet to visit the achingly cool bars of Berlin is missing a trick. They’re full of people writing novels, editing screenplays, sketching, designing and generally looking pretty serious and artistic. The benefit of this is that you get to enjoy the extensive pleasures of German table-service without ever having to feel like a bit of a tool for “like totally working on my novel man,” in public - which we all know is something useful to do, but a bit twattish. The food is good; the beer is great and no-one thinks you’re weird pitching up with a laptop and a few notebooks to crack out a few thousand words a day.

Concerns: None. It’s entirely perfect; without any odd requirements (like a glass submarine) and quietly achievable – much like NaNoWriMo.

Cheese

Tue, 27 Sep 2011 14:06:00 +0100

“We’ve got your results back” said the good doctor.

“Yes?” said Prose, unsure what he had actually been tested for.

“It’s good news and bad news.” The doctor attempting another pause for effect.

Prose looked at the doctor blankly. The doctor sighed, finding he couldn’t even produce the least bit of anxiety from the young man in front of him.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward, trying a new tactic, his voice dropping to a low and serious tone: “this is hard for anyone to say, let alone when we’re as close as we are.”

“I’ve only been here for three sessions?”

“Yes, but -“

“Please tell me my results,” said Prose without conviction.

At last! The doctor thought, he plays along: “Yes, as I said. It is grave news. It’s -” he paused once again before locking eyes with the young man in front of him “- Cheese.”

“Cheese?” said Prose, unconvinced of its relevance.

“Yes. Cheese.”

Silence.

“I thought you were a psychiatrist?” ventured Prose.

“I am! A very good one in fact. I have come to the full cheesy depth of your depression, and found its cause.”

“Oh yes, well, that’s good then,” said Prose, “What is it?”

“I’ve told you already: Cheese,” the doctor repeated.

“Cheese.”

“Yes, Cheese!” said the doctor, a little exasperated, “I thought you were an intelligent man?”

“I thought I was,” said Prose. He pauses for a moment while the silence hangs. “Does… Does the cheese change everything?”

“Yes, you will be cured!” said the doctor.

“So what do I do?”

“What do you mean ‘what do I do?’?”

“I mean what do I do, to cure myself, with cheese?”

“It’s more a case of not doing,” said the doctor.

“You mean -” said Prose, realisation dawning on him.

“Yes. You must give up cheese. For good.” the doctor said, smiling. “See! It’s very simple. You’re what is known as psychosomatically lactose intolerant. Your depression springs from cheese. You just have to give it up!” exclaimed the doctor. Prose stared back at him, silent, serious - and with the cracks showing.

“but I love cheese.” said Prose before he dropped his head into his hands.

The doctor shocked, stood and walked to the window.

“I had no idea…” he said, with a solemn tone.”I would never have approached it like this if I had…”

No he thought. I would have chizled away at your misery for 30 minutes, teasing out the tasty, complex anxiety from you. This, this is not what I wanted, all over too quickly - how on earth am I meant to get my kicks if I can’t feed on the neurosis of my patients. I only have myself to blame, I should have read this better - I gave up on reading it an began to practice medicine again instead of doing what I should have, followed my selfish desires and -

“Hallomi”

“Pardon?”

“Does Halloumi count? I mean it’s not really a proper cheese, it’s basically a squeaky meat?”

“I’m sorry son but…” The doctor said before coming and sitting down across from his patient. “It’s all cheese.”

“But there has to be some worse than others, what about Gouda, I could have some gouda, or brie couldn’t I?”

“Not if you want to stay away from that deadly spiral of depression. Remember why you’re here Prose.”

“I know, I know. That nonsense with the fish-slice - honestly, I didn’t mean it! I can live with this, but not without cheese!”

There was all but silence in the room except for Prose’s wracked breathing.

“What about Danish..”

“No. Sorry.”

“Or Port Salut?”

“No”

“Okay… Cheddar even?”

“No!”

“Well, is there something you can do, something you can prescribe - to take the edge off.” said Prose, tear reddened eyes turned to the doctor.

“No, I’m … Actually, hold on.”

The doctor riffles through the draws of his desk and finally pulls out a few sheets of stabled paper. He reads through quickly, lifting the pages up so he could see the bottom line.

“Yes, there is something we can do. But it’s not on the NHS. You’ll have to pay. We can try it and see how you go.”

“What is it?” said Prose, looking hopeful.

“Cheasoning,” said the doctor.

Before Prose could ask any question the doctor was on the phone asking the nurse staff to bring a box.

Shortly a dumpy woman in a blue nurse-like frock knocked on the door, immediate entered and shoved the box at the doctor.

The box was about the size of cereal box, a pale fleshy tone with bright orange letters reading “Cheasoning” on the front. On the side was a great deal of small print.

This was examined by the good doctor before he smiled and handed it to Prose.

“Nothing to worry about, except the cost - oh, and you don’t have a cholesterol problem do you? or mind a bit of shortness of breath? In reality the random heart palpitations will become quite enjoyable. Give someone a call if it stops though.”

Prose looked at the box skeptically.

“Are you sure this will work?”

“No. But really, it’s your only choice - if you want to beat this depression that is.”

After a short silence the doctor spoke again.

“We can take a direct debit or a standing order, but you can have this one for free.”

Another silence.

“And I think our time is up. Hopefully I’ll never see you again.” he said as he ushered Prose up in the professional way a doctor should and gently pushed him out the door.

The door clicked behind Prose, he stood in the hall for a while; thinking about his only choice.

Notes On: C A CONRAD "The Book of Frank"

Thu, 22 Sep 2011 16:00:05 +0100

Poetry has to grab me these days. I have to instantly interested, a turn of phrase is all that’s needed to draw me in, but once done I can settle with it. I need a hook is all I’m saying.

The Book of Frank’s particular hook was the inclusion of the line:

“Where’s my son’s CUNT?!”

On the first page. Thus hooked I purchased and ploughed on.

A camp tales of abuse, debasement, metamorphosis, fear, sex and psychosis these short sharp poems wander jumps from theme to theme like the poem itself is on a pivot - each side showing you a new facet with its fully developed rollercoaster of nastiness, the degradation of the human soul and the like.

This culmination of 16 years of work (we only read the wheat of course) is actually a display of the roughness of life.

Like all work produced over a number of years - and maybe all long poetry in fact - the author only offers up little slices of the whole at a time. Each poem is a solid representation of the moment but as the moment and the persons are so varied and changing, those around Frank anyway, there is a lot to take in. Only after being given each sordid polaroid we’re able to build our whole Frank-flick-book. Importantly each snap catches change in action - the animation actually only offers us the dimension of time.

“He read the metamorphosis, just for kicks” We’re told. This joke (the sneering quality of the line) makes light the Kafkaesque nature of metamorphosing characters - a fundamental support to the whole collection. We come to expect a kind of “knowing” change quite early on. Frank’s mother grows tentacles as he realises how involved in his life she is. Frank grows crows for hands. In the beginning Frank seems to be at the mercy of these changes, yet, slowly, he begins to take a grip of the rudder and enjoy the changes.

Frank searches for a metamorphosed version of his sexual-abusive father in the shape of a transsexual - Frank kneeling for a kind of knowing abuse. He takes this and, eventually passes it on.

And this might be at the centre of it. Frank is in control in many ways - he absorbs all the horrendous parts of the world around him and owns them completely. Frank seems to be the victim for much of the extended poem, yet he manages to become part of the oppressive chaos around him.

To say this is about the degradation of the human soul is, in reality, a little much. Frank is dammed from birth to be mis-labelled, over-labelled, abuse. As much as we like to pretend there is a grace to fall from in reality the soul is something with its snout firmly in the corpse of another.

Notes On: Magnus Mills "The Scheme for Full Employment"

Tue, 20 Sep 2011 12:39:07 +0100

Mills always manages to make the structure of his world contract around his characters in an impressive way. His characters, often impotent to take control in the squeezing world, tend to play Watson, ask the sensible questions and allowing the thick tightening band of the rubber noose squeeze on the oesophagus.

At the point when the character should expire – at the centre of the gyre, the final turn - we are always faced with one of two things:

[The rest of this post contains spoilers – Please consider yourself warned!]

1. Supplication: As the character is about to expire the character fully accepts the system and becomes part of it - forfeiting free will (not that they ever really displayed previous..) to become part of the world; an exchange of free will for immortality. In doing this, paradoxically, they suddenly gain agency.

2. Collapse: The system falls apart. As glorious as it once was, the system cannot sustain the pressures of everyone within it. The straw breaks the camel’s back. This, or there is too much slack in the system – many required cogs simply not taking all required strain - the chain comes off and the machine grinds to a halt. All involved parties must dissipate back to whence they came, or into the ether.

The first happens in “All Quiet on The Orient Express” (Mill’s masterpiece of mounting tragedy) while the second occurs in “Three to See the King” (an almost perfect comedic exercise in working with negative spaces for the most part).

“The Scheme for Full Employment” is a case of the latter and is probably the one in which Mills plays with “the squeeze,” most honestly; the chassis shows. The story centres the drivers of “UniVans” - slow moving trucks used for deliveries. There is a set of rules in the scheme, set routes, etiquette – and a warning, right from the beginning that it’s all going to come crashing down because it’s taken for granted.

The UniVans only item to deliver is Univan parts. Once this is realised you can see how the madness of the scheme works. The vans ship parts between depots without every having contact with the real world, but in doing so creates commerce of sorts. Another example is the fabrics department making a new and subtly different uniform every year, not because it is needed, but because it gives them something to do.

The scheme allows everyone to take a role, to set an example to the world outside of the clean goodness of a well oiled machine working.

Eventually a schism appears between the “Flat-Dayers” (those who wish to work 8 hours slowly and clock off at 4.30) and the “Early-Swervers” (looking to get everything done as quick as possible and then get signed off for the day).

The first strike in the history of The Scheme follows and it all crashes around the ankles of all involved. Partly because of a certain new strain in management (possibly representing Thatcherism) desiring for privatization and efficiency; the other because the public had lost patience with it - as the life of a UniVan driver is an easy one they thought the strike a liberty.

Mills really bares the bones in this, but because there’s none of that overwhelming pressure - and threat - there’s not so much to get excited about. There’s none of the sympathy required to get your blood boiling or to let the frustration bubble.

However there is majesty to it. It’s like being at the opening of an exhibition with the artist there. In the centre of the room is a large object, lumpy, covered by a white sheet.

He reveals a contraption, slowly, each little part deceptively simple and it snips your face open into a grin. As it’s revealed it begins to have life and movement. It’s clever, if a little cold - and you can’t help but be impressed.

Once complete the artist turns to you and says:

“Now, watch me destroy it.”

With this he takes a single thin silver pin from its slot in the machine and the machine crashes to earth with increasing speed, not with an explosion but with a million well timed folds and slapping of hinges.

Once he’s done you clap and think to yourself how worth it was, even if it didn’t move you in the way his work has before.

I Done Read.

Tue, 13 Sep 2011 14:06:20 +0100

I’ve recently spent the week in Berlin, mostly by myself. I had intended to meet a few people out there - but being the exciting people they are they had to be whisked away to work in Dusseldorf of all places. Bloody set designers.

This aside, I have had a chance to do some reading. I like reading - I spent 3 years doing little but at university, yet most of the time I find myself having to sneak it in, squeeze it in around work, life and other more social activities. Having your nose in a book feels a bit a bit of a luxury when you remember that there are real people around you who are literally creeping closer to death every second - every molecule of their body is, in a series of explosions, expiring in an effort to keep the whole moving.

This is to say I enjoyed a few days of endless reading very much. I focused on short, sharp things - partly because I wasn’t interested in gambling all my time on something chunky, and partly because the weight restrictions on a Ryanair cabin-baggage only ticket left me with only a few hundred grams.

Over the next few weeks I’ll be dropping in mini-essay/reviews titled “Notes On: …” into this very web-funnel. This includes, amongst others: Magnus Mills’ “The Scheme For Full Employment”, H.D.’s “Kora Ka”, C A Conrad’s “The Book of Frank”, and Murikami’s “After The Quake”.

In other news, I will be uploading a batch of photographs for http://myhighmeadows.co.uk to trickle out of my twitter-hole on a daily or weekly, popping a few interesting nuggets up on http://pixelgush.co.uk, and wading through a irregular selection of musical slurry on http://counterfeitculture.co.uk (SPOLIER: My first positive review will crown shortly!).

I hope this hasn’t ruined your day too much.

5 Things To Do With a First Draft Manuscript of Your Novel

Mon, 27 Jun 2011 13:25:18 +0100

1. Hang it round your neck as a handy alternative to an albatross.

2. Kill things with it. Depending on the thickness of the MS you can use it to kill things. Beetles, cockroaches spiders - if you’ve got a particular thick murder mystery which refuses to take off you could always actually kill someone with it. Going to prison helps book sales, look at Jeffery Archer.

3. Carry it everywhere with you under the pretence of working on it anywhere. Some people go to the gym, some people wear those funny weights under their clothes so they’re always doing a micro work-out. Most would-be writers spend a great deal of time lugging half a dead tree about under the pretence that editing it on the night bus home would be a great idea. If you’re still waiting for inspiration to get editing then you might as well leave the lump at home.

4. Hide it. The guilt of a heavy thing watching your every wasted moment is compounded by it’s heaviness. Hide it somewhere where it can’t see you. It also makes for an interesting version of hide-and-seek against yourself, in the past.

5. Make detailed written edits which you will entirely ignore when it comes to actually editing the electonic “master” copy. I did this. It was good to have read the thing - and pretty important I’d say. But all those edits and chicken-scratch marks I’ve made are pretty much ignored in the MS as I can spot them as well in the electronic copy. However, if you’ve got a couple of pens you need to run out (so you can spend more time buying pens) this is a great way to achieve this goal.

Royal Blowjobs & Other Things Happen

Tue, 03 May 2011 13:42:40 +0100

I’m still editing the novel. It does still happen from time to time. I manage to sit down with Scrivener to beat out a few kinks.

But there are other things too.

For example there is a review of a concept album about Receiving a blow-job from Kate Middleton (or something like that anyway) on counterfeitculture.co.uk - personally I think it is the best yet.

I’ve also added a little to the Ezra Pound blog (News That Stays News) - a very old essay covering a basic concept of modernist poetry: ”Direct Treatment of The Thing.” I hope to get my old flame worked up for Ezra Pound once again. I want to preserve some old thought and maybe, one day, work through The Cantos, little by little providing digestible breadcrumbly mini-essays.

I am also working on a illustrated children’s novel. I am currently putting together a kind of frame-by-frame breakdown ready for my illustrator to begin working on.

And, on top of this, I’ve been back out on the bike - and I have some cracking tan-lines and lost a little weight which is always welcome!

Mind Modelling The Novel: Modular & Hierarchical Structures In Editing Your Novel

Fri, 08 Apr 2011 13:56:23 +0100

I’ve been using scrivener to edit my Novel for a week or so now (or maybe it has been longer). It has proved itself useful because it presents a simple and easily understood system for understanding the structure of your novel.

First it offers you the ability to take the 200+ pages of brain-gush and chop and slice it into something approaching “scenes”. Film is one of the most readily available examples of modular content in popular culture, and as such Scivener allows you to break a novel into these easily understood parts. These tasty snippets of goodness allow you to look at your wretched creation as not just a month long #NaNoWriMo finger-spasm (although it is) but as a series of pieces in a game, like chess for example:

When we play Chess we don’t think about how the pieces look or what the board looks like - we also don’t look at the board as a linear set of actions taken on a whim. Instead we see every piece as having a phantom future in front of it, and we see it all at once. Invisible lines cast by the shadow of the bishop mix with the 4 spots where “The Horsey” (as I believe it is known) can make it’s seemingly erratic movements. This sense of setting up certain space for the enemy to fall into to be trapped, or to act as deterrent fits well with editing a novel.

I can now see all my pieces on the board (except, it isn’t a chess board, it is a map of Northern Europe and I’ve got a long stick to move all the pieces about. Also: I probably have a cool Kitchener moustache) and I am ready to gather parts together, make changes to the structure of the novel. Scrivener allows you to organize your modules (nuggets, slices, snippets) into Hierarchies in exactly the same way you organise a web-page or your documents on your computer. This mind model is so familiar to us it becomes a breeze to move labeled parts of your narrative about and see - like you can looking at the chess board - how all the movements fall into place, which pieces offer protection to others and which are at risk.

In short Scrivener has made me feel in control of my novel for the first time in a month! And surely that can’t be a bad thing?

Amputation/Disection Of A Novel (With Scrivener)

Tue, 29 Mar 2011 13:50:29 +0100

So I took the novel out last night and flicked through a few pages, found all the breaks I’d pencilled in and broken the novel up into these pieces in Scrivener.

The main selling point of scrivener for me as far as I can tell is the introduction of a file system not unlike the one used on computers. It is interesting that is is the most comfortable form of organization to me now - file and folders within each and a snippet of text at the core. It helps me see meaning in the novel as it stands, I could now happily write a short essay on the themes featured in my novel - I knew them before, but I didn’t know where their weight was.

A few thing occurred to me while chopping this novel up:

It’s pretty short
But some of those chapters are pretty long
I’ve still got a lot of work to do.

So night my plan is to flick through the MS again and take on the first chapter. I think Scrivener has a panel for adding “themes” to it, I might even plot a theme chart to see what I can lose (if indeed, I do need to lose something) - I’m sure some of the ideas should be dropped, it feels messy at the moment.

I’ll take on the first chapter, buff out the crassness, break it to my will and maybe even add a little worthy flourish.

Finished First Paper & Ink Reading-Edit

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 13:36:00 +0100

I’ve just finished my first read-through-and-scribble-on of last year’s #NaNoWriMo novel. I was excited.

I’ve cleaned it up a bit, chopped huge pointless chucks out. I’ve added bevelled edges and embroided a little.

I realised that yes, I had built this book upside down, the foundations sat on the top, ugly, heavy, and badly supported from below.

I realised I lacked friction - so I added some. I rubbed gravel in it it’s face, the book said to me, through sobbing tears: “I never knew that friction would be so gritty”.

I repatriated a snippet here, a chapter there to new homelands where they add tension and respite from the main drag of the story (and yes, it did feel like a draaag to read).

Actually, I’ve yet to move anything about, but I’ve put the signposts in. I plan to use Scrivener to do these edits - after all, it is highly praised.

And I must offer my thanks. To all of you who have let me, until this point, remain precious with this work. I’ve not let you read it once (for bloody good reason mind, why not read these instead) and even when you’ve made impassioned pleas I say “no, it is not ready”.

But now the tables will be turned and you’ll get what you wanted - I’ll be asking you to read it. If you’ve got the copy of the book you will be harassed into reading it. I will ring you, every day, to ask “Hey, what did you think?”

You’d better have a good answer.

4 Things I Have Learnt About Editing

Fri, 04 Mar 2011 14:34:31 +0000

4 Things I Have Learnt About Editing

1. I was smarter when I was writing. When I edit I seem to always be scolding myself for foolish ideas that I threw on to the page at the time. Often i cross these out, smugly, because I know better than That idiot who wrote this shit, right? Wrong. Apparently the “pantser” who wrote this magnificent garbage is actually quite good at setting up punchlines well in advance - he is a serial foreshadower.

2. That guy wants to tell you everything. There is, of course, an information overload. Every little trick or turn which came into my brain while writing clearly went onto the page. As someone who likes to draft things because that means putting off the real work until later I understand why I did it. However, I was a cunt to do it to myself.

3. Chapters are important. Turns out a whole novel as a lump of text doesn’t necessarily work for me while editing. Sticking a nice “Chapter Two - The Delightful Buggery” (or similar) helps give weight and space - it also adds an artificial sense of motion. Every time something “ends” I can stick a new chapter heading in and feel that I’ve “won” that chapter to a greater or lesser degree. One of the most important edits I have made has been to carve the work into narrative chunks which huddle together narratively.

4. I missed out all the important stuff.This links to point #2 really. Why didn’t I include those important flashback, but did include those stupid in-jokes about tea-bagging for my friends? One answer is, of course, I was just trying to write the thing and any little pick-me-up on the way was welcomed (albeit stupid or puerile).

What have you learnt editing, that I need to know about before it hits me in the face during the next session? Leave me a comment, or just foreshadow what will befall me… or you could always ask me a question: http://cjeggett.co.uk/ask

6 Ways To Not Finish Your Novel

Wed, 09 Feb 2011 20:36:00 +0000

6. Be A Slave To Your Muse

Did you just squeeze out a novel of appropriate size and length, get it bound and now - as it sits there in front of you in all it’s brick-like glory - Like a brick - A paper-weight - A weight of paper - do you find yourself unable to stop thinking of new ideas? Excellent! Now you’re ready to be gripped by the fear that if you don’t start putting your new ideas they’ll float away into the ether never to be seen again, and that, if you do start drafting that you wrote “the old novel” for nothing.

5. Decide to be a Renaissance man (OR jack-of-all-trades)

Decide that you are, beyond all else, so capable of being the finest pivot of knowledge in human history that you cannot tie yourself down to one occupation and focus. You should worry intensely about all the things you’re not doing when you’re doing one of them. “So I am editing my novel - but this means I’m not painting a picture” - “Now that I am painting this, what is surely a master-piece in a yet unknown genre, I feel I am certainly neglecting those ideas about putting together an a post-rock concept album about the early work of Verner Hertzog,” - “I guess now I’m really putting the finishing touches to these expansive yet brutal fuzz-scapes I feel I’m neglecting my important study of Anglo Saxon mythology…” and so on. Until you die.

4. Talk about it.

Talk about and talk about it all the time. Do so much talking about it that you never actually DO anything - in fact if you can set up some meeting with similarly aspiring friends it will be entirely beneficial - you can all talk about being writers and never actually write. There are side effect to this, like regret, but as most of you - like myself are angling for a deathbed conversion you’ll probably live (or die) with it.

3. Read advice.

Advice is great and great to read - it make your feel armoured and safe. You are now prepared to meet any criticism coming at you - you’re ready to sell and you’re ready to edit. It’s like a pep talk - and who doesn’t like talking pep? The problem is that if you’re reading advice instead of ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING you’ve failed. Just stop. and. edit. the. bloody. novel.

2. Write Blog posts

Especially knowing ones about procrastination.

1. Play Minecraft.

Minecraft is the finest tool for destroying your life. You play as what is ostensibly a LEGO man in a world of mining LEGO. Then, at night, you have to hide from the zombies and skeletons - which means you need to build a base. But you need to go underground sometimes to get the cool material to make a really sweet base. And there are Zombie down there too. Then you play online and see that there are people who are talented within the game who make insane and wonderful contraptions. Suddenly, added to the madness and the joy is the random element of other human beings creating thing in a world between your play sessions giving the whole thing the appearance of a mad, but living, LEGO world.

PROTIP(S): All these issues are solved by one of the following options:

1. Have a beer in the bath - don’t worry about it, everything will work out.
2. Write & Edit. Then repeat.

What I Want To Achieve With This Novel: Setting Out Editing Goals

Wed, 19 Jan 2011 13:47:49 +0000

1. I want a tight, simple story. A single fable-like thread running through the manuscript. To this end I will safely amputate all lumpy, lost and limp limbs of narrative which might be dragged their tentacles.

2. I want a believable fully formed world-concept. Currently the MS feels like the world is just a painted back-drop to a kids school play. The taboos and concepts which impact on the story directly are not fully formed or explained while other, less direct but still fun, concepts are given lavish attentions. I believe whole scenes will need to be dropped in from high above, and generous detail cut from other, less important, concepts.

3. Inside my world, I want a tangible, fragile, “real” human relationship which is “of” my world. It feels like the world moves around them. This central nugget of humanity is about escape, wish-fulfillment and as such should feel detached and hidden like a secret bunker full of beautiful, personal, quiet nonsense. The reader should always be aware of the concrete shell and the growing pressures of the world outside.

4. Style. I want style. I have style, not here, but over there - look - in that brick of Manuscript. I attempt to bring solid story-telling, bashing out the plot, and reconcile it with the occasional slip into a stylistic flourish of near-stream-of-consciousness-modernist-wankery. I’m sorry, I can’t help it, but I promise to cut out the wankiest wank and make sure that the “solid storytelling” is sharp, tight and to-the-point.

With these few goals I should be able to chisel out a novel I am happy to put in a draw and forget about while I write something good.