I'm getting ready to move house at the moment. Some of my things have gone to a friend's place to be stored for a few weeks, which presented me with a bit of a dilemma - which books to keep with me?
I can't keep them all. So that meant hard choices. The reference books have to stay, of course. I can't write without the dictionary and thesaurus, the mythology and history books, and the Writers' and Artists' Yearbook. But beyond that anything's up for grabs. Do I keep the Stephen King and store the Guy Gavriel Kay, or the other way around? Store the Sheri S Tepper? Keep the Iain M Banks?
You learn a lot about your preferences when it comes to the crunch. All the Robert Jordan went into boxes, which is a shame, because I loved Wheel of Time for the first six volumes or so. It went very flat then, tailed away, which was disappointing. But all my Terry Brooks stayed with me, and that's odd because I think Brooks is very derivative, with narrative like treacle. Badly written versions of other people's work, really. Did I keep him because it's just so long since I read it? Or was I by that stage so panicked by losing loved books (for a few weeks, anyway) that I was just throwing them into the Pack/Keep piles at random?
Rhetorical question, that. I was in a terrible tizzy.
I don't like being without my books. Any of them, really. I'm the sort of chap (like most writers, I think) who believes there's no such thing as too many books, just not enough shelves. I don't lend out my books except in very exceptional circumstances, and even then instruct the borrower to avoid chocolatey fingerprints and folded page corners, and leave the book out of direct sunlight so the pages don't turn yellow. I am, in short, a bit of a book bore.
And you know, I'm not going to apologise for that.
Friday, 19 June 2015
Tuesday, 2 June 2015
A Lot of Oomph
Well, I made it. Submitted my entry for the Yeovil Prize one day before the deadline, and I'm pretty happy with it.
Partly that's because I've taken the advice Rebecca Alexander gave me, and the result is a tighter story. Mostly though, it's because I didn't expect to be able to write much for a while, after two years buried in the story of Troy. It's always a delight when a story flows easily, and doubly so when it wasn't expected. In fact things are going so well that I keep revising even as I write. I've dropped one character completely and also renamed the book - it's no longer The Cold Kingdoms but has become The Death of Ghosts, which I think has more oomph. Important thing, oomph. Central to any story don'cha know.
On another note, I found out this week that a chap I play pool with has been reading my books, without knowing I was the author. He thought it was just a coincidence of names. He also likes the books a lot, and there's no buzz quite like hearing that. Shame he's not a judge at the Yeovil Prize really.
All this gives me a bit of extra pep when I'm planning submissions to agents and publishers (a little more oomph). A writer's desk is a lonely place when rejection letters keep coming in, so anything that offers some cheer is helpful. I'm hopeful that something will happen soon. Meanwhile, I'm not forgetting the work already published, so I'll just add that three novels - A Brand of Fire, Heirs of Immortality and The Gate of Angels - are all free on Amazon until Wednesday 3rd June. You can find them here
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Ben%20Blake&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank
You can also find the third and final volume of Troy, called The Ancient Dead, if you're of a mind. It's only $0.99. Go on. You know you want to.
Partly that's because I've taken the advice Rebecca Alexander gave me, and the result is a tighter story. Mostly though, it's because I didn't expect to be able to write much for a while, after two years buried in the story of Troy. It's always a delight when a story flows easily, and doubly so when it wasn't expected. In fact things are going so well that I keep revising even as I write. I've dropped one character completely and also renamed the book - it's no longer The Cold Kingdoms but has become The Death of Ghosts, which I think has more oomph. Important thing, oomph. Central to any story don'cha know.
On another note, I found out this week that a chap I play pool with has been reading my books, without knowing I was the author. He thought it was just a coincidence of names. He also likes the books a lot, and there's no buzz quite like hearing that. Shame he's not a judge at the Yeovil Prize really.
All this gives me a bit of extra pep when I'm planning submissions to agents and publishers (a little more oomph). A writer's desk is a lonely place when rejection letters keep coming in, so anything that offers some cheer is helpful. I'm hopeful that something will happen soon. Meanwhile, I'm not forgetting the work already published, so I'll just add that three novels - A Brand of Fire, Heirs of Immortality and The Gate of Angels - are all free on Amazon until Wednesday 3rd June. You can find them here
http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Ben%20Blake&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank
You can also find the third and final volume of Troy, called The Ancient Dead, if you're of a mind. It's only $0.99. Go on. You know you want to.
Friday, 22 May 2015
Deadlines
Only 9 days left until the deadline for the Yeovil Prize, and my submission isn't ready yet.
Oh, it's nearly ready... still. Seems to have been almost there for weeks. But I've trimmed and edited enough that the Word Count fell to barely 8k, and since the maximum is 15k that might be a wee bit low. So I'm adding another chapter, which I have to do right now because I'm at work for 6 of the next 7 days... sigh.
Also I get married in 3 months and 4 days. I swear, it was only a little while ago that Caz and I had most of a year left, and now suddenly it's rushing up on us. And my lady comes first, whatever else is happening; she and our lives together are more important than anything else. Has to be that way, doesn't it? Otherwise we might as well not bother.
Troy III is done now. Final edit finished, text polished and buffed, and the cover is ready. Here it is;
I should really thank Mark Watts, the old school friend who designs my covers for me. It's interesting, because I tell him what I want and he then gives me his interpretation of that, which is usually better. We've been friends since we were 14, so he knows me pretty well. Cheers mate, it helps a lot.
Now, finally, I can write something else. I thought I'd need a break after so long immersed in Troy, but actually I've dived straight into Cold Kingdoms - and this time, thanks largely to Rebecca Alexander's advice, the story seems to be unfolding better. I've tried to adjust a few things and the result is a tighter style, maybe a bit more like my earlier work, such as The Risen King. I don't think my recent stuff is bad, but it could always be better.
With which I sign off. Summer is here and the sun is shining, so this indoorsy writer is going for a walk. With a hat, of course. I might enjoy the sun but there are limits y'know.
Cheerio.
Oh, it's nearly ready... still. Seems to have been almost there for weeks. But I've trimmed and edited enough that the Word Count fell to barely 8k, and since the maximum is 15k that might be a wee bit low. So I'm adding another chapter, which I have to do right now because I'm at work for 6 of the next 7 days... sigh.
Also I get married in 3 months and 4 days. I swear, it was only a little while ago that Caz and I had most of a year left, and now suddenly it's rushing up on us. And my lady comes first, whatever else is happening; she and our lives together are more important than anything else. Has to be that way, doesn't it? Otherwise we might as well not bother.
Troy III is done now. Final edit finished, text polished and buffed, and the cover is ready. Here it is;
I should really thank Mark Watts, the old school friend who designs my covers for me. It's interesting, because I tell him what I want and he then gives me his interpretation of that, which is usually better. We've been friends since we were 14, so he knows me pretty well. Cheers mate, it helps a lot.
Now, finally, I can write something else. I thought I'd need a break after so long immersed in Troy, but actually I've dived straight into Cold Kingdoms - and this time, thanks largely to Rebecca Alexander's advice, the story seems to be unfolding better. I've tried to adjust a few things and the result is a tighter style, maybe a bit more like my earlier work, such as The Risen King. I don't think my recent stuff is bad, but it could always be better.
With which I sign off. Summer is here and the sun is shining, so this indoorsy writer is going for a walk. With a hat, of course. I might enjoy the sun but there are limits y'know.
Cheerio.
Wednesday, 6 May 2015
Something Subtle
It's been a busy few days. I volunteered for two years in a charity shop, Cancer Research UK, and was disappointed to have to stop when I found a paid role at a JD Wetherspoon pub. But the area manager has worked out a way for me to train as a manager one day a week, which means that by the end of the year I'll be able to return to work I really enjoy. Helping people through serious problems is about as good as anything I can think of.
Wetherspoons did not see it this way, and instead of giving me one day off a week, they fired me. Oh, they said I'd failed an assessment... but I wasn't due one, and they just happened to decide to do it on the day I asked them for the time. Freaky, eh? It doesn't matter - I already have another job - but you could almost feel a bit suspicious.
I'll be better able to write now, too. One problem with 'Spoons - and boy, there were lots of problems - was the hours. Some evening shifts didn't finish until 4am; morning starts were at 6am. So I always seemed to be either sleeping late or going to bed early, and whatever I did I was always exhausted. I'd open Word and just look at it for a bit before starting to snore. That isn't useful for getting work done.
By the way, it's only my beautiful fiancee who says I snore. Don't believe it, myself. Gosh no.
But I have, somehow, managed to do the last redraft of Troy volume 3, and I'm now doing the final edit - just rereading, over and again, in search of any grammar/punctuation errors, or phrases that just clunk. It's amazing how many get through. I know that I could check it a hundred times and still miss a couple of mistakes, which of course I'll spot the moment I look at the published book... something which could make me get used to swearing quite quickly. But it's almost done. Troy, after some two years, is almost finished.
I've said in previous blogs that I think Troy is the greatest story ever told. It's just fabulous, a sweeping tale that takes in bravery and betrayal, honour and pride, and the fall of nations and whole peoples. But there's something more subtle, too. Amidst this great saga of battle, it's easy to miss the fact that the great warriors - Achilles, Hector, Ajax - all die. The ones who survive are the thinkers, Odysseus most of all. Homer seems to be saying that courage and skill at arms are not enough, and in the end it's the clever ones who come through - who are blessed by the gods, in his terms. It might be, I think, that Homer wrote The Iliad as an anti-war polemic.
It might not be, too. But I like the idea.
Wetherspoons did not see it this way, and instead of giving me one day off a week, they fired me. Oh, they said I'd failed an assessment... but I wasn't due one, and they just happened to decide to do it on the day I asked them for the time. Freaky, eh? It doesn't matter - I already have another job - but you could almost feel a bit suspicious.
I'll be better able to write now, too. One problem with 'Spoons - and boy, there were lots of problems - was the hours. Some evening shifts didn't finish until 4am; morning starts were at 6am. So I always seemed to be either sleeping late or going to bed early, and whatever I did I was always exhausted. I'd open Word and just look at it for a bit before starting to snore. That isn't useful for getting work done.
By the way, it's only my beautiful fiancee who says I snore. Don't believe it, myself. Gosh no.
But I have, somehow, managed to do the last redraft of Troy volume 3, and I'm now doing the final edit - just rereading, over and again, in search of any grammar/punctuation errors, or phrases that just clunk. It's amazing how many get through. I know that I could check it a hundred times and still miss a couple of mistakes, which of course I'll spot the moment I look at the published book... something which could make me get used to swearing quite quickly. But it's almost done. Troy, after some two years, is almost finished.
I've said in previous blogs that I think Troy is the greatest story ever told. It's just fabulous, a sweeping tale that takes in bravery and betrayal, honour and pride, and the fall of nations and whole peoples. But there's something more subtle, too. Amidst this great saga of battle, it's easy to miss the fact that the great warriors - Achilles, Hector, Ajax - all die. The ones who survive are the thinkers, Odysseus most of all. Homer seems to be saying that courage and skill at arms are not enough, and in the end it's the clever ones who come through - who are blessed by the gods, in his terms. It might be, I think, that Homer wrote The Iliad as an anti-war polemic.
It might not be, too. But I like the idea.
Friday, 17 April 2015
Damn It!
I was lucky enough recently to have a successful local author review one of my unpublished novels for me. Reb has a good eye, and a good way of making criticisms without seeming negative. But it doesn't make things easy to hear.
I like to start chapters by setting a scene, then bring in the characters. Wrong, it seems; that can confuse the reader. I thought my way worked to be honest, but there's no point asking for advice if you then ignore it, so out go the "soft" chapter openings.
That I use too many point-of-view characters, I can't deny. Once Reb pointed it out I started to think of ways and occasions I can write the same scene as before, but from the main character's POV. That will smooth the text, make it easier for the reader and also, rather importantly, for an editor. So I'll go through my "trunk" novels, those not yet published, and rewrite like a crazy man. Seems like a lot of work to end up with the same book, doesn't it? But it won't be the same book, it will be a better one, if I do it right.
I do need to keep some of those POV characters, though. Not in every book, but this novel, Black Lord of Eagles, tells the tale of what happens to a culture when it's invaded by people it never knew existed. I can't do that from one point of view, or even two. I want to show the central story, but also how it affects the little people, ordinary people caught up in these great events. So I need to follow threads in the country and in the towns, among priests and warriors, some of which never collide - so one POV is not enough. My job, then, is to cut the number of point-of-view characters as much as I can - and I can cut several - but still keep that structure. Tricky, eh?
Some of these criticisms have been made of me before. I listen, I understand... and then slowly I slip back into my old habits, because in the end as a writer you're sat alone with only your own opinion to judge by. The irony is that to stop this happening I need an editor to constantly nudge me back to the road, but in order to get an editor I need to stay on the road in the first place. In common parlance this is known as "a bit of a bugger." It makes the help of a friend doubly important, so thanks Reb, your time and advice is very much appreciated.
It might even keep me on the road until the end of the year... except I have a bit of a distraction arriving in August when I get married. Two cheers for distraction!
I like to start chapters by setting a scene, then bring in the characters. Wrong, it seems; that can confuse the reader. I thought my way worked to be honest, but there's no point asking for advice if you then ignore it, so out go the "soft" chapter openings.
That I use too many point-of-view characters, I can't deny. Once Reb pointed it out I started to think of ways and occasions I can write the same scene as before, but from the main character's POV. That will smooth the text, make it easier for the reader and also, rather importantly, for an editor. So I'll go through my "trunk" novels, those not yet published, and rewrite like a crazy man. Seems like a lot of work to end up with the same book, doesn't it? But it won't be the same book, it will be a better one, if I do it right.
I do need to keep some of those POV characters, though. Not in every book, but this novel, Black Lord of Eagles, tells the tale of what happens to a culture when it's invaded by people it never knew existed. I can't do that from one point of view, or even two. I want to show the central story, but also how it affects the little people, ordinary people caught up in these great events. So I need to follow threads in the country and in the towns, among priests and warriors, some of which never collide - so one POV is not enough. My job, then, is to cut the number of point-of-view characters as much as I can - and I can cut several - but still keep that structure. Tricky, eh?
Some of these criticisms have been made of me before. I listen, I understand... and then slowly I slip back into my old habits, because in the end as a writer you're sat alone with only your own opinion to judge by. The irony is that to stop this happening I need an editor to constantly nudge me back to the road, but in order to get an editor I need to stay on the road in the first place. In common parlance this is known as "a bit of a bugger." It makes the help of a friend doubly important, so thanks Reb, your time and advice is very much appreciated.
It might even keep me on the road until the end of the year... except I have a bit of a distraction arriving in August when I get married. Two cheers for distraction!
Monday, 6 April 2015
Bewilderment
I've broken my reading glasses - typically, on a Bank Holiday weekend when I can't get them fixed until Tuesday. I'm wearing my old glasses as I write this, which is OK but a bit annoying. It sums up the last few days.
You see, my fiancee Caz has been away, visiting friends in Exeter. And I have been lonely.
I'm a bit of a lone wolf. Always have been, and it's been all right. I haven't been happy, usually - but I haven't been unhappy either, and experience has taught me that I should settle for mild contentment, because trying (or hoping) for more just leads to heartache. Feeling not too bad is, well... not too bad. It gets me through the days.
Now there's Caz, and I'm happy. Ridiculously happy in fact, delirious half the time, when I'm not stopping in bewilderment to wonder what the rubbery f*** has happened to me. But when she goes away, oh dear me, things are difficult. I can't do the usual 'being alone is not being lonely' thing any more. I miss her voice, her scent, the awareness that she's next to me even when she isn't speaking, or when I swim halfway out of sleep and reach over to make sure she's still there. Finding an absence is horrible. There's a wrenched place inside me that won't be soothed until she's back, and laughs with my arm around her.
All this is new to me. I managed to reach 46 years old without falling in love, but when I fell I fell hard. Of course it's grist to the mill for a writer, new experiences to use and expand on... but I don't much care. My writing can go hang. I want Caz back before I start weeping in public.
So there it is. I'm a wet end. A sad truth for a man who's always been so independent, but somehow I can't really feel sorry about it. Funny, that.
You see, my fiancee Caz has been away, visiting friends in Exeter. And I have been lonely.
I'm a bit of a lone wolf. Always have been, and it's been all right. I haven't been happy, usually - but I haven't been unhappy either, and experience has taught me that I should settle for mild contentment, because trying (or hoping) for more just leads to heartache. Feeling not too bad is, well... not too bad. It gets me through the days.
Now there's Caz, and I'm happy. Ridiculously happy in fact, delirious half the time, when I'm not stopping in bewilderment to wonder what the rubbery f*** has happened to me. But when she goes away, oh dear me, things are difficult. I can't do the usual 'being alone is not being lonely' thing any more. I miss her voice, her scent, the awareness that she's next to me even when she isn't speaking, or when I swim halfway out of sleep and reach over to make sure she's still there. Finding an absence is horrible. There's a wrenched place inside me that won't be soothed until she's back, and laughs with my arm around her.
All this is new to me. I managed to reach 46 years old without falling in love, but when I fell I fell hard. Of course it's grist to the mill for a writer, new experiences to use and expand on... but I don't much care. My writing can go hang. I want Caz back before I start weeping in public.
So there it is. I'm a wet end. A sad truth for a man who's always been so independent, but somehow I can't really feel sorry about it. Funny, that.
Thursday, 19 March 2015
Glissandos
I've been absent for a bit - this is my first blog for a month. Mostly that's because I have a new job which has me working ridiculous hours, starting at 6am some days, finishing at 4am other days. I'm exhausted pretty much all the time. But I still shouldn't have left it a month, so for those of you who've missed me (thousands of you, I'm sure), I'm sorry.
Anyhoo.
It's very upsetting to read a book so good that you know, whatever you do, that you will never write anything to match it. Sadly there are many such novels. Stephen King's IT, Guy Gavriel Kay's The Lions of al-Rassan, Thomas Harris' The Silence of the Lambs, to name a few. The one on my mind today is Six Moon Dance, by Sheri S. Tepper. I've read it before, but as with the other stand-out tales I'm drawn back from time to time, to immerse myself once more in the world and the characters as the story plays out.
That, my friends, is the definition of that elusive term 'good book'. It's my definition, anyway - a novel to which you keep returning, to read again and again, and each time find yourself caught up in the passions and fears just as you were before.
I covered some of this in a post last year, Telling Stories, so I won't bother rehashing every point. But I'd add that literature has an edge over other art in this sense, because if you hang a painting on your wall then sooner or later you stop really seeing it. Same with a sculpture. But writing, and also music, have the capacity to keep drawing us in with the same words and notes, the same segues and glissandos. I'm not sure I know why.
But isn't it interesting?
Anyhoo.
It's very upsetting to read a book so good that you know, whatever you do, that you will never write anything to match it. Sadly there are many such novels. Stephen King's IT, Guy Gavriel Kay's The Lions of al-Rassan, Thomas Harris' The Silence of the Lambs, to name a few. The one on my mind today is Six Moon Dance, by Sheri S. Tepper. I've read it before, but as with the other stand-out tales I'm drawn back from time to time, to immerse myself once more in the world and the characters as the story plays out.
That, my friends, is the definition of that elusive term 'good book'. It's my definition, anyway - a novel to which you keep returning, to read again and again, and each time find yourself caught up in the passions and fears just as you were before.
I covered some of this in a post last year, Telling Stories, so I won't bother rehashing every point. But I'd add that literature has an edge over other art in this sense, because if you hang a painting on your wall then sooner or later you stop really seeing it. Same with a sculpture. But writing, and also music, have the capacity to keep drawing us in with the same words and notes, the same segues and glissandos. I'm not sure I know why.
But isn't it interesting?
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