Dancing and Drinking

 Well, a few things have happened recently, such as this,

and as you can imagine, I've not had much time to write.

 The wedding and reception went off perfectly, though. The ceremony was charming, the weather held, and at the reception people danced and drank and had fun. We only had one issue - the DJ cancelled in the morning - but we found a replacement, who turned out to be very good. Best of all, Caz became Mrs Blake.

 My best man said in his speech that until I met Caz, I was focused entirely on my own projects, mostly writing. That's true, but there's more; I was focused on those things because my life held nothing better. Maybe it became a self-fulfilling prophecy: I don't know. Either way it's over now, because I have a wife I love very much and a child on the way too. I'll still write, nothing changes that. I need it for my sanity. It will no longer be the be-all and end-all.

 Still, I appeared on local radio two nights before the wedding, on a book club feature. Just a brief interview, but it gave me a chance to plug my own books (naturally) and also talk about the anthology, which is due to be published on 24th September as things stand. It's a great project, a chance for North Devon writers to achieve something together, and I was happy to give it a nudge as best I could. It's terrifying, mind. The Voice might only have an audience of twenty people and a dog, but it's still intimidating to think of people listening to what you say.

 In addition to all this, I have a new job (again) as manager of a Barnardo's store. It's in Yeovil, which means on Sunday I have to leave my wife and move to a new town. Caz will follow in November, when her own work allows it. So four days after the wedding I have to leave my wife alone, which is vexing, but the offer is too good to miss. And Yeovil is the home of a prestigious writing competition, so it must surely have a thriving community of authors. It could work out very well for my whole family.

 Let's hope so.

Just Scribbling

 Caz and I have moved into the new place now, and everything's going well. We have more room than before, which makes a big difference. I just spent the day assembling a flat-pack chest of drawers from IKEA, and it wasn't too tricky. Not much cursing at all.

 I've been working hard at the new job too. The hardest bit was finding a decent route to drive to and from Minehead. I tried the main road first, the A39, and it turns out to be a mess of hairpin turns, very narrow stretches, and places where water flows across the road. One part also runs along the edge of a cliff and when I went there was thick fog. I avoid that now. But I found a good route, a nice enough drive, so I 'll stick to that.

 Meanwhile I've ordered a copy of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, by Renni Browne and Dave King. It was suggested to me by an author called Ruth  Downie, who's very good by the way, well worth a read. It sounds the sort of aide every writer ought at least to look at. The biggest difference between self-publishing and traditional publishers is that in the former there's nobody independent to edit or proof-read your book - and no, friends reading it for you don't count. They can help, we all need beta-readers, but they're not proper editors. So in self-publishing we have to do it ourselves, and it's very hard to be consistent. A book like this could help.

 Everything helps. Writers should always be trying to improve what they do. Ernest Hemingway once said "We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master", and it's true. Nobody understands how to write, not entirely. It's large parts instinct, but also large parts practice, and not just scribbling - we have to focus on what we do, try to recognise when a word clunks or a sentence groans under its own weight, and find ways to make it better.

 Hopefully, what I'm writing now will turn out to be the best thing I've done. It's called The Death of Ghosts, and I'm more pleased with it all the time. That bodes well. But we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?

Donkey Work

 I've finally got the job I've been aiming for. Over the past 3 months I've had paid work and also volunteered for a charity, Cancer Research UK, as I've been doing for more than two years. I've learned enough now that I could manage a shop, which is the eventual goal, but for now I've been offered a job supporting managers at various stores. I'll learn a lot, and soon enough should be in a position to move forward again.

 Just as importantly, it means I don't need any longer to hold 2 jobs - the paid work, at 30 hours a week or so, and the volunteer work 2 days a week as well. Frankly that's bloody exhausting and is best left to mules. And this, of course, means I'll have more time [and energy, sheesh] to write.

 Got to get our priorities right, eh?

 You know, this year a lot has happened. Working 2 jobs, preparing for my wedding next month, getting set to move house... things just keep piling up. There's hardly been time to breathe, let alone sleep. Certainly not much time to write. I've managed, more or less, but my output is way down on where it usually is, and I miss it.

 So... by the time I'm settled in the new job I'll also have moved (1st August) and got married (26th August)). That ought to clear enough time for me to get back to the books properly again. My wife-to-be Caz is excellent at giving me space to write, when a lot of partners would resent the time it takes away. I'll be able to do it, and I can't wait.

 Especially because my current project is going great guns. It's slow, as I said before, but when I do have time to write the words are just falling onto the page. I'll tell you about it another time. It's terribly exciting.

A Knock on the Noggin

 At work on Tuesday I hit my head on a shelf, pretty hard. I was stunned but more or less OK, except that over the next 2 hours I started to feel dizzy and began to forget how to pronounce words. I asked a customer if she wanted the "wittery" weight (don't ask), then the "glirry" one, and finally a colleague stepped in and told the woman I meant "glittery". At this point I decided to go home and lie down for a bit.

 Funny thing, the brain. The next day I was still mangling words, or forgetting names I'd used not long before... but lordy, I wrote a lot. I managed more than a chapter, nearly 3000 words. I've reread it today, expecting errors and clunky phrases to be honest, but it's OK. Not bad at all.

 Ergo, I conclude that I write well and fluently after a good knock on the noggin. I do not want anyone to get ideas about that.

But the brain is weird. One mild concussion might do nothing but give you nausea and a dreadful headache . The next might clear away some cobwebs, break down subconscious barriers, and let you think thoughts that have been skulking about for a while but not really made themselves known. Of course it still gives you a blinding headache and all the rest, so it's not worth it (don't try this at home, kids!). I find it interesting though, because for a writer there's a constant churning of story ideas below the conscious level. I can't remember the number of times when I've shot upright in a cinema, or a pub, or watching TV, and said "Eureka!" as the solution to a knotty plot issue has suddenly sprung fully-formed into my mind.

 So I think I freed up some ideas, somehow. I'm no psychologist, and I don't understand the intricacies of the brain... but you know, nobody does. We're forced back to the same shrug of our shoulders; the brain is just weird.

 At least, I'm pretty sure mine is.

Do Not Fold The Corners

 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.

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.

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.