Choosing a direction

I've come to a point in my life where I realised I have no life plan. "I want to write books" just doesn't cut it any more  I don't have a job, so I'm not earning anything. I live in my mum's house, so I have no real independence.

My future plans are incredibly vague. Finish my degree, then go to New York for a year. I have no idea what I'll do there, of course, besides visit family and see the sights.

I don't even know what sort of books I want to write. Someone asked me last week and I had no answer. None! I was at a complete loss for words, and it didn't feel good. Although, I've been thinking about it a lot since and have come up with a target reader (teenagers), but that's all. In my opinion, that isn't a lot and it certainly isn't enough.

I want to write fantasy, but have recently been delving into crime and I have an urban fiction story in the works. I also plan to write my family history this summer - I suppose realistically I could do all of these. I just wish instead of spreading myself out, I could concentrate on one genre and really work on that. But I've never been good at sticking to one thing. I quit karate after seven years, the recorder after three, and ballet after one class. Heck, I could probably write a book on all the things I've quit (haha, oh the humour...)!

Needless to say, I lack persistence.

Don't say it

"Oh, you want to be a writer? That's so cool!" I'm okay with this.

"Oh, you listen to indie music? I never would have guessed from looking at you." Why, because I'm black?

I dislike being stereotyped. A LOT. It makes people think they know everything about you. I'm aware that society will never get rid of stereotypes. Some of them can be useful, especially in stories. But in my eighteen years of living, I've grown sick of people expecting me to behave in a certain way because they perceive me to be a certain kind of person.

Just because I'm black, no-one should expect me to listen to a certain kind of music. I actually like a range of genres, but indie is the main one. Similarly, just because I'm Caribbean, no-one should expect me to dance "with rhythm". That logic doesn't even make sense to me! (I'm looking at you, Mum.)

I can only hope people stop judging me from my ethnicity and start judging me as an individual. I like to write, I'm trying to build up my biceps, I watch cartoons, sometimes I don't care about my appearance (and sometimes I change my clothes nine times before deciding what to wear), I have a strong conscience - none of these things have anything to do with being a girl, or being black, or being a Londoner.

They have everything to do with me being me.

Writing on the train 2

Call it a social experiment, if you will. I've started to write the most twisted story I've ever attempted. More twisted than angels getting their limbs ripped off. More twisted than a ghost possessing a married woman in order to have sexy time with the neighbour's barely legal son. More twisted than...

It's safe to say I've written some pretty twisted things in my time (keep in mind I'm still young - there's obviously plenty more to come in the future!). It's great though, when I'm writing this on the train. The looks of horror I do not get are absolutely hilarious.

What, you're surprised no-one is horrified? No-one is doing double takes at my writing? No-one is going pale and shuffling away from me while nervously clearing their throat and wishing they'd gotten on a different carriage? They probably want to exhibit some kind of reaction but are too afraid of me to visibly show it. After all, they shouldn't really be reading over my shoulder, should they? If they reacted it would be too much like admitting they made a mistake; that they were wrong.

It may sound a bit sinister, but it's true: writing something dark and gruesome on the train will get people to stop reading over your shoulder. Or at the very least, scar some innocent child for life.

The moral? Stop reading things you shouldn't. Especially if you're sitting next to me on the London Underground.

Carried away

Yesterday, I forgot to do the reading for my course, which was okay because we didn't look at that passage anyway. Instead, my very awesome tutor decided to get us in small groups to re-write the opening to Little Red Riding Hood. We were looking at genre and how it can change aspects of text, and had to make Little Red Riding Hood into a romance, a detective story and a Gothic story.

Needless to say, I was in my element.

The other two people in my group seemed to have a fear of writing so it was left to me. Using their input, I was able to come up with something in less than ten minutes for each genre and though it wasn't my best work, I don't think it was too shabby. The others in my group seemed to like it at any rate.

The first one I did was the Gothic version. It was only two lines and included the heavily clichéd phrase "ominously dark", which another group used for their Gothic take on Little Red Riding Hood. So obviously I realised how very unoriginal it was of me. The detective story was second, and this was actually pretty decent, considering I've never written a detective story or indeed, read much of them in my time. I had to read it out and the general feedback was "I'd read that!" which is always encouraging.

The final one we wrote was the romance. I say "we" but this is probably where I got a bit carried away. One person in my group told me to make it a bit of a saucy romance novel so we had Little Red a young woman, having just got out the bath and standing at her bedroom window in a towel, spying on the shirtless axe cutter. I didn't just write an introduction. I wrote a huge paragraph.

I'm not sure if I got carried away, or if I was simply showing off...

Shakespearean inspiration

A good writer is able to inspire their readers even after they've stopped writing. Their work is so timeless that it ceases to have a limit on how much an impact it leaves on someone reading it for the first, second, or millionth time. Their work is so timeless that years later, the emotions are still relevant to the generation of the future. Their work is so timeless, they are Shakespeare.

I know I should be sick of Shakespeare right about now. He's always cropped up in my education: from primary school trips (I remember seeing a golden statue of him at some museum or other), to secondary school homework (an embarrassing leaflet springs to mind, featuring the endearing nickname 'Willy' my friend and I thought was appropriate) to sixth form coursework (naturally, I got an A). Now I'm studying English at university, looking at Shakespeare is probably mandatory. So why don't I hate him yet?

That's a good question, actually. I suppose I don't hate him because he's like the god of writing. Even though a lot of his plays were said to be unoriginal, they are what have persisted throughout time. His plays are what we recognise growing up, even to some extent his poems, and if you haven't seen at least one version of a Shakespearean play on stage, then your school isn't doing education the right way.

NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo. If I'm honest, I've heard about this in previous years but never took the time to find out what it is. This year was different. I looked up what it was, checked out the website and decided within two minutes that there was no way I was taking part in such an event. Sure, it's a good way to get people to write a story but I've already made the decision to do so, and have done more than once.

I can certainly see the appeal for NaNoWriMo, don't get me wrong. If you've been bugged down by second thoughts and procrastination and half-formed excuses that prevent you from actually sitting down to write a story, then NaNoWriMo is perfect for you. But I don't have that problem. Although I might put off writing I know I will eventually get it done, it's only a matter of time and this is where my young age comes in to play. Since I'm only eighteen and still in education, I feel like I've got all the time in the world to write my many stories.

I guess that's just an idealised youthful dream, but it works for me.

From what I understand about NaNoWriMo, the main objective is to write something - anything - that passes as a complete story. The key point that put me off it is that it won't make much sense. There will be next to no planning, characters will be all over the place and the end is more like a mad dash to get to the finish line rather than a slow easing into something magical which is how it is for me, when I do eventually get there. The pure random nature of anything produced through NaNoWriMo scared me away.

I like my stories to have substance, and a basis in something deeper than "I really wanted to write a story but lacked the courage". I guess what I'm trying to get at here is that if I wanted to write like I was six years old again, I'd join the NaNoWriMo movement and this would be an entirely different blog post.

Let's laugh

If I didn't have laughter, I'd have tears.

That's why I prefer books with humour as opposed to books with sad topics. Sure a balance is cool but leaning too heavily on the sad is a sure-fire way to turn me off a book. Life is too serious for me to seek that out in fiction as well.

People who enjoy reading emotional tear-jerkers amaze me, simply because I'm not like that. I suppose it all boils down to personal preference (which I don't have to tell you varies greatly from person to person).

Live. Love. Laugh. That is all for now.

Writing on the train

Exactly the title. Most people bring out a book or newspaper when travelling via tube. I've started whipping out my notebook to scribble something when the mood strikes. Usually it will be a continuation of a larger scene in a story created on my laptop at home, so I'll just begin at a seemingly random spot in the plot.

It's great to simply pick it up like that, but what I find hilarious is people's reaction to it. They eye me warily before deciding that yes, I'm human (cough) and returning to their reading text of choice.

Only their attention is never completely diverted away from me. I catch their eyes flickering back to me and my conspicuously pink notebook, actually reading over my shoulder at times. It's a bit disconcerting but mostly I find it funny, since they have no clue about the ideas behind what I'm writing, so they're all very confused commuters.

Once I had a woman actually smile at me as I snapped the notebook shut in anticipation of my stop. She'd been watching me write from London Bridge to King's Cross, and seemed in an altogether exceedingly good mood. The flowers in her hands suggested she had someone in her life who cared about her.

I couldn't help but smile back. I'm a writer, not a grump.

You'd never guess these commuters

were such a nosey bunch.

No direction = freedom?

I recently enrolled in university, to do an English degree. On Monday there was a department party, in which we were supposed to drink wine and mingle. The only thing I drank was water and my mingling was me standing off to one side, texting a friend who was at another university.

Eventually, I did come across a couple of people I had met before and I stuck to them like glue. One of them invited another girl into our tiny circle, increasing our small number. I swallowed my fear and introduced myself to a beautifully tall yet shy girl and this brought our number to five.

Our conversation was awkward at first but we soon warmed up to each other and got so carried away we were one of the last to leave the party. Even as we made our way out of the building, we didn't stop talking and the topic turned to what we wanted to do once we finished university.

When I expressed my wish to become a writer, they asked why I was just doing English when so many others were doing English and Creative Writing. I shrugged my shoulders and the conversation moved on, but I haven't stop thinking about the answer to that question since. Why did I choose to do straight English?

Part of the reason was because my English teacher told me to. She's kind of my hero so of course I'd take her advice. But there's more to my decision than that.

In loving memory of...

Memories live on. Book dedications live on.

Do souls live on?

Ra hihzoo narahh gisluhev ra sezev olhog. Renenvimhob.

The plot thickens

Some people who know me (okay, everyone who knows me) might say I've lost the plot. With regards to an old story of mine, they'd be right.

If you think that nearly 200 pages on Microsoft Word with a handful of colourful characters, some witty lines and a dark undertone would create an amazing, award-winning story, you'd be wrong. Okay, well maybe in general you get a good story but in my case, you get a really long and confusing one.

There are witches. Half vampires. Fairies. Demons. And predictable romances. It screams inexperience, oozes clichés and reeks of poor planning. I re-read it now and just want to throw up from the sickening chunks of urgh.

In my defence, I was 14 when I wrote it. But really, that's no excuse. It makes me worry about the kind of rubbish I write now, four years later. In another four years I guess I'll know.

What I want you to take away from this is: if you're going to write a long story, iron out the details and ask yourself "why is this happening?" before anything is set in stone. Then scribble all over it and start again on a fresh piece of paper. You'll thank me one day. I hope.

Ideas

When I have a really good idea - it could be a spectacular plot or a unique character - and it doesn't work, I get frustrated. The idea was awesome so its failure is baffling.

I don't simply throw the idea away and start again though. I keep it, preferably writing it down so I don't forget. Then, when I get another idea that doesn't work but is just as thrilling, I put the two together.

It doesn't matter if the two (or three or four) ideas seem completely incompatible. Find a way to merge them into one super-cool-ultra-idea and that's an idea to be proud of. It's guaranteed to be unusual, different and something people would be interested in . Who could ask for more?

So I urge you not to throw away ideas; put them in metaphorical (or even actual) storage until you have another to go with it. You never know, you might end up with something great.

My interpretation of this concept, using Paint. 

Discovery

Earlier this week, I happened to find some poems I wrote last year that I had completely forgotten about in an old notebook (I've had two more since). One was funny, one was sad and another used psychological terms that I utilised for the A-Level exam.

The funny one was a Sonnet based on the number thirteen. I don't remember why. It was written in the tiniest scribbled handwriting I've ever seen from myself, and every other line was heavily crossed out. It was so difficult to read but quite worth the effort, if only for my nostalgia. For your pleasure, I shall type it out for you:

Unlucky number thirteen,

It's always a bad sign;

Avoided - you know what I mean,

No-one cares to give it time;

Up there with black cats,

And stepping on cracks,

Spilling salt on mats,

Giving a mirror a snap;

Unlucky number thirteen,

Gives people a good scare;

And is additionally keen,

To make you worse for wear.

But thirteen is a number I will never hate

It is after all, my birth date.

Bad news, good news

Still no Internet on my laptop. I'm going to get a new one soon; the one I have is probably 90 in computer years.

On the plus side, having no Internet has meant I have next to no distractions from writing. Four chapters to go until the entire first draft of my current story is complete! That's got to be a cause for celebration, right?

Of course, I look forward to the long nights editing. Because that's always fun.

Putting it off

Recently, I have found myself doing everything but writing: checking email for the fifth time, watching YouTube videos, texting people stupid one-liners, thinking up new characters and (but not limited to) staring at the last sentence I wrote in my previous writing flurry.

I procrastinate for no good reason. It's already been established how much I like writing and how good it makes me feel. So why am I putting it off?

Maybe there's a part of me that thinks I'm just not good enough to be writing. I've won some competitions and been short listed for others, so a lack of confidence is just not logical. But then, I once declared myself "outsane", so clearly logic has no place here.

However, what I think it boils down to is a lack of motivation. Not a lack of motivation to write, but a lack of motivation to finish the story. This specific story is the first one I want to try to get published and once it's done, I don't have to write it anymore. And I really enjoy writing this particular story. I must do; why else would I get caught up in it after typing the next new word at every session?

Perhaps I should look at it differently. I am motivated to write, therefore I should be motivated to finish the story. Right?

P.S The Internet died on my ancient laptop so I had to do this on my phone. Technology both frustrates and amazes me.

Writer problems

Or, as I like to think of them, the-trouble-with-having-a-bucket-load-of-imagination. But 'writer problems' sounds a lot more classy, don't you think?

I love to write stories. I love the freedom it offers me, to experience magic, adventures, and love. What I don't love about it is being bogged down by just one story. So I write more than one at a time. And it usually works...For about three or four chapters. Then I go through long spells of writing short, useless scenes and putting off the initial story. I've been writing for about four years now and I'm ashamed to admit I've only finished five multi-chapter stories.

Actually, writing that down it looks pretty good. Five in four years - and that's amid GCSEs and A-Levels. Huh. Perhaps I've been selling myself short.

Then again, I've been writing the same two stories for three years now and neither has passed chapter six. One of them has even undergone several drastic plot changes. I guess the 'writer problem' isn't sticking with the stories at hand. It's finishing them.

My notebook: more plots than will ever be written.