Revision and retrospect

Over the course of this year, I read my poetry to an audience (at least five times), wrote a few short stories, fantasised about my future (ah shoot, I'm graduating next year), took extra classes in script writing and life writing, suffered a crisis of age, and went through a load of other stuff that kept my October posts pretty quiet (whoops).

I learnt a lot. I did a lot. I wrote - a lot. Did I achieve my objection of speaking out more? Yes. Yes I did. I did the poetry reading, told my family I'm dating a girl, spoke a decent amount in class (only in the ones I like though), and I am now totally unafraid of making small talk - and eye contact - with my fellow students. All in all, a successful year as far as resolutions go.

So what are my plans for next year? I won't set a vague goal this year and hope for the best I can fit obscure events into it (I bet you had no idea that's what I've been doing for the last couple of years - right? Right?). No, this year I'm feeling positive and hopeful. I feel like I could set myself some concrete goals and achieve them. I feel like I want to make a schedule list!

Terri's Plans for 2015

January: Get a tattoo.
February: Send WIP to beta readers.
March: No idea.
April: Have a confirmed summer job.
May: Hand in all university essays.
June: Enjoy life. Relax. DO NOT READ BOOKS.
July: Maybe go to Trinidad? This can also be done in August.
August: Turn 21.
September: Attend graduation ceremony. Be graceful and stylish.
October: Go to America.
November: Read at one of those cool jazz poetry places that probably exist everywhere in New York.
December: Figure out where my life is going in 2016.

Now that that's settled, I guess this is a good time to break the news that this is my last post of 2014! I'll continue to keep up the Sunday posts for the new year because they seem to be working with my timetable. So, I'll see all you lovely readers on the 4th of January, 2015!

Happy New Year to all! (And to all a goodnight?)

The nerd files

An anthology of writing from Goldsmiths.

Do you want to write gay romantic narrative low fantasy/mythology-esque ballad poems??

Apparently I do, and I want to submit them for my next creative writing assignment (which isn't due until mid-February). I know, I know: I'm a nerd. My friends don't stop reminding me of that fact - and that they hate me for having written so much of my dissertation already.

But I digress.

I realised that to take on this project properly, I was going to have to do some serious research on form, other similar work, practice and mythology. What I couldn't do was leave my first draft ideas as they were and change a word or two in each stanza. That might be good for lazy tweaking, but it wasn't going to get me anywhere near a respectable grade.

Like any other respectable writer would in my position, I started with an internet search, closely followed by a library catalogue search. The internet search was to find out any key words that I would need to put in to my catalogue search, as well as to gain a little bit more of a basic understanding of what exactly I wanted to write. The catalogue search quickly became a frustrating process of trial and error, in which I tried to search for a bunch of poets and the catalogue erred in telling me it had no idea what I was talking about.

In the end, we settled our differences and I found a handful of titles that could possibly help, and one book that would not help but seemed like it would be a good read. Which I also decided to read first, because I'm now on break for Christmas and it seemed a waste to begin the holiday by working too hard. The other books I took out were Quartet of Poems and Afro-Greeks*. Before writing this post, I thought I had taken out more than these books but I was wrong. Thinking back, I did pick up two or three more while in the library but after skimming through them, rejected them on the grounds that they bored me to tears. According to the introduction to the introduction (I'm not kidding) of Quartet, the book is arranged "to support my work towards GCSE". Super. Exactly what I was after.

Ha, no, but it is a slim volume which is comforting to me over the Christmas period, as it means I don't have to slog too hard to get through it. Also it's poetry, which by its nature is quite quick to read. The other book, Afro-Greeks, is thicker at 250 pages, and is full of essays rather than poems, but it doesn't look too difficult either. There's a whole chapter dedicated to 'Trinidadian Models of Athenian Democracy', which I'm really looking forward to reading.

I've just got to work myself up into actually doing some constructive work over the holiday period. Which is a mission in itself.

Black. British. Feminist.

Although I didn't see her, Angela Davis
was also on campus that same day.

On November 28th 2014, I got paid to attend a talk at my university on which the topic was 'Black British Feminism'.

Okay, it wasn't exactly like that. I was working at the event through my student ambassador job but I would have gone to it anyway. It just so happened that I was asked to work that day. What followed were two hours of inspiring, moving and revolutionary talks from Sara Ahmed, Joan Anim-Addo (who is the professor of Caribbean Women's Writing at my university), Claudia Bernard and Heidi Mirza.

The stage was set. The lights were dimmed. The audience hushed. The heater was a beautiful invention that I stuck to like it was giving me life.

Unfortunately, because I was working I wasn't able to take any notes on the talks, which was disappointing. All I could do was stand in the shadows and listen to these women talk about how they came to understand where they fit in a society that had rejected them. I listened to them talk about stretching the limits of their society, stretching the narrow misconceptions that followed them around like a dark cloud. I listened to them talk about the books that kept them going throughout their childhood, adulthood and day-to-day lives.

I learnt so much from those four strong women, the self-professed feminists, in such a small amount of time. Around me I could feel the aura of respect flowing from the audience towards the stage. In the Q & A portion of the evening, the room became a community of lost souls, all searching for a way to unite and stand together.

Although I had to leave before the event was finished (it ran over time and my supervisor ushered me and the other girl working out of the room in a misguided attempt to "save" us), I like to think they reached some sort of understanding. I like to think everyone there came to an unspoken agreement on how they were going to perceive the world, and what they were going to do about the world's perception of them.

I also like to think I'll have time to read some of the work written by Sara Ahmed, Joan Anim-Addo, Claudia Bernard and Heidi Mirza. Too bad I know I won't have free time until May 2015. Ah well. I'll just keep adding to my ever-growing to-read book list.

An exercise in dialogue

This week in class we were working on dialogue. Our task was to create a scene with as many characters as we wanted, using the prompt "I told you not to go in there". Our tutor told us to think about a tension between the characters that wasn't explicit and roll with it. This is what I came up with:

"I told you not to go in there." She was sympathetic, which made it worse.

"Shut up," he mumbled.

"But I did tell you."

"I said shut up," he said, clearer this time.

Neither of them spoke. She dug the toe of her shoe into the ground next to the ball, scuffing it further. He shivered, lip trembling. A bird cawed overhead, directing her attention upwards. She noticed the red tinge to his nose.

"It won't be that bad," she tried.

"Yes it will."

She knew he was right. "I'll tell her it was my fault."

He looked at her then. It was her fault and they both knew it. She was older, smarter, braver - she wouldn't be the one who got in trouble.

"She won't believe you. She'll say it was my fault, because I'm stupid and I always do stupid things."

"No she won't," she lied. "You're not always stupid, only sometimes." She grinned and he attempted to smile back. It was unsuccessful. She threw her arm around his shoulders, smearing the mud on to her skin. She gave the ball a nudge forward.

"Come on," she said, "let's go home.

I'm on my way

I'm officially halfway through Phase Two of editing my story. Yay! Phase One was me changing the point of view from first to third person, and now I'm going through the whole thing again, putting notes and pointing out my mistakes. Phase Three will involve me implementing the suggestions I make right now in Phase Two and then I'll be on to Phase Four: sending it to other people to have a look at.

Gulp.

Let's get metaphorical.

I have a few trusty people on hold (I'm looking at you, Sensei) but I've also been collecting business cards and making contacts with people I don't know that well. This was a strategic choice to make sure I have a good range of critics who aren't afraid to tell me how it is but who also have a passion for books and/or writing. Once they've had a look at a few chapters (some might even want the whole thing) then it's off to the industry I go!

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I am still only halfway through my editing process, after all.

Life writing

I recently attended another class hosted by Ideas Tap, this one focusing on life writing. My first assignment for my creative writing module is a piece of life writing so I thought it would be useful for that. I was wrong.

Not to say the class wasn't useful at all! It was, very, just not for my assignment. So what did I learn about life writing?

• Life writing is an opportunity to connect and share directly with readers or audience
• If it's good, people will see themselves in it
• The personal is political
• If things are well-crafted, they will have artistic merit
• Free writing* let's you say what you want to but might be afraid to admit
• You are not genre bound, you can add layers which help build the feeling of the piece

*Free writing is simply writing whatever comes to your head, without thinking, without stopping, without second-guessing yourself. There's usually a time limit so you don't just go on forever. Ours was something like five minutes and we were told to think about our week. I know I just said free writing is writing without thinking, but that was the exercise we did. This is mine (censored because I wrote some pretty arsey things. But I kept the lack of punctuation, the spelling errors and everything else authentic):

I'm back (sort of)

Whoops, I seem to have taken a month's break from my blog.


Where have I been and what have I been doing? Well, my mind has been pretty preoccupied with life things. Third year requires a lot more brain power than I anticipated (I spend my days off in the library). It's stressful, but a good stressful because I really enjoy my classes. More so than the other two years so that's something at least.

But stress has been coming at me from all angles lately, making it harder to deal with, be it organising events (being sociable is something I'm still working on), looking out for my friends and family, or getting locked at work after everyone had gone home on Halloween. I'll tell you about it some day when it's funny.

I've also been to the GP for some anxiety-related issues. Who didn't see that one coming, huh?

The good news is, I'm going to work out a new update schedule so this blog doesn't get completely left behind to rot. I'll update every Sunday from now on (starting today, as it happens!) and will probably post more experimental things that happen in my creative writing class, because that's just easier.

I have been doing lots and lots of writing. Most of it academic but every Thursday in my creative writing class we're forced to encouraged to try out new things. And I've been squeezing out some fresh ideas when I can, as well as editing my WIP. I've only really been slacking in the poetry department, although I did manage to make it a poetry reading at my university the night before Halloween - they even had me open the session!

If I've learnt anything from my month away from blogging, it's that I need to read more. And not just the primary text for my classes; I mean secondary reading, contextual reading and (probably most importantly) wider 'just for fun' reading. We'll see how that goes.

Character blog tour

If you've come here from S.E. Dee's blog and are expecting the ramblings of an alien, you will be disappointed. I don't ramble on my blog. Much.

Let's meet my character. Or rather, characters. I have two mains.

What are the names of your characters? Are they fictional or historic people?
Masika Brodrick-Lexand and Farren Biratba. They are most definitely fictional.

When and where is the story set?
The planet is called Noidus and Masika and Farren can be found in Sabinar's capital city, Ley. Not the same Ley as I wrote about before, but the city did start there I guess (actually it started even before that Ley, in a speculative sci-fi short story I wrote maybe three or four years ago - but that's for another post). Political tension is stirring up, what with the upcoming election and the whole racism issue between the people and the cynocephs (a sub-race of people who have dog heads).

Featured writer

Today I thought I'd do something a little different: have a look at a writer who has influenced me in some way. I hope to make this a sort of series of posts because there have been a lot of writers who have inspired me, but we'll see how it goes. Today I'm going to tell you about Emily Dickinson.

I came across Emily Dickinson's work back in 2013 when I needed to find a poet to revise for my first year poetry exam. I chose Dickinson because her poems were easy to memorise and I quite liked them. From the one class we had on her, I knew she was something of a shut-in who wrote tons of poems (nearly 1,800 - which her family found after she died). She quite liked Robert and Elizabeth Browning's work as well as Keats. If you want more info on her, I can direct you to this page which has all the bio and trivia facts you might be interested in. I'm not. I only really care about her work, as harsh as that sounds.

The wings of fame.

For the poetry exam I mentioned, I basically picked out a few of Dickinson's poems I really liked and analysed them in detail. These were 'Hope' is the thing with feathers (314), Remorse is memory awake (781), Tell all the truth but tell it slant (1263) and Fame is a bee (1763). You may notice that all of these poems are quite short, which is probably a trend because they were chosen to be written about in my exam and I didn't want to be bogged down trying to remember a really long epic poem. That would just be madness.

Another commonality you might spot between these poems is they are all followed by a number. That's because none (or at least, very few) of Dickinson's poems were titled. The titles given are simply the first lines of the poem (but you figured that out all by yourself, didn't you?) and the number is the order in which it is believed Dickinson wrote these poems. Although the number can change depending on what collection of her work you're reading. For some reason, there exists some contention between some numbers of the poems...

Anyway, last year I made it my goal to write more poetry - which I did. It only recently hit me that, like Emily Dickinson, I did not title them and instead gave them a number. At the time of writing this, I'm up to 250; still nowhere near Emily Dickinson's 1,800 but I'm young.

I work here

I have a desk! And a chair! I even put them together myself.

It feels so good to have somewhere to sit and work comfortably. For about eight years, my bedroom was a tiny section of the room I shared with my little brothers, separated by a piece of plywood and a curtain. I kid you not. When I was sixteen, we got another floor built on our house - a new bedroom and extra bathroom. I claimed it before they had finished drawing up the plans.

After three months of building (during which my bed, stuffed toys and I were temporarily placed in the living room), I finally had enough space to swing my arms around without colliding with anything disastrous. I had actual floor space - I could walk ACROSS the room!

My work space consisted of a sofa bed and my lap, to rest my laptop on. That worked - for the next two years. Then my cousin moved in to my sofa bed space and I had half a room. Hers was a temporary move: she was only around long enough to finish her master's degree and then she was going back to Trinidad. In the mean time, I bought a beanbag and leaned against the side of my bed. It was as awful as you're imagining it to be.

Now my cousin is gone and I'm in my final year of university, I decided enough was enough. I bought a desk and a chair and got a friend to help me lug them home from Argos. And you know what? I couldn't be happier. It's so important to have the right kind of environment in which to work. It helps put you in the right mind frame, can do wonders for your posture and, if you've got the right decorations, can be a source of inspiration as well.

What does your work space look like?

Why write fan-fiction?

Writing fanfiction is a great way to support something - a TV show, book, film, game etc. - that you like and take your interest with it further. When writing fan-fiction, a writer is *usually* bound to the rules of that universe. This includes writing characters in the same way they are characterised, acknowledging the most important conventions of the universe, keeping to the style of the fandom. I say "usually" because there are exceptions; for example in an AU (alternative universe) fic, when you use intentional out-of-character behaviour for the sake of a plot that would never be pursued in the actual series... Things like that.

I don't think I ever wrote anything AU and I did my best to keep the characters as in-character as possible in all my fics. These restrictions were just that, restrictions, but they weren't limiting in anyway. I know that sounds sort of contradictory but just hear me out on this.

With fanfiction, a lot of the hard work is done for you. Backstory? Check. Character depth? Check. Plot? Check, check, check. All you have to do is go ahead and write that scene you think was missing, or that storyline you wanted but never got because the original writers just don't have your artistic vision. Whatever you do, you work within the realm already set-up by the creators. Sounds easy, right?

Wrong! There's so much you can screw up with fanfiction, simply by misunderstanding one aspect of the universe you want to honour by writing about. Writing fanfiction requires a lot of work, especially if you want to write good fanfiction. You've got to get the tone right, you've got to pull on the readers' heartstrings, you've got to have that character development.

Coincidentally, these are things a writer needs to figure out how to do generally, when writing their own original work. Fanfiction prepares a writer for this, without the added pressure of creating something completely from scratch. It might be difficult to earn some money from writing fanfiction but people have done it. The biggest thing you'll take away from writing fanfiction is experience, and experience is the one thing every good writer has.

Captain Nigel

My youngest brother challenged me to make a story out of his description: "The story is that... Yeah and then they got bombed and um, the cook, the side man cook *giggles* cooks some chips and they explode and everyone dies. The end." He's eleven.

They weren't going to make it out of this alive. It was in the brutality etched at the back of Captain Nigel's voice as he barked at his crew of thieves. It was in the way said crew of thieves rushed around the deck, offloading unnecessary weight in an attempt to lighten the ship and tripping over each other in the process. It was in the way Duck Luda clung on to the mast and drank his bottle of rum, tears streaming down his hairy face.

It was in the way the rival ship bombarded the Lazy Monkey with booming shots from their canons without giving them a fair chance to get away. The big meanies.

The crew of the Lazy Monkey were shoved on to the deck, skin scraping against wood, nails ripping off as they clung to their home for the past eleven years. Captain Nigel was tossed from the helm nearly all the way to the forecastle deck, cracking his head against something hard.

Not my poem

Today's poem is brought to you by my twin, who writes secret poetry.

I Wanna Be

Why is it every time I see your eyes

I come to realise

If you didn't friendzone guys

I'd be by your side

While we fly in the night,

Looking up at the sky.

But I pause and why?

'Cause I know it can't be:

You being with me.

We're friends but I love you;

Yes this is true,

I should be the one to put on your glass shoe,

I'm the prince to your Cinderella story,

I'm the one to give you life long glory,

I should be

The one you seek.

In reality

The only option I can use is B

Because

I know down deep in my heart you're a treat

But in yours it's defeat.

You will suffer but won't say,

But I can see you're in much pain,

And you only have yourself to blame.

The view from here is great

Frankly, I should have known my WIP was always meant to be in third person. It caused me so much hassle back in November and now that I'm in the editing stages I've realised it should have always been in third person. Not first. Excuse me while I bash my head against a wall...

Okay, I feel better now. Especially since it's not all bad. The third person narrative I started off with in November? It was too far removed from the story. I had created a narrator rather than tried to tell the story and that was what was causing me problems. Now that I'm switching every single pronoun from first to third person, it's much easier to keep a tight focus on the main character while still giving the readers the worldly information they need without it sounding strange. I mean, there are whole paragraphs where my main character was just reeling information off, information that was a bit strange for her to be giving. With that third person, it seems perfectly natural.

A lesson in screenplay

Ever heard of Ideas Tap? I hadn't until last month when a fellow student posted a link to them on our university Facebook page. Shout-out here to the magic of networking!

Ideas Tap is a charity that helps creative types (like you and me) learn more about the industry they're interested in, from film to music to - hey! - publishing and probably more. They've got classes, work experience, internships, funding applications... They've pretty much got it all. It's free to sign up, too, which is brilliant news for struggling students (and just generally people low on funds).

I signed up to one of their summer workshop classes, but only one because I knew I wasn't going to be around much what with my jet-setting and all. I also forced encouraged my buddy to sign up to one of their classes on writing a TV series since that's what he's working on at the moment and he seemed to really enjoy it. But what of my class?

Turns out the notes I made are indecipherable even to my own eyes. Oops. I know the class was useful though, since it taught me all the basic things about writing a screenplay that the internet just wasn't getting through. I'm not about to become the next Wes Anderson overnight, no matter how good I look in a scarf. However, when I do get around to scripting my one film idea that just won't die no matter how many times I stab it, I am now equipped with these nuggets of knowledge:

• Everything on the screen has to matter visually
• The story is the emotional journey of the main character
• Begin with the "promise" - this will tell you everything you need to know about the film
• Don't rush the planning
• A good drama has conflict in every scene
• No-one wants backstory: tell the story in the present
• EVERYBODY LIES

Now to satisfy my urge to watch the first episode of House MD for the first time...

Falling in love again

Anyone who knows me well, knows I am notorious for changing my mind, not making up my mind, not having a mind... Basically, I am indecisive. It once took me twenty minutes to decide what to have for breakfast, and then I went ahead and had what I always have: cereal. Exciting.

Character concepts. Will be
worth millions one day.
Probably.

You know a few posts ago when I decided I wasn't going to push my newly completed story for publishing? Yeah strike that. I've only properly edited two chapters but it's given me hope. Actually, the character concept art I did last week gave me hope, editing the chapters gave me feelings. Feelings like: I think I remember why I wanted to write this story.

Readers, I do believe I'm falling in love with my story again. It helps that I'm breathing new life into the characters. I've explored a bit more of one of the MC's family life which sets up some of her reasoning for leaving home and disobeying her parents. Also, it gives a more rounded view of who she is before the shit gets serious in the story, which is good for pacing reasons.

I've got other things planned as well, like maybe pursuing the romance I had in mind, setting up a little foreshadowing for the sequel I haven't planned yet, reinforcing the characters' relationships with each other and - oh yeah - writing an ending that doesn't suck.

I'm actually looking forward to it now.

Please stop

In preparation of my third year of university, I have been doing some summer reading. Since I am studying Literature, we're advised to begin the reading process as early on as possible. I like to imagine a wild scramble for books as soon as they release the year's book list. Pages and money and students flying in all directions while I calmly log on to my various websites and order all I need, chuckling to myself with all the malice of a villain.

Anyway, my deviousness aside, reading ahead during summer is a really good strategy so when classes start up again, the books don't pile up in a to-be-read-THIS-week backlog of stress. Normally we'd be expected to read a novel a week, plus a chapter of theory, a couple of short stories and maybe some poems. And that's just coming from my experience; I'm sure there are students on my course but not doing the same modules as me who had to read a lot more last year. I'm thinking Moby Dick more.

I have yet to meet a person who even
vaguely enjoyed reading this book.

This year, my last year, I'll be reading two detective novels a week, a novella (I'm guessing. The books are pretty thin so far) and-

Well. Nothing. The modules I chose are detective fiction (Sherlock Holmes, here I come!), surrealism and creative writing. I think I've already mentioned this before but it's getting harder and harder to keep up with what tumbles out of my fingertips. Sorry if I am repeating myself.


"But Terri, what does any of that have to do with the title of this blog post?"

Good question, Voice in My Head. And the answer is this: two of the books I have read in advance I already dislike. One of them I couldn't bring myself to finish. Both of them felt like a physical struggle to drag my eyes across the sentences while understanding what they were saying. What made them so difficult to read was that they emulated everything I hate about books. On the plus side, it's given me a check list of things I definitely want to avoid in my own writing.

244/One of those mornings

It was going to be one of those rainy mornings
When the sky is cloaked in cloud
And the sun refused to rise
But rather, appeared above without attracting notice
Glowing dimly from behind the shroud of foggy air.

It was going to be one of those chilly mornings
A surprise for the summer months
After weeks of gentle warming
It was cold enough for blankets
And a mug of something burning and sweet.

It was going to be one of those hated mornings
You against humanity's idiots
Did not a single on of them own a functioning brain?
It was difficult to imagine it was so
When everyone acted like dopes.

It was going to be one of those sorry mornings
You wished you could take it all back
But life didn't give second chances
Leaving you stuck with your anger
Expecting to rot.

Multiple identities

Oh. I missed a week without even realising it had passed! I'm just that much of an air-head.

What have I been up to lately? Well, I've started gathering proper notes for my dissertation on Angela Carter. I turned 20 without much fanfare (think a salad at Nando's, playing Mario Kart Wii, Jenga and a "compliment circle"). I went to Loncon 3, the 72nd World Science Fiction Convention - incorrectly introduced to me by the Sensei as a writer's convention...

Which isn't to say that I didn't have a good time. The two of us had a good ol' wander around the ExCeL centre, gawking at art and shoving our business cards at people like some lame interpretation of Batman and Robin. She kept calling me "Baitman" so I guess that makes her... [insert clever comeback here].

New skills

Editing. It's... It's hard.

Okay it's not hard hard, but it does require a bit more effort than writing does, because editing means concentrating and not dreaming. It means structuring and not just bullet-pointing. It means I no longer have a social life.

That escalated quickly. And also isn't true. If I didn't have a social life would I be going to Berlin in a few hours?

What I'm saying is I managed to finish that WIP I may have mentioned in a few past posts. I'm not going to link to them because I've come to the point where I realised this is NOT going to be the story I publish. Again. Sigh. The concept is just too grand for my brain at this stage right now. In a few years when I'm a bit more wordly wise, maybe I can go back to it and make it publishable. For now, I'm happy to use the completed manuscript for editing practice.

And boy, do I need the practice. Of all the millions of stories I've written over the years (see: five), not once have I gone back to any of them and given them a major makeover with my editing wand. So I'm new to the editing gig. And it's difficult. Especially those pesky plot holes.

Quarter life crisis

In a week and a half I'll enter my twenties. Two decades of life. What. The. Hell.

How could age just sneak up on me like this? It's just rude, that's what it is. Unforgivably rude. Becoming 20 won't be like turning 16 for me: I'm not about to pack up my toys and pretend I'm an adult. Being 20 won't award me any new responsibilities.

At 13 I was a teenager for the first time. Yay! At 14 I was officially in charge of buckling my own seat belt and I could have been held for 24 months for a criminal offence (hypothetically speaking, of course).

At 15 I could totally go to the cinema and watch films rated 15. I did this. A lot. I felt so badass (I was deceived; all the films were rubbish). At 16 I could apply for legal aid, choose my own doctor, order my own passport, join the army, play the lottery, get married (with parental consent), leave school (I had already finished school by the time I was 16 so, you know, not really a useful law for a summer babe), drink wine, beer or cider in a pub or restaurant (with a meal - if I was with an adult) and so much more.

You may now begin

Last post, I was overwhelmed with feelings of positivity and optimism. I was a different person, supposedly. And I am, sort of. I mean, I've stuck to my workout schedule. I gathered more research for my dissertation. I even started a new hobby (gardening, for those of you who are curious)! But what about my writing?

It's not that I haven't been writing - of course I have. I just haven't been writing the things I intended to. New story plan? Check. A few new poems? Double check. My WIP that is actually almost finished? Uhm...

But it's okay! Really, it is. This morning I woke up to this tweet and it totally spurred me on:

If you need me, I'll be busy writing.

Liberation.

At Trebbia River

My time in Italy was freeing. I went with my bestie and we stayed in her dad's place on the edge of Milan. How many times did we go into Milan city? Once. And we only bought food and crystals, not even clothes.

The rest of the time we spent in natural places. We hiked up a mountain, sat by a lake and relaxed on a river. I spent so much time in nature, admiring nature, immersing myself in nature - it was like I was seeing my Sensibility & Romanticism module in a physical form. I wrote a lot out there. I was inspired.

The bestie is pretty spiritual and has been teaching me bits and pieces of how to be happy by trusting the Law of Attraction and your inner being and such. It's quite useful for managing the day to day stressors of life and has helped me a lot in the past couple of years. During our time in Italy, we even did some mediation (without even meaning to, I think). I could feel myself changing, growing in strength and character. I was, essentially, becoming an independent being. A true Electric Lady, maybe. (Definitely.)

This morning I woke up with the sun and went jogging. Then I ate some fruit (every meal is an opportunity to eat fruit in Italy, apparently) and did productive things with my day. It was beautiful and I'm happy to be back home, if only to apply the lessons Italy taught me. Not only in my life but also in my writing.

Boy, do I have things to write about! Butterflies have suddenly taken on a huge significance in my symbolism pool. I've also managed to figure out the skeleton of the plot for my next story. It will be awesome - but first I've got to complete my current one. And, y'know, edit it and stuff. Not to mention that dissertation which I'm currently researching. I've got lots to get done this summer and I'm looking forward to all of it!

Where am I?

I am this close to completing the first draft of my current WIP. The one I have sweated blood over since September, worrying about the execution and if any of it was even feasible. Spoiler: it was! At this current moment I have two chapters left until the whole thing is done. Then shall begin the aching process of editing. I am both eager and fearful of what is to come.

Not to mention I still have to work on my dissertation. And by "work on" I mean "start preparing for". I want to be in the best position when classes roll around again which means planning in advance. I got my grades today and I'm not entirely happy with them. Mostly because it took my about fifteen minutes to understand them and then another five to realise that it is lower than what I got last year. So it might be possibly that my story won't get priority this summer, as I plan to work at least 20% more than I have, which will balance out my grade - hopefully. Gah. I'll probably end up like this by the end of summer:

So there's that to look forward to. Hooray!

On a slightly less crazed note, I'm off to Italy in a few days so won't be around to update my blog until the 22nd. See you all then!

This is not a blog post.

Just a link to something science fiction vs fantasy related.

Book before the film

Or in this case, manga before the anime? I recently made a trip to the local library with the intention of taking out some graphic novels after the pressures of going to the bank made me feel too adult. By chance I came across the first volume of Attack On Titan, which I had heard a lot of hype about - although it was about the anime series. On a whim, I decided to give it a go, knowing it was going to involve more gore than I usually allowed myself to experience.

It was a surprisingly good read. I cared about the characters instantly, after seeing them interact and the trauma they went through together. Their fears and anxieties were real and I really wanted them to succeed. Especially Armin, that sweetie. There was just enough background information about the Titans to keep me engaged but not so much that I nodded off halfway through. Although there were a few pages of diagrams for the new technologies that I could have done without.

As for the first episode of the anime? Everyone says the book is always better than the film and my cousin firmly believes you should watch the film first, so it doesn't ruin it when you get round to the awesomeness of the book (I only followed that advice for The Secret Life of Bees and felt like a traitor to my bookish origins).

The first episode of the anime sticks pretty close to the manga, though it covers much less ground than volume 1. At the end of volume 1, we see Eren, Mikasa and Armin five years after the first attack in one hundred years. At the end of the first episode, we see Eren's mum getting eaten by a Titan. Yum.

The anime makes no attempt to change the fundamental core of the manga, which is a good idea when it works. It does in this case, probably because of the visual nature of manga. The animation of the series really enhanced the gruesomeness of the Titans as well as the drama of the attack. Some of the problems that I encountered with the manga had crossed over to the anime, I found. I still didn't like Eren much until he sees his mum get eaten and I still have no idea who Mikasa is to Eren. Friend? Cousin? It's not really clear...

Anyway, my verdict? If you really want to check out what Attack On Titan is all about, neither the manga nor the anime is any less impressive. I'd say go for the manga if you want to control how long you're dedicating to exploring the story and the anime if you're ready to commit to 25-minute episodes at a time.

Not the Titan that eats Eren's
mum, but still quite scary in the anime.

The idea of 'cool'

When it comes to characters, I tend to start with a basic motivation and then tease out their characteristics from there. That includes appearance, personality, family history and background (what their life was like before the story). Usually appearance is the least important, which means I can swap their essentials with other characters or even merge them with existing characters if I have too many floating around.

That being said, some aspects of a character's appearance are important. Like, say one of the characters fights monsters for a living. It's not going to be very practical if their hair is described as "long and worn loose, the split ends dangling down to greet her mid-back" because it will just get in their way when they're working. Possibly also get spattered by monster juices and things. That character would be better off having hair either tied up all the time or very short. Like a buzz cut. Right? Right.

But what about other things, like dress style or miscellaneous appearance details? If it doesn't affect the story, how do you resist making a character who embodies everything you think is cool? I, for example, happen to think that a character doesn't get any cooler than wearing an eyepatch. It probably has something to do with me wanting to be a pirate when I was younger. And yet despite this, I have yet to create a single one-eyed character in any of my writing, be it short story, poem, multi-chapter. It's just too cool for me to seriously consider.

Although, I have been flirting with the idea recently. I'm trying to resurrect a story I wrote when I was twelve about a witch, a vampire and a human (oh my!) but I'm trying to give it a plot with more substance. One of the new characters I've been developing does - funny how this works out - fight monsters for a living and has a shaven head. But I wonder if this couldn't be The One: the character to finally adorn that oh-so-cool eyepatch. It would make sense. She's been fighting monsters for ten years and is bound to have some physical deformities to show for it. That she'll have scars is a given. But an eyepatch? Is that just a step too far?

I don't know. I suppose I will when I get 'round to ironing out the kinks of this reboot, which has only gotten as far as character names and basics. And an idea for the ending. I guess I'll just have to see what fits the story and if it seems like a forced push for coolness, I'll leave the eyepatch off.Even if it is really, really cool.

It won't pay the bills but...

My photography skills aren't that great. Sorry.

Last weekend was the first Short Story Festival in London. I had tickets for a beginning and end talk, but missed the beginning due to a friend's birthday. I made sure I forced myself to make it to the closing, which was on Sunday. It was held in Waterstone's - the big one in Piccadilly Circus. The specific event was titled "In Praise of the Short Story" and it consisted of three writers reading one of their short stories to us and then discussing their technique with the host writer, Alex Preston. I took away a lot - and now I'm going to share it with you.

A.L. Kennedy introduced herself as a "short Scottish person" and "savagely un-commercial" and was immediately likeable. She told us writing is an odd life decision to make because it has so few rewards and the ultimate aim is respect. Her reading was funny, uplifting and I found her stance on love to be greatly imaginative and at times, clinical, which is an interesting take on the concept.

(Around the time Kennedy had finished reading, I noticed a few people crouched behind the bookshelves, trying to listen in without being seen. Which was ridiculous. You were supposed to buy tickets but I applied for a freebie and got one - and then nobody checked my ticket. So anyone could have sat down at the event. Ah well.)