Unprepared? Who, me?

It's confession time. This coming Wednesday (February 26th) is the next Jawdance event at Rich Mix. I'm pumped, really I am. But I err, haven't practised my poem. And I've told people to come watch me. Important people - well, important to me anyway. Sensei Sharena and another of my teachers in writing. Why haven't I practised? Well that's a good question actually. My excuses look a little something like this:

1. It's reading week so I'm on a break from essay deadlines, speed reading and pretending to be an intellectual. I'm trying to relax a little before my end of year exams and final draft deadlines approach and threaten to throttle me.

2. Sims 3 can take up 5 hours of my time before I even realise I'm sitting in a room that has a clock. And that's on a good day. This is why I only play video games when I'm on a term break.

3. I am an idiot - I thought we knew this by now?

4. LIFE. Just, LIFE. Who knew it could be so difficult juggling everything that goes on around me? I start work in a school the same day Jawdance is on. That's right: in a school. I'm only helping out with A Level students once a week for a couple of hours but it's way more official than anything I've ever done. Plus, a couple of days ago I got an email from my university about dissertations. DISSERTATIONS. I'm only nineteen dammit, I shouldn't be expected to take so much stress on board with a smiley face and a wink. Don't even get me started on the complexities of my non-existent love life.

Wednesday definitely promises to be interesting, I'll give it that. I'll practice by performing.

What George Orwell thought

I recently and quite accidentally signed myself up to work with A-Level students as part of my part-time, choose-your-own-hours job. I'm not sure how it happened, but I am EXHAUSTED. And I haven't even started yet, yesterday was a sort of practice with Psychology students. Please don't ask how I managed to get into that when I'm an English Lit undergrad. There isn't a lot I do know about myself these days. I'm just rolling with it.

Anyway since yes, I'm very tired, here are six things George Orwell wrote in a text I had to read for a class this week. I thought it was all very applicable to my writing.

i. Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.

ii. Never use a long word where a short one will do.

iii. If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.

iv. Never use the passive where you can use the active.

v. Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.

vi. Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

-George Orwell

The second voice

I finished editing the first half of my WIP and have returned to writing it - in theory. I went across the snippet of draft and fixed some issues (most notably erasing an unnecessary character and setting up another as an even bigger jerk). I had a breather and relaxed a bit but now I'm stuck. You see, I've decided to begin this section of the story using a different character's perspective...

It's hard. In reality, I've never done something like this before. I mean, I've dabbled with alternate perspectives but that was on a chapter-by-chapter basis. This is completely different to anything I've ever done. Injecting a new voice halfway through the story? Talk about risky.

I know it's a risk. It might not even work out. It will make things difficult for me. But I'm not afraid of the challenge, because I know just how important it will be for this particular story. I just somehow have to get started on it.

I've already got the main foundations for what I want to do. I know the characters well and know what will happen. In theory (there's that phrase again) I'm ready for what must be done. And yet I'm still hesitating. I've spent so long in the head of my first MC that it's proving difficult to get out of it. Last week I had a dream that involved the first MC forcing me to run laps in a parallel universe. Then she confessed she wasn't sure if she really existed. I'm not sure if that's a comment on my writing or what, but a couple of nights ago I dreamt I was the second MC. Now, I'm not sure if that was any better than the first dream because I had to watch the first MC die, but whatever.

Thinking about it now, the dream was probably my brain telling me that I can be in the second MC's head if I just lose my connection with the first. Or let her die, metaphorically. Or something. Man, this is starting to feel like my old Psychology class. You know, that one lesson we did on dream interpretations. My head hurts now with all this psychoanalysing of myself. I think I'll just force myself to get writing and stop trying to figure out how I'll do it.

Editing.

I recently stayed up for three nights in a row, writing like a demon. My progress on my WIP went from casual to intense in just one weekend. I relied on hot chocolate (with a spoonful of coffee), sheer will, and my Sony stereo headphones to drown out the sound of my cousin snoring.

And then it all turned to shit when I realised I had come to the Halfway Point of No Return. Somebody please go back in time to get my past self to explain why she thought it was a good idea to write "GO BACK AND EDIT ALL PREVIOUS CHAPTERS BEFORE MOVING ON, TERRI" in my plan? It's not as if I can just ignore the advice because I know it needs editing. The thing is a mess. For some inexplicable reason (I'm an idiot), I didn't edit each chapter as I went along like I used to do when writing a story so now I have a huge chunk to go through. Oh joy.

Creative exercise

A couple of months ago I was having lunch with a friend who does English and Creative Writing and asked him about his course (since I do straight English and was curious). He told me about an exercise they had done in class using characters from a WIP. It was split in three parts: write about something a character is ashamed of, write about two characters discussing this using no more than five words per each dialogue and finally, write about two characters discussing the shameful thing without making it obvious what they are talking about. I decided to have a go at it. It was written in about three minutes over lunch:

"You know your cousin? asked Masika, suddenly striking up conversation.

"Yes..." Farren didn't bother to look up from the course she was plotting on the map.

"He's a bit..."

"Yes?" Farren asked sharply.

"He's not normal," said Masika finally.

"I'm aware," replied Farren.

"Really not normal." Masika wanted to stress this point.

Performing literature

This week I went to another poetry reading-type event dubbed "live literature", only this one was for poetry, books, scripts, music and film. Don't ask me how it all falls under the umbrella of literature, ask my university which was where it was being held.

I was having a good conversation with a new friend (think crow grudges and toilet paper usage - no, really), the first performances were brilliant and then someone famous walked in.

Yes, that's right: someone famous.

Okay, they're probably not super famous. You've probably never heard of them but I was freaking OUT. Especially since it was his book I had asked my mum for and received for Christmas. His name? Anthony Joseph.

It wasn't so strange he was there. It was after all a "live literature" event and he had graduated from my university. I just hadn't expected to see him there - it was a relatively small venue, it had started late and to be honest, there weren't a lot of people there who weren't performing. But it was totally cool he was there because, as I said, I freaked out with excitement. And bragged to my friends who were with me. And my friend's flatmate, who I barely know. Yes indeed, I was feeling pretty good about my whimsical decision to attend that performance event.

Then at the end, Mr Joseph got up and performed new material. I think I had an internal spasm attack of pure joy. It was superb. I was spellbound. Hypnotised. But most of all, I was inspired. It was really interesting to hear him read poetry about his place of origin - Trinidad. I think that heritage connection allowed me to take his poetry more personally and I was able to relate to him in a way that I've never done before with a poet. It was a glorious feeling, made all the more special when I went up to Mr Joseph at the end and shook his hand.

Okay, that didn't happen. I didn't speak to him, I didn't even make eye contact. I left twenty minutes before the end because it was starting to get boring and my friends wanted to leave. Perhaps there will be another event where I will bump into Anthony Joseph and we can exchange business cards. That way we can work up a regular correspondence, I can become his protégé and soar into fame under his guidance. Yeah, I can totally see it happening.

First step: getting a business card.