I decided to do an MA in Creative Writing for purely logistical reasons: I needed to move my writing into the centre stage of my already hectic life. And as with most things, it has taken me a while to get into the groove of being a student again. You know the basics like securing funding, remembering to hand in homework on time (trickier than pinching water) , understanding what is expected of me etc - but now that I am close to the end of the first term it's all falling into place.
I've heard some say that creative writing can't be taught and that these courses churn out clone-like writers. Not sure I have the know how or the energy to refute any of that except to say that they (whoever) would have a hard time cloning the folk on my course. Anyway, back to the MA and its illuminations. So far I am learning that:
1. Good writing is different from good story telling
2. Getting structure right can be boring but your great story is a mass of confusion without proper organisation
3. Writing in slang or vernacular can be the death knell. Fake it and your reader will scream: pastiche!
4. Don't be an idiot - listen to criticism - most of it is constructive
5. You can't be a writer without writing
6. Your ground breaking experimental style will only work if you show that you have mastered the conventional rules of story telling
7. Writing is reading is writing is reading is writing is reading
8. That Gladwell guy who said 10000 hours practice makes you perfect was right. You just have to keep on re-writing until the shit sings off the page
9. Student bars were all designed and decorated by the same person
Friday, 28 November 2008
Wednesday, 12 November 2008
One man's curse...
Faced with a long list of changes that (in theory) will take my book from 'good' to 'brilliant', I poured myself a large glass of Cab Sav and wondered again why I want to be a writer.
Because seriously man, this itch to write is like a curse. On days like today, I feel sure that I could choose to do anything else: cake baking, hat-making, belly dancing...even cleaning fish and be more in control of the time it would take to deliver a satisfactory outcome.
I mean, here I am with a head full of words, characters waiting to be written, stories aching to pour from my finger tips to the lap top, yet this running-about-town busy-busy living makes it so hard. I am running into coffee shops, sparking up the laptop to tap out fifty words then going on to something else. Lord knows why I'm not the fittest person I know with all that nonsense. Even with a team of foot masseurs and secretaries I'd still be exhausted.
But what's the alternative? I've tried the full time writing gig and it don't work. The only good thing about that period in my life was, the amount of time I was able to spend with The Child...but then I began to worry about cash....
Still, life is full of choices. And I choose scribbling. Morning, noon and night. I just need an average of 5 more hours in the day to write and do my job properly. It's not too much to ask for in the general scheme of things. Some people want botox and boob jobs.
Really, there should be a law against anything that stands in the way of someone's dream. There should be a law and a prison sentence. Hell, there should be cruel and unusual punishment involving, chilli and eyeballs,jeering crowds and wild drumming, grandmothers begging for forgiveness and new mothers swearing to protect their babes from such evil....
Someone on WW, who is way smarter than me, put it very eloquently: Writing is all about Time Time Time. That and a thick skin. And patience. And a gift for story telling. And writing. And reading. And you know what? When I'm in the zone and the words are arranging themselves so that the story plays out like a film with life-like characters and every single detail in sharp relief? Hooyah! When it's as good as that? Then writing is da bomb.
Because seriously man, this itch to write is like a curse. On days like today, I feel sure that I could choose to do anything else: cake baking, hat-making, belly dancing...even cleaning fish and be more in control of the time it would take to deliver a satisfactory outcome.
I mean, here I am with a head full of words, characters waiting to be written, stories aching to pour from my finger tips to the lap top, yet this running-about-town busy-busy living makes it so hard. I am running into coffee shops, sparking up the laptop to tap out fifty words then going on to something else. Lord knows why I'm not the fittest person I know with all that nonsense. Even with a team of foot masseurs and secretaries I'd still be exhausted.
But what's the alternative? I've tried the full time writing gig and it don't work. The only good thing about that period in my life was, the amount of time I was able to spend with The Child...but then I began to worry about cash....
Still, life is full of choices. And I choose scribbling. Morning, noon and night. I just need an average of 5 more hours in the day to write and do my job properly. It's not too much to ask for in the general scheme of things. Some people want botox and boob jobs.
Really, there should be a law against anything that stands in the way of someone's dream. There should be a law and a prison sentence. Hell, there should be cruel and unusual punishment involving, chilli and eyeballs,jeering crowds and wild drumming, grandmothers begging for forgiveness and new mothers swearing to protect their babes from such evil....
Someone on WW, who is way smarter than me, put it very eloquently: Writing is all about Time Time Time. That and a thick skin. And patience. And a gift for story telling. And writing. And reading. And you know what? When I'm in the zone and the words are arranging themselves so that the story plays out like a film with life-like characters and every single detail in sharp relief? Hooyah! When it's as good as that? Then writing is da bomb.
Wednesday, 5 November 2008
Oh Happy Day!
Today we can all stand a little taller and laugher a little louder at anyone who has ever scoffed at our aspirations because we weren't the right colour, size, creed, social class.....whatever. Today is our day.
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