Tag Archives: fiction

What Will Be Your Creative Legacy?

I stand at the beginning of my writing journey, still wearing in the new shoes of “writer” and attending to the blisters on my heels with Band Aids.

I look forward down the road where other writers have been and look at the legacy they have left behind. I read the graffiti scrawled on the walls of the underpasses and bridges of commentators and critics, other readers and writers and come to understand the place of writers and storytellers, the mischief-makers of language and those who guard its legitimacy with fervour and zeal.

What Will Be Your Creative Legacy?

As I walk, I wonder what my creative legacy will be. Will my words live on beyond me in tomes of dead trees or digital imprint?

I’m not sure I really care because I want to leave a different legacy.

The essence of creativity is not to leave a body of work but to leave a legacy of relationships.

Through digital connections and real life conversations I’ve made great relationships. As a writer, I’ve made connections with people who are further along the journey than me who are willing to share their insight and input even if it’s limited by 140 characters. I’ve met other writers who I walk along side, encouraging, supporting and cheering on for their successes and offering Band Aids and support when needed.

And it is my hope to offer to new writers the same support and encouragement I received when I started writing. Everyone needs someone to champion your creative cause: writing, music, art, dance, film, photography, business or sport.

Your champion will provide encouragement when it appears hardest and swift kick in the backside when you’re slacking off.

Your champion will smile and nod when you tell them your latest crazy idea and won’t be afraid to ask how you’ll be able to pull it off.

Your champion will trumpet your success and commiserate your failure (and later on, make it an object lesson so you learn from your mistakes).

Be A Champion and Leave a Legacy

And then there will come a time when you will become the champion for someone else because it is the biggest and best thing you can do.

I want to ensure my character lasts longer than my words (although it would be nice if my words and works were recognised, too).

I want to create a community where we champion each other’s causes whether it’s writing, music, art, dance, film, photography, business or sport because it is more blessed to give than to receive and it fulfills the commandment to ‘love thy neighbour as thyself.’ 

Go the extra step; offer the jacket when you’re asked for the shirt.

Champion someone’s creative cause.

Can I offer you a Band Aid?

Letting Go in Creativity and Writing

Letting Go in Creativity And Writing

As a writer I look for great examples of creativity and approaches to art, whether it is writing, art, film, photography, dance, as sources of inspiration, technique or information.

I came across this video, initially drawn to it by the chalk art, but listening to the artist’s approach I saw it had applicability to writing. It confronted me about how as a writer I am attached to my words. It made me view the permanency of my words in a different light and to become less attached to them.

Watch the video here: Hand Drawn Chalk Art

As a writer, I want the words I write to have an existence beyond when I write them.

This video has taught me to let go of it, to understand I can erase and rewrite.

The process becomes important; the writing, drafting and editing until what I have left is a permanent record of what I do and say.

But even then I cannot be too precious about my words. When my words are read they will be interpreted, reinterpreted and misinterpreted; quoted and misquoted. And I’m cool with that.

For example, I wrote a piece of flash fiction, “The History of a Relationship As Told By A Mix Tape of U2 Songs.” It is in the reader’s interpretation of the song titles to make meaning. It doesn’t require knowledge of U2 songs, but if you know them it does enhance the story. I could have used almost any other band’s back catalogue for the same purpose; now I am imagining a story told by Pink Floyd song titles.

I have quoted some of the statements made in the video and make their connection and application to writing and the writing process.

“With paper, you’re using white paper or a toned paper and you’re going darker in value, which means you’re going black. On the chalkboard it’s already black so you’re working in the opposite way; you’re bringing your highlights to the front.”

The white paper or the white screen of a new document is often a terrifying prospect for the writer. Once you have reached “The End” of the first draft you are confronted with the darkness of the page inscribed with words. The editing process is like drawing on a chalkboard, bringing the highlights to the front, seeing the essence of the scene and the story and paring away what is not required.

“It’s about the biggest shape to the smallest shape. It’s about the big picture, not about the smallest detail… What is the biggest shape you see?”

Whether you plan everything in minute detail or let the wind blow past your bare butt cheeks as you fly merrily along where the plot and characters take you, there is still a simple premise and focus of the narrative. Developing a log line or brief statement about your work in progress means you have the really simple shape outlined. From there it is filling in the blanks and adding detail.

“Dynamic sketching – it’s about the interpretation of really simple shapes.”

When I am writing a new story, I like to know the end from the beginning, and have some of the points in between mapped out. This gives me the big picture, the biggest shape of the story. If I get focused on the little details, the motifs, symbols, characterisation, I lose sight of the big picture. Each of these details is an interpretation of the simple shape of the story arc.

“Because I enjoy the process more than the finished product, I can erase, I can let go of it… When you can let go of it, you can give yourself to it, give it focus.”

This is what first drafts are for. They are called ‘brain vomit,’ ‘word explosions,’ ‘smearing the alphabet with wild abandon.’ Call it what you will, the process is important. The finished product is a culmination of the process but if you’re too focused on the end, to be able to say, “I gave birth to this novel,” you won’t let go and you’ll focus on word counts, sentence structure and wickedly crafted metaphors to be the doyen of your writing group. You have to know when something isn’t working and not be afraid to excise it from your manuscript. It may be a character, a plot point, symbolism, dialogue, or sentences of description.

“When you’re too limited by how you think about your pieces, your pieces become limited as well.”

Letting go of preconceived ideas about the purpose of your narrative allows you to explore the ideas further, rather than being restricted in the parameters you have established. Let the narrative breath on its own rather than relying on you to breath for it, compressing its chest in the vain hope it will be revived.

In the words of Princess Leia to Grand Moff Tarkin, “The more you tighten your grip, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.”

Hold onto your work loosely but keep a firm hold. Be prepared to let it go if necessary and never lose sight of the big picture.

How tightly do you hold onto your words? Are you prepared to let go?

Car Park Symphony

Car Park Symphony

Friday Flash

Opus 39

Prelude

He pulled into the car park as dusk gathered her skirts and rustled them like autumn leaves around the gutters and across the playground.

First Movement

With the keys removed from the ignition the radio ceased its duet with the engine. The keys jingled quietly until muted in his palm.

Second Movement

The staccato squeak of swings and the arpeggio laughter of two toddlers formed the opening prelude as he walked to the boot of the car.

Third Movement

In the open the boot he rigged a music stand, attached a light and pegged down the music before opening the case and taking out his violin.

Fourth Movement

Cradling the violin under his chin he plucked the strings to tune midst an abrasive chorus of screeching lorikeets roosting.

Fifth Movement

He rested the bow against the strings, pausing to listen to the sounds surrounding him. A smile formed on his lips as he added his own song.

Sixth Movement

His song finished as the orange and red blended into velvet blue. The lorikeets were silent and the swings had ceased their metronomic pulse.

Seventh Movement

The toddlers stood hand-in-hand, eyes focused on the violin. He bowed and they ran back to their mothers. The music echoed in their footsteps.

A Thought’s Reliquary

A Thought’s Reliquary

Friday Flash 19 July, 2013

 

I.

He opened the notebook, the creak of cracking cardboard a writer’s melody.
“I see you have yourself a reliquary,” said Grandfather.

“Amen.”

 

II.

Proofs of holy writ, held within the ink of the pen, waited for the opening incantation. He paused and found no words. Was he a heretic?

 

III.

The first words were important and they rushed from the pen; not so much writing as scribbling random thoughts in search of a repository.

 

IV.

Shuffled sheets in a lectionary of unrequited (or unsent) love letters, parables of adolescent anxiety and beatitudes of pop song lyricists,

 

V.

Scratched sonnets and ambling discourses with a hip-hop feel competed for space between the lines. An epistolary apocryphal gospel at best.

 

VI.

He rested the pen between the pages in the crook of the hymnal’s spine, a genuflection, as the last sentence dried in the valley’s shadows.

 

VII.

As the cover of the notebook closed it murmured, sighed through paper exhalations, as one who held their breath waiting for the benediction.

The Lines (Very Short Story)

Decades away from a colouring book, he paused the pencil above the page’s lines of demarcation. He questioned: inside the lines or out?

In the light of last week’s post, Colouring Outside the Lines, I wrote this piece of twitfic.

How would you tell a story about learning something new? Write it in the comments.

The Tap (Very Short Fiction)

He watched the tap dripping, spanner in hand while his thumb rubbed against his wedding band. To fix the leak would destroy the charm.
Twitfic, twitter fiction, is a challenge to write a story in 140 characters or less.
Is it really a story?
Can you have a beginning, a middle and an end in such a tightly defined space?
It’s taking a snapshot of a moment within a narrative, a held breath implying the breadth and depth of the narrative within a few short sentences.
Last year I tried my hand at a few, The Slap and Polaroid Memories, and will continue to write and post them here on the blog.
Giving parameters to your creativity can liberate your thinking and provide new opportunities to produce new work.
Have a go at writing one yourself.
Post them in the comments.

Creativity is the Mother Tongue

Victor Wooten delivered this talk to TEDx Gabriola Island. He is a remarkable musician, master of the bass and a genuine and erudite educator.

The focus of his talk is music as a language. Listen carefully and you will learn.

I want to take his words and comment on them as they apply to other creative arts: writing and art.

Creativity (writing, art, film and music) is a language. Learn to speak a different tongue. Or in some cases, we need to relearn to speak our mother tongue.

Victor Wooten – Music as a Language (click link to view the talk)

I have taken excerpts from his talk, either quoted directly or paraphrased, and extrapolated their application to other artistic endeavours such as writing and art.

Your first language is not taught. People spoke to you. You were allowed to speak back – creativity should be learned with your mother tongue. Give children pencils and paper and allow them to speak in their own way. Give yourself pencils and paper and find your mother tongue again.

Beginners are not allowed to play with the masters – in music, the beginner and the amateur are separated from the genius of the master, able to watch but not participate. In all aspects of creativity we should learn from and participate alongside the masters.

As a baby, you’re jamming with language. Not made to sit in a corner and practice; not corrected when you’re wrong. Even to the point your parents learn the new way of speaking. You remain free in how you talk. When you could hear it (language), you started learning – Language is a freedom we have, a freedom of expression. Creativity is another freedom of expression. Learning language is immersive; we are around it all the time and learn the nuances from what we hear.

Growing up in Hawaii, Victor learned to play not by being given an instrument, but by being played to. A plastic stool was there for him to sit on and so he sat and listened. When older he was given something to hold – even before we understand what creativity is, how we should hold a pencil or a paintbrush, we must immerse ourselves in creativity activities and involve our children so they too, learn the language. When we surround ourselves with creativity we internalise the language.

Music is a pure voice. We want to teach the rules and the instrument first. We teach to play the instrument before they understand music. Learning to play music, not the instrument. Knowing the phrases, tones etc, learning – when we instigate boundaries and restrictions, demonstrate how-to or chastise for what we perceive as incorrect, we must stop and let the creativity flow from within. When our children see, and when we see, the joy flowing from the creativity within, we understand the process. The rules and techniques are there to serve as a creative conduit, not the tool itself.

When he was finally given a bass to play, Victor was playing to songs he already knew. He has listened and internalised the music. Therefore music flowed through the instrument. He was musical first, learning to talk not about learning the instrument first. It’s about what you have to say. He learned how to speak through his instrument – when our children have been given opportunity to be creative with great freedom, given the chance to express themselves, they will find their voice to speak clearly.

Practicing works but it is a slow process – practice alone for the sake of practice will develop skills but we will learn more when we participate in community and learn to speak with our own voice.

Children are born with freedom. A lot of us are taught out of our musical freedom when we’re first given a lesson because a teacher rarely finds out why we’re there in the first place. Playing air guitar where there’s no right and wrong. It’s not about right and wrong notes; they’re playing because it feels right

A woman said to me, “I’m Ella Fitzgerald when I’m in the shower.” And she’s right. The freedom we have a child is grown out of us, but we need to find a way to keep the freedom. Approach music like a language and allow it to keep that freedom, to keep the smile on the face, and not taken away by lessons – Creativity is expressive freedom and we would do well to instil into our children the freedom of creativity.

What does the world need with another good musician? *insert own creative choice here* It has become a lifestyle. To be a good musician, you have to be a good listener – this is good life advice. Choose your words wisely before you speak, or better still, saying nothing at all. It’s not all about you, or me; it’s about the people around us.

If you want music to come out of you, out of your instrument, you have to put it into you – do not let the well run dry. Fill it at every opportunity from whatever source.

If I use my greatness in the right way, it can help others rise up. If you’re on a pedastal, don’t come down, bring them up so they can see and they’ll grow faster – help others to find their creative voice if they have lost it. Create community to help others grow. Better still teach your children to be creative so they never lose their voice.

We speak our mother tongue verbally and artistically.

For some, we need to find our voice again.

For others, it is strengthening their voice.

Creativity is our mother tongue. Let people hear your voice.

The Fence Between My Fingers

I peer between the fractured fingers of the old paling fence, the common connection of our backyards. The weathered wood splays out with lichen fingernails and mossy knuckles.

Putting my foot on the bottom rail I push up. I can just loop my fingers over the top and my lips move closer to the splintered wood, riddled with deepening cracks of age and ants in their travels. I hear it creak as it takes my added weight. The fence bears it like I’m in my father’s arms, leaning against the strain.

I imagine your hair smells like the jasmine and the wisteria crowning the fence; tangled threads and strands of green shot through with sprigs of white flowers and clusters of purple reminding me of grapes.

I peer into your backyard catching slatted snippets of sight. Squinting one eye I can see the clothesline turning slowly in the breeze. And I wonder which t-shirt belongs to you; there is a new one on the line I don’t recognise. Maybe you have some new undies too. Mum bought me Superman undies and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle ones.

There’s your bike leaning against the house. And you’re riding without training wheels now.

The fence is biting into my fingers and I let go, dropping back to the grass. But I look through the slatted wall again, my nose pressed into the fence. Your back door opens and I run back to mine afraid you might see me.

I wonder if you sometimes look into my backyard.

Why Shouldn’t I Continue to Read Your Novel?

Why Shouldn’t I Continue To Read Your Novel?

Coming across a couple of posts recently about when a writer/reader gives up reading a novel, I noticed a trend when a writer/reader will stop:  

  • when there’s little or no action to propel the narrative
  • lingering descriptions of ennui or minutiae (or the weather)
  • back story or info dumping (yes, I agree with this)
  • bad writing (yes, I’ll stop reading too)

The current literary aesthetic favours action over reflection, sacrificing the evocative power of language for a fast-food mentality of plot and writing.

Why not let language and words evoke scene, history and character idiosyncrasies, rather than simply pushing a plot along?

Literature is about plot and character and narrative tension, but it’s also about exploring the ennui of life, and why they are important, and the macro aspects of grand overarching themes in minute detail.

I want to read a fast-paced action story and I want to read a story that lingers on the little, unimportant things. I can have both. Trends be damned.

I want to enter the world the author has created, to see how they see the world and enjoy their word play, not consigned to reading a novel written within an artificial and constricted set of literary rules.

Writing is as much about observing and recording life’s details and universal abstract concepts as it is in participating and communicating, being involved with others, doing the action, and reading should be the same.

What If I Don’t “Make It?”

What if I don’t make it?

This is a question that confronts every new and emerging writer. 

I am a new and emerging writer and I have confronted it.

Armed with a new pen, a Moleskine notebook and a dream, you set out to become a writer. But at some point the blind ambition comes face to face with the reality of the publishing industry.

It’s like having an experience with a face hugger from the movie Alien; you know at some point a xenomorph will burst out of your chest, killing you and then feed on the remnants of your dream of being a writer.

Despite every scrap of determination, every skerrick of aptitude, every committed moment of diligence, every hour of writing spent honing your craft, every fortune cookie predicting an ambiguous uncertainty of guaranteed success, there is no guarantee of you “making it” as a writer.

Alan Baxter recently hosted a blog series, The Ongoing Angst of Successful Writers, with six authors, all of whom still carry the fear of “What if I’m not good enough?”

Even though they have “made it,” based on their own standards, there is still a fear. Go and read the conclusions then work your way through the different authors. You will cheer and weep and know you’re not alone.

So what chances do I have as a new and emerging writer to “make it?”

The same chance they did.

How will I define if I have “made it?”

I see on social media reports of authors who carved out a successful blogging career and turned it into fiction or non-fiction book deal and have gone on to financially successful careers.

And they make it sound SO EASY! “I wrote a book, it was picked up by an agent and sold to the highest bidder. And I’ve sold 1,000,000 copies and now have a three book advance deal.”

I have had two short stories published in anthologies, had a vignette published, and have three stories offered for free on Ether Books app (see the Publications page). Nothing to rock the world, but it’s a start.

“Making it” implies financial success, selling stories, novellas and/or novels, whatever literary form you care to think of.

“Making it” implies critical acclaim and public praise.

And, yes, I want these things. I want to be financially successful and have critical acclaim and public praise.

But…

  • I have never made a sale for a short story.
  • I have not won a respected or prestigious competition (or even a disreputable one).
  • I have not finished writing my first novel.

Not a great start. Yet there are more fears lurking.

  • What if I never finish a novel? And assuming I finish a novel, what if I never sell it?
  • Will I write a second novel? A third? A fourth? What if they don’t sell either?
  • What if I NEVER sell a short story, a novella or a novel?
  • What if I never *fill in the blank here*?

Trying to answer the question of “Have I ‘made it’?” is akin to trying to catch a fart in a cyclone.

I want to make it. I want to sell short stories, and just like known authors, experience rejection.

I am committed to improving my craft, developing my art and telling good stories. I will have tried my hardest. I will have written to the best of my aptitude and skill; learned what I can from whomever and wherever to ensure my work is the best it can be to have every chance to be considered.

I’m going to make damn sure I give it everything I am to have a crack at “making it.”

But if I don’t make it, I don’t mind.

Because…

Despite everything looking like a failure, I will continue to write.

This is how I know I will have ‘made it.’ I will have continued despite the “failure.”

When I’ve “made it” financially or critically, I’ll let you know.

If I don’t make it, I’m ok with that.

I won’t be ok if I have failed to continue writing.