Clockwork Orange

I swam after work today. I didn’t want to. It was overcast and cool but still, I went. I chose ‘the orange’. This ‘orange’ term has recently surfaced in my life. It came about one night as I struggled trying to make a choice. Eat the chocolates and feel guilty or eat the orange and feel good. The logic was simple. The chocolates were nicer, tasted better, were easier to eat – but in the long run, not as good for me. I deliberated for a long, long time. The cold escaping from the fridge as I stared into that snow white wonderland full of tasty promise. I wondered how it might feel to go against my greater good and actually dismiss the chocolates. I tried it. I chose the orange. And it was good. So good, in fact that I applied the ‘orange’ test to other choices.  I came to see that exercising will power felt good and got things done.

Today, about to head for home, I stared into a grey and gloomy sky. As the wind whipped about me, I silently declared it wasn’t swimming weather. I considered heading home and bedding down upon the couch beside the dog, with a good book in hand. The image formed, soft and plump and comfy in my head. A feel good image. But then I saw the orange. My chosen symbol representing choice. The proof that exercising will power leads me to a better place, every time.

I lingered for a bit on the front step. Dodged the gusts and waited as opponents in my head took their corners. Comfy couch and snuggly dog huddled in the red corner…nippy pool bounced back and forth in the blue. The orange rose between the two like a giant sun and I projected all my thoughts to the after side of either choice. In my head, or maybe in my heart, I knew the hard work choice would be the one that would feel worthwhile. So, I chose the orange. I swam. And as I predicted, it felt good.

Tonight, the orange called again. The couch looked good. The dog lay waiting, belly up, begging pats. But there upon the desk – my Mac, my novel notes and somewhere in between, my inspiration and my discipline sat ripe and ready. I opted for the orange, took up my pen and wrote. And as predicted, it felt good. Time well spent. It got things done.

Things To Do Before You Grow Up

 

Being a writer allows you the freedom to experience anything. If you want to do something – you simply conjure a few characters, add a problem or two, whack in some research and voilà…you’ve  pretty much experienced it. If only it were that easy.

Creating believable worlds and the characters that inhabit them is fun but at the same time, hard work. Whilst inspiration is everywhere, sometimes it appears only fleetingly and lingers only briefly. Sometimes, you need a little help from your friends.

As I journey through the first draft of my novel, I am noticing a pattern. It links to my reading habits. When I’m not reading, I’m not writing as much. When one pool runs dry, it isn’t long before the other empties as well.

I came across a book the other day. A big red book of inspiration. In it is 1001 stories that I must read before I grow up. It’s jam packed with fodder for any ailing reading habit, covering stories from the early 1700s to modern day.

Each page offers information about the author, illustrator, publisher, awards given, and general theme of the book. There is also a brief rundown of the story. It might take me 1001 days to get through the book and I’m not sure if I’ll get to read the 1001 stories before I grow up- but I’m going to give it a go. If nothing else. it will give me at least 1001 ideas and endless inspiration to keep on writing.

Back in the Water

I have been a slack blogger, of late.  My writing mojo shrivelled into nothingness the minute NaNoWriMo began. I figured all the writing energy was being sucked up by everyone else and there was simply none left for me to use. Strangely, as the month of November draws to a close, I am itching to get back into it again and am wading my way through hand written notes that I have made over the past month.

I struggle some weeks with a way to make the process easier. I love writing straight to the page but hate transcribing pages and pages of notes. The end of my day sees me tired and feeble minded. Rewriting pages of hand-written notes ranks equal to sticking pins in my eyes. It’s nothing short of painful.

I started swimming this week. After three long seasons out of the water, I plucked up the courage to unleash my tog clad self on the general public. (Sincere apologies to the general public…) It was hard (for me and them but for entirely different reasons).

Those first few kilometres, I felt I was drowning. I had no direction and barely enough strength to get from one edge to the other.  I began slowly. A big bag of swimming toys to help me along and with each passing day, it has become easier and my stroke has become stronger and smoother, more effective and far more enjoyable.

At some point in the swimming journey, during a sun-drenched blissful glide through the water, I realised that writing is no different to swimming. The longer you leave it, the harder it is to get back in your togs and get going again. But when you do, nothing else feels as good. I realised I always have a big bag of writing toys to help me on my way. They are called ‘words’. As I mentioned to a friend the other day – when I swim and when I write, I feel like an OMO ad – lighter and brighter and all sunshiny inside. So I cling to the knowledge that with one stroke at a time, and one word at a time, I  will get to the other side if I just keep going and paddle like crazy.

Here’s to a safe and bountiful passage!

The Great Trial of Style

In this past week, I have laid my writing pen down, taken up pencils and paints, and re-ignited my love of illustration. A couple of years ago, I completed a Diploma in Graphic Design and Advertising. The fruits of that labour have remained bare until this past week, when something twigged in my brain. My head is now crammed with images. I see them at night, as I teeter on the edge of sleep. I see them in patterns of nature, I see them in day to day shapes, day to day life; images that I long to pin down to paper. What I haven’t found yet is my style.

I have been researching illustrators and their techniques. My favourites so far include the works of Aaron Pocock, Arthur Rackman, John Bauer, Shaun Tan, Stephen Michael King, and  Jules Feiffer. But there are so many more, and so many to learn from. I am dabbling, right now. Trying on styles until I eventually see my own shining through.

It’s been a great week of immersing myself in the world of colourful inks but my novel calls and it is time to refocus on it. Wish me luck – I fear once bitten by the Great Bug of Inkiness – it will be hard to stay away. We’ll soon see…

Sketching the Night Away…

Pencil Sketch with digitally created background…

Pencil Sketch with Digital Background

Maisie Swinging

Alley Dogs

My Alley Dogs are Born

Don’t give up…

A Week of Dabbling in Paint

Meet Gus...coming soon to an alley near you

Stampin Stan

Butcher Bob and Snagger

Dragon Learner

Gimme the Facts…

I’m at that stage of the journey, where I can no longer make stuff up. Writing about the real world is challenging, especially when my main character  is going through medical hell. Whilst I have the outline of the story pretty much figured out, it’s now time to start fleshing the story out with the facts, in order to make my story authentic and factually correct.

I am so grateful to be writing in this day and age. Research has never been easier with the  World Wide Web and email facilities literally at my fingertips.

The only downside to research is that it’s time consuming searching for facts that fit the story. And it’s also a Pandora’s Box. I get side tracked and fascinated and overwhelmed and often so distracted by all the great facts I find that I want to restructure the story to fit everything in. A trap of facts that I fall for every time.

This time is different. I am organised and focussed and I have a plan. Specifics will save me. I have a list of questions. Specific questions. And I have a brand new timer from Smiggle. With 30 minutes a day of allotted time to research my facts, I have to be ready and willing to get in and get out, to avoid that spiral down the great factual vortex of no return. So off I go…into the factual void, armed and ready with my Smiggly device. Fear not…I’ll be back… that’s a guaranteed fact.

SCBWI and such

Early Xmas Celebrations for SCBWI Members QLD

Last Sunday, I attended my first SCBWI meeting held at the beautiful home of Prue Mason, in Maleny. We gazed upon a backdrop of mountains and a canopy of Australian bush. It was impossible to not be inspired when surrounded by such beautiful sights. Writers and illustrators from across Queensland gathered and discussed their latest projects and successes. I was in awe of how much talent surrounded me. And I was inspired to hear how hard these people work to achieve what they do.

In the past week, I’ve hit a bit of a writing wall. I’m back at work and feel my creativity seeping away from me, a little more every day. It frustrates me, no end. Yet I still have to write to get this book done. I have to figure out strategies to get myself to the page every day. I have been flicking through my writing books in search of some tips. In her book, ‘Writing Down the Bones’, Natalie Goldberg talks about the two characters that often live in writer’s minds. They are The Dictator and The Resister. And often the two fight to the death.

“I want to write today,” says the Dictator

“Well, I don’t,” answers the Resister.

I know these two characters intimately. As, I’m sure, most writers do. Goldberg’s teacher, Katagiri Roshi taught her the term “Fighting the Tofu”. He explained tofu as being dense, white and bland and concluded it was pointless to wrestle with it. You get nowhere. It’s a strange analogy but I get his point. He suggests you let your internal characters fight as they wish. Let them come to the page with you and then give them five minutes each of your time to put forward their arguments. I put this to the test.

Five minutes of why I don’t want to write:

It’s hard, I don’t know what to say, I can’t think straight, I’m tired, nothing makes sense, everything I write sucks, no one will want to read it, I’m tired, I want to sleep, I can’t think of anything to say…boredom sets in…

Five minutes of why I DO want to write:

Because it’s what I love, it connects me, it advances my story, it works toward my goal, it makes me feel good, it gives me a sense of achievement, it motivates me, it makes me happy, it elevates me, it keeps the momentum of my story going, it  makes me feel alive, it wakes me up, it makes me aware, it stimulates me, it drives me, it makes me feel at one with everything, my story is important, my writing is important, writing is my truest passion…

My DON’T column became tiresome after a couple of minutes. Even I got bored with being bored of my own stuff. My DO column could have kept going. The positives far outweighed the negatives, which makes me ask why do I make it so hard to sit down and do it each morning? The answer is that I don’t really know. What I know works is that when you sit down anyway, and write, the Resister makes tracks and the Dictator gets the writing ball rolling along. And what I do know is that I am surrounded by wonderful writers who work hard to achieve their goals. They inspire me to keep going and I am grateful to them. I am also supported by great organisations such as SCBWI and Queensland Writers Centre both providing regular events and meetings that allow me to network and learn as I travel this road.

The SCBWI meeting was full of great information and inspiration for me. It was also brimming with talented Queensland authors (and the lovely Dee White - (author of Letters to Leonardo) who was up here from Melbourne on a special writing retreat). I came away from the day inspired and informed and ready to write. Now to put those strategies in place…

P.S

A big thanks to Prue for being a fabulous hostess and a big hug to Mahoney, the wonder dog, who stole the show.