Howdy,
February went fast for me — even with a sneaky extra day in there. Even with relentless rain that feels like you’re constantly wading through a swamp…
Speaking of which, on a dog walk yesterday I slipped in a patch of mud and fully hit the deck. It was a soft landing, thanks to layers of padding and the sheer thickness of the quagmire, so it didn’t even hurt. But I lay there for a while, mustering the will to gather up my dignity while the dog showed absolutely zero concern for my wellbeing and my son attempted to join me, yelling , “Mud hug!”
We’d only planned on doing a quick loop of the field. Gotta get back to work. Gotta get on with chores. Dinner to cook and emails to send and that ticking clock in the back of my mind that never stops. In all honesty, I was in a shitty mood, resenting the fact I had to take time out of my busy-busy schedule to walk the dog. Didn’t she know I had Important Things to do?! So I was rushing. Striding purposefully through the field in an attempt to get it over and done with as quickly as possible.
And then there I was, flat out in the mud — quite contentedly, as it turned out. Laughing at myself. A bit wet and squidgy, admittedly, but no longer in a bad mood. You know that point where you’ve already got so soaked you stop caring about the rain? Well, it wasn’t like I was going to get more muddy, so I figured might as well embrace the swamplife, slow down and enjoy the walk.
Even better, the relentless tension headache I’d had all day eased. As did the back pain from hunching over my desk. I got to spend an hour stomping through puddles with my kid and my dog. ‘The worst thing’ that could have happened had already happened, and turned out to be not very bad at all.
The chores waited. Work waited. Dinner waited. Emails waited. The ticking clock was so clogged up with mud it even shut up for a while.
So. First: a lesson for me — getting muddy so you don’t have to. A lesson in getting knocked on my arse for trying to do too much, trying to hurry life along, and being a grumpy twat about it.
There’s probably a metaphor for writing in there, too, huh?
Ok, how about an actual lesson about fiction? All right then.
Action, cut, scene.
So I’ve been editing a couple of novel manuscripts the past few months — another talented bunch of authors I feel very lucky to work with — and though their stories are vastly different in theme, style and structure, they did have some similarities in the way they visualised their stories.
Some scenes had a really filmic quality that made the action feel vivid and tightly-paced. There were even a few ‘mic drop’ chapter endings that felt like an imaginary camera cutting away. During chats with the authors, they said they definitely ‘see’ their stories this way too, and try to build a picture with their writing.
But as I was editing, it became really obvious which scenes they had ‘seen’ clearly, and those that perhaps weren’t so tangible. The latter scenes weren’t quite as easy to imagine as a reader, or were more likely to meander, or feel a little directionless. So I started wondering: Where is the camera? Where would this shot cut to the next? What details would we linger on? Which character expressions? What bold image could you begin this scene with? And how much sooner could you leave this scene and jump to the next?
Thinking filmically can be such a useful technique for editing. Obviously screenwriting and prose writing are entirely different creatures, but that visual literacy is vital in helping the reader to imagine the scene; for keeping the pace and tension taut; and streamlining extraneous fluff.
So, with that in mind, ‘cutting’ during editing isn’t just about deleting words, it’s also thinking ‘shot to shot’ and considering, ‘where would I make the next cut?"‘ from a filmic point of view.
This is also a lesson in trusting the reader to keep up with you.
If you’re watching a film and a character picks up their keys from the counter in one shot and is suddenly getting out of a car in the next scene, it’s pretty likely you can figure out what happened in the middle, right? Do we really need all the transitional bits in between? Putting their coat and shoes on, opening the front door, getting into the car, putting on their seatbelt, driving to their destination… That’s a lot of potentially extraneous words, unless something significant or dramatic happens to them along the way.
Cut to the next interesting part and trust your reader to fill in the blank spaces. You can even play with that assumption and make it a little bit harder for them, sometimes, too. Let them piece things together and feel all clever about it! Keep them jumping from scene to scene so their attention never drifts.
‘Cutting’ your narrative like a film helps you figure out which images, details, gestures and dialogue exchanges are the most important, and teaches you to be as efficient as possible in your storytelling.
Plus, if you really feel like it, you can yell, “ACTION!” and “CUT!” and “THAT’S A WRAP, FOLKS!” as you write, like a bigshot director…
Psst. Need fresh eyes on your work and support in developing your writing? Tell me more about your project and let’s talk…
And finally, a writing-adjacent lesson:
Procrastination Makes Work for Idle Hands
Just before Christmas, I had a sudden urge to dig out my knitting and crochet stuff and make things with sticks and string.
It had been a long while since I’d crafted anything, and I had to re-teach myself every single stitch, but I fell back into the meditative rhythm of it pretty quickly and wondered why I had let this particular habit slide.
Actually, I know why.
It was about the same time I got a decent smartphone.
About the same time I started reading less.
I’m not going to go on some anti-tech tirade here, but I am well aware of my own internet addiction/weakness/dependency, and sometimes I wish I spent my time in better ways.
So I suppose this was an intervention of sorts. But a very enjoyable one.
And just look what I made!
First up, I crocheted a (slightly un-rectangular) blanket for my best friend’s Christmas present. Let’s just not talk about the fact that it took us almost the whole of January to meet up and give it to her (see Lesson #1 above: busy, busy, stupid-busy).
Next, I started a knitted blanket with the aim of making it big enough to wrap around my entire family when we’re chilling on the sofa. Turns out this means it needs to be king-sized and is likely going to take me until next Christmas to finish. But I’m absolutely fine with that. My idle hands are now engaged in the glorious, woolly act of CREATION.
Why is this even vaguely relevant to writing?
Well, I’ve discovered that knitting/crocheting also works incredibly well as an anti-social media measure when I’m working or writing.
Whenever I find my focus wavering, or reflexively switch over to another tab full of useless distractions, I pick up my sticks ‘n’ string instead.
And once I’ve started, I can’t stop until I’ve got to the end of the row, which works perfectly, because it quite literally stops my hands from doing anything else (i.e. checking Twitter).
It’s an enforced mini-break of gentle creativity that kinda empties my head for a few minutes. A little light cerebral decluttering.
And in the evenings, instead of doom-scrolling my phone, I’ve started reading again: kindle on my knee, knitting in my lap, cosy winter #aesthetic to the max.
Very nice, but how is this actually related to writing?
Ok, so this may not be a massive revelation to anyone but me (or pehraps I just assume I’m the only one with a chronic inability to get off the internet), but it’s reminded me that creativity really does breed creativity. And it doesn’t have to be writing. Crafting, creating, experimenting, making things — especially with your hands — has such a huge effect on your brain’s desire to make more things.
For me, knitting has become thinking time, reading time, compartmentalising-my-thoughts time, breathing time. And because I’m reading more, thinking more, and giving myself more screen breaks, I’m WRITING more. My head is full of ideas, and finally has some space to give them attention: a humble little creative space made from yarn and knots and the clickety-clack of knitting needles.
So if you’re struggling to read or write as much as you’d like to, perhaps you can find something else creative to do instead. Let your creativity create more creativity. Feed that side of your brain until it hungers for more. And it will. And then who knows what else you’ll come up with?
Worst case scenario, maybe you end up with a comfy new blanket.
Alrighty. That’s all for my February round up.
Oh, but before I go, I have a few pieces of good writing news to share:
I won second prize in the Blue Frog contest with my story, Three Miles Off the Highway Past Exit 509, which is available to read here!
My story, Lovesong for the 0% Finance King Size Mattress (originally published by Stanchion), was also chosen for the Best Microfictions 2024 anthology, out this summer!
And to make it a hat trick, Nice Little Girls (originally published in Cease, Cows), will be part of the Best Small Fictions 2024 anthology, too!
I’ll be posting up more writing prompts, editing Q&As, and lessons from the world of Fixion in March. Hopefully with a little less mud.
Give me a shout if you have a question, a specific topic you’d like me to talk about, or just wanna chat about lovely, lovely words. I’m always up for that. :)
Happy writing!