Why Good Writing Matters

The following comments are drawn from a new report on the standard of literacy among university students. I have to say, sadly, this just confirms my own experiences. It also reinforces the comments made about the standard of literacy within the offices of literary agents (see Dumb and Dumber, below).

Since 1999 the Royal Literary Fund has been placing published authors in Higher Education Institutions across the UK to help students improve their writing. These Writing Fellows, who are drawn from all fields of writing, including fiction, non-fiction, technical and non-technical, poets and dramatists, work with students, mainly through one-to-one consultations, focusing on academic writing skills.

A report Writing Matters has now been published looking at the first six years of the scheme. It draws a shocking picture of the deplorable standards of writing they have found among undergraduates. It appears that huge numbers of British undergraduates are unable to express themselves adequately in writing.

Considerable numbers of students are arriving at university without the skills necessary to make the most of their education. In many cases, the problems occur at a basic level: poor vocabulary, inaccurate phrasing, bad syntax, incorrect punctuation, an inability to form well-constructed sentences, let alone structure an argument.

And why is this so important? At the risk of stating the obvious, at its most basic, good writing means an ability to communicate; crucially it also facilitates the ability to think and study effectively.

In a world of internet downloading, text messaging and information overload, it is ever more vital to provide students with an awareness of how to achieve clear written communication.

Employers too are increasingly concerned by the standard of graduate writing skills at a time when technological change means that writing is more important than ever. (i.e. as use of emails and the internet replace the telephone.)

The report suggests that universities should place greater emphasis on writing skills as a criterion for admission, and, where appropriate, offer writing courses prior to the start of term.

We might want to ask why students with such low writing standards are being admitted to Higher Education courses. In the UK, certainly, it's much to do with the political drive to constantly increase student numbers, so average standards are inevitably falling. And if the universities did require better writing as an entry criterion, they wouldn't be able to fill their courses.

It would, of course, also draw attention to the standard of English teaching in primary and secondary schools. I've taught many teachers creative writing, and I'm constantly amazed by how many have inadequate basic literacy skills. Is it any wonder the kids they teach come out unable to string sentences together properly?

The full text of the report Writing Matters can be seen at: www.rlf.org.uk/fellowshipscheme

The Old Man in Paradise Street

The young police sergeant knocked on the red painted front door of number 17 Paradise Street. He turned down the volume on the squawking radio which hung around his neck in a black strapped pouch, pushing it back down the front of his tunic, out of sight.

He knocked again, first on the wooden cross piece underneath the vertically mounted letter box, then on the frosted glass panel, this time with a key. Knock knock, rap rap!

The rap rap did the trick. The door opened slightly and a balding head with wispy white hair poked into view in the two inch gap which held firm.

“Who’s there?” said a querulous voice. An old man’s voice. A frightened old man’s voice.

“Police!” said the sergeant.

The door eased open slightly and a rheumy eye set in a bony face appeared. The eye struggled to focus on the uniform but, after a while, seemed satisfied with what it saw. The door opened wider still. The sergeant saw the owner of the bald head, the wispy white hair, the rheumy eye set in a bony face.

“Mr Barnes?”

“I’m 86, you know.”

“Goodness, that’s a fine age. I’ve come about the builder.”

“I’m all on my own, you know. The wife died four years ago and my son lives in Sheffield. Never see him, hardly. And when I do, he doesn’t stop more than five minutes.”

“Can I come in and chat about your complaint?”

Mr Barnes appeared uncertain about letting the young sergeant in the house.

“Your wall,” said the sergeant, “I need to see your wall.”

“What?”

“I need to see your wall, Mr Barnes. The one you said the builder looked at.”

“Come in, if you must,” said Mr Barnes, “and watch you don’t trip over my shoes.”

The dark hallway was made even darker as the front door closed behind them, blocking out the lesser gloom of the cobbled Paradise outside. They shuffled along a linoleum floor in a poor shade of terracotta, oak coat-stand and dog basket without dog at the end wall. A door on the right led them through to the back room, a kitchen cum dining room cum living room cum cat sanctuary… and then another back door with old fashioned latch led into the flagstone yard.

“There!” said Mr Barnes.

The sergeant looked at the wall.

“There’s more mortar on the floor than between the bricks,” he said. “but there’s no damage is there? And how much did you pay for that?”

“A thousand pounds,” said Mr Barnes.

The young sergeant sucked in his breath through his teeth and said nothing.

“Well, he said it was a safety hazard and it was ready to fall on someone passing along the back entry there.”

“He would say that, wouldn’t he.”

“So, I told him to get it fixed. He said it wouldn’t cost much. See, he showed me a brick that had fallen off already.”

“It just fell off as he happened to be passing, did it?”

“That’s what he said. I’m an old man, you know. 86.”

“You had a thousand pounds in the house?”

“No, not likely. I never keep much money in the house. He ran me to the bank and stood there while I drew it out. Then he ran me back here.”

“Get a receipt?”

“It’ll be in the post tomorrow, he said.”

The young sergeant made Mr Barnes a cup of tea and sat chatting with him for the best part of an hour, then he went back to the station, finally answering the squawking radio to let the control room know he was free again.

“No crime at Paradise Street,” he said into his radio after calling in. “Another jobber builder ripping off an old guy. Advice given. I’ll speak with the old man’s son shortly.”

“Roger!” squawked the radio.

From the control room, the sergeant rang Mr Barnes’s son in Sheffield. It was long conversation. The sergeant found it hard to explain certain things to Mr Barnes junior.

“Look, Mr Barnes, I’m very sorry but that’s the law and there’s nothing more I can do about it,” the civilian operator overheard. “I can only advise you to consult a solicitor on your father’s behalf. There’s no evidence of a criminal offence having been committed. Your only hope is to seek remedy in the civil court… and OK, that’s your prerogative.”

The sergeant looked at the civilian operator who raised an eyebrow.

“He’s going to make a complaint against me. Says I’ve failed to investigate the matter properly and he wants me to be disciplined. Says I’m a disgrace to my uniform…”

The civilian operator smiled wearily and turned to answer another call.

“There’s a fight in Church Street,” she said to the sergeant. “Two winos.”

“I’ll go,” he said. “Who’s in the van? Ask them to meet me there. I expect we’ll need it. Oh, and give Mr Barnes junior a call, will you Judith? He might want to come along and give me a hand.”

She snorted gently and turned to answer another insistent telephone.

“There’s half a dozen of ‘em fighting now,” she called out as the sergeant turned to go and deal with the winos. “Oh,” she added, as she took yet another call, “It’s Mr Barnes junior again. Says he insists on speaking with you again.”

“Just tell him I’m busy, Judith, will you please,” he said as he jogged off to his car.

Next day, the young sergeant, bruised and cut from arresting the fighting winos, interviewed the jobber who had conned a thousand pounds out of old Mr Barnes. The jobber sat in the interview room and smirked. He knew the law, even if Mr Barnes junior didn’t. As he was leaving the station, the jobber lodged a complaint of harassment by the young sergeant. The duty inspector was obliged to take details and pass them on to the appropriate department. The jobber left, whistling, looking for more old men and old women with walls and doors and roofs. He had a nice new van now to drive around the back streets looking for work. He thought of himself as an entrepreneur. And a clever one at that.

Mr Barnes junior’s complaint was made to the Discipline and Complaints Department later that day. He knew how to make a complaint against the police. He had done it before in Sheffield when he had spotted a police car exceeding the speed limit.

The winos were charged with ‘drunk and disorderly’ and bailed to go fighting again. And shoplifting. And pissing in doorways. And, one of them, some months later, to kill another wino.

The young sergeant resigned. His resignation said simply: “This isn’t Paradise.”

They all thought he’d gone crazy. He knew he’d gone sane.

Dumb and dumber...

Not sure quite what to do, or say about the following article we've just found. Wail? Gnash my teeth? Exclaim about what stupid people there are now in charge of the asylum? It certainly confirms what I see happening in the UK publishing industry - and I greatly wonder and worry about where the classics of the future are going to come from...

It comes from The Sunday Times, January 01, 2006

Publishers toss Booker winners into the reject pile
by Jonathan Calvert and Will Iredale

THEY can't judge a book without its cover. Publishers and agents have rejected two Booker prize-winning novels submitted as works by aspiring authors. One of the books considered unworthy by the publishing industry was by V S Naipaul, one of Britain's greatest living writers, who won the Nobel prize for literature.

The exercise by The Sunday Times draws attention to concerns that the industry has become incapable of spotting genuine literary talent. Typed manuscripts of the opening chapters of Naipaul's In a Free State and a second novel, Holiday, by Stanley Middleton, were sent to 20 publishers and agents.

None appears to have recognised them as Booker prizewinners from the 1970s that were lauded as British novel writing at its best. Of the 21 replies, all but one were rejections. Only Barbara Levy, a London literary agent, expressed an interest, and that was for Middleton's novel. She was unimpressed by Naipaul's book. She wrote: "We . . . thought it was quite original. In the end though I'm afraid we just weren't quite enthusiastic enough to be able to offer to take things further."

The rejections for Middleton's book came from major publishing houses such as Bloomsbury and Time Warner as well as well-known agents such as Christopher Little, who discovered J K Rowling. The major literary agencies PFD, Blake Friedmann and Lucas Alexander Whitley all turned down V S Naipaul's book, which has received only a handful of replies.

Critics say the publishing industry has become obsessed with celebrity authors and "bright marketable young things" at the expense of serious writers. Most large publishers no longer accept unsolicited manuscripts from first-time authors, leaving the literary agencies to discover new talent. Many of the agencies find it hard to cope with the volume of submissions. One said last week that she receives up to 50 manuscripts a day, but takes on a maximum of only six new writers a year.

Last week, leading literary figures expressed surprise that Naipaul, in particular, had not been talent spotted. Doris Lessing, the author who was once rejected by her own publishers when she submitted a novel under a pseudonym, said: "I'm astounded as Naipaul is an absolutely wonderful writer."

Andrew Motion, the poet laureate, who teaches creative writing, said: "It is surprising that the people who read it (Naipaul's book) didn't recognise it. He is certainly up there as one of our greatest living writers."

While arguing that the best books would still always find a publisher, he added: "We need to keep the publishers on their toes as good books are as rare as hens' teeth."

Middleton, 86, whose books have a devoted following, wasn't surprised. "People don't seem to know what a good novel is nowadays," he said.

Naipaul, 73, said the "world had moved on" since he wrote the novel. He added: "To see that something is well written and appetisingly written takes a lot of talent and there is not a great deal of that around."

"With all the other forms of entertainment today there are very few people around who would understand what a good paragraph is."

Thank you

I would like to thank all of you who sent your congratulations on the publication of my new book. It's just great to get that feedback from such a supportive bunch of folks!

Nicki

Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

Well, here’s where it all went wrong… I sat down to my keyboard with the specific intention of typing something profoundly insightful about writing. Something to inspire – if not you, then at least me (I’m selfish that’a way sometimes).

But folks, I’ve been sitting here in front of this blank page now for about 13 minutes and although 13 has never been an unlucky number for me – it is a bit excessive to just sit here staring at the screen trying to “think” of something wonderful to say. Granted, I’m of GenX – 13 minutes might as well be an eternity when one has been thusly conditioned – spending the greatest part of one’s life watching music videos – in which every clip is spliced seamlessly and served in 1 second slices. Alliteration is great, innit?

Here’s the thing – chances are, if you catch me on the right day – I might prattle on and on waxing philosophically about my more lofty literary goals… my inspirations… my dreams… and whatnot… and etc. But this afternoon I’m up for giving it to you straight – I’m up for telling you how it is, really.

Plainly. Simply.

I write because I love it.

Plainly. Simply.

It makes me feel good and when I’m not doing it I am sad.

Why do you write?

Amy

Work Without Hope

Work without Hope
Lines Composed 21st February 1825
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair –
The bees are stirring – birds are on the wing –
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.

More Vonnegut wisdom

In Palm Sunday, Kurt Vonnegut writes:

"Sentences spoken by writers, unless they have been written out first, rarely say what writers wish to say. Writers are unlucky speakers, by and large, which accounts for their being in a profession which encourages them to stay at their desks for years, if necessary, pondering what to say next and how best to say it. Interviewers propose to speed up this process by trepaning writers, so to speak, and fishing around in their brains for unused ideas which otherwise might never get out of there. Not a single idea has ever been discovered by means of this brutal method - and still the trepaning of authors goes on every day.

"I now refuse all those who wish to take off the top of my skull yet again. The only way to get anything out of a writer's brain is to leave him or her alone until he or she is damn well ready to write it down."

In short, it's a slow and sometimes painful process, this writing business. Impatient ones, beware!

Charlie

Strengthen your dialogue skills

Fiction writers are rightly advised to consider carefully the narrative style of every story - should it be first or third person, past or present tense? However, when it comes to dialogue it is often assumed that there are only two choices. Either direct speech, trapped within speech marks and hedged about with he said's and she said's, or reported speech.

In most cases, it is implied, direct speech is best and should always fulfil at least one of three functions:
1: To reveal character
2: To impart relevant information
3: To progress the story

In fact, there are at least five ways of representing speech on the page. Skilfully used, speech can also fulfil additional functions. A quick scan through your favourite novels will show you exactly how this works. Let us start with a straightforward example:

'Let me tell you,' said Augustus Bartlett, briskly, 'What I'd do, if I were you... I'd sink a couple of hundred thousand in some good, safe bond-issue...'
Elsa Doland, the pretty girl with the big eyes who sat on Mr Bartlett's left, had other views.
'Buy a theatre, Sally, and put on good stuff.'
'And lose every bean you’ve got,' said a mild young man, with a deep voice across the table. 'If I had a few hundred thousand... I'd put every cent of it on Benny Whistler for the heavyweight championship...'
'If I had four hundred thousand,' said Elsa Doland, 'I know what would be the first thing I'd do.'
'What's that?' asked Sally.
'Pay my bill for last week, due this morning.'
(The Adventures of Sally; P.G. Wodehouse)

This exchange at the beginning of the novel is rendered in direct speech (DS) and serves our three basic functions admirably. It informs the reader that Sally has some money to dispose of; it reveals the predilections of several characters; it moves the story forward to the point at which we learn how Sally uses her money. But it is a mistake to believe that all this is revealed through the dialogue alone. Wodehouse assists us with his linking narrative. How else are we to know the young man is 'mild' or that Elsa has big eyes?

Compare it with this, the opening of a more recent novel:

'And then say what? Say, "Forget you're hungry, forget you got shot inna back by some racist cop - Chuck was here? Chuck come up to Harlem?
'No, I'll tell you what -'
' "Chuck come up to Harlem and –" '
'I'll tell you what -'
'Say, "Chuck come up to Harlem and gonna take care a business for the black community"?'
That does it.
Heh-hegggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!
(The Bonfire of the Vanities; Tom Wolfe)

For several lines the author gives us no assistance at all. We are deposited in an unknown setting and, because there are no reporting verbs such as he said and she replied we have no idea who is talking. This gives an effect of confusion. Where are we, what is going on, who are these boisterous people? We have to read on to discover the answers. Only gradually do we discover that it is the Mayor of New York who is being harangued, just as only gradually does he discover who is heckling him. The words spring to life off the page because the angry shouting is not slowed down by overt authorial intervention. The excitement, immediacy and confusion generated are guaranteed to keep you turning the pages at least until you make some sense of what is going on.

The only indications here of the author's presence are the quotation marks around each speech. In the next extract even these are omitted:

Now. Is there any other witness? No other witness.
Very well, gentlemen! Here's a man unknown, proved to have been in the habit of taking opium in large quantities for a year and a half, found dead of too much opium. If you think you have any evidence to lead you to the conclusion that he committed suicide, you will come to that conclusion. If you think it is a case of accidental death, you will find a Verdict accordingly.
Verdict accordingly. Accidental death. No doubt. Gentlemen, you are discharged. Good afternoon.
(Bleak House; Charles Dickens)

The words are not slowed down by quotation marks or reporting verbs, reinforcing the impression that the inquest following Nemo's death in lonely and squalid conditions has been concluded with insensitive haste. Although at times it is obviously the coroner speaking, it is not certain that all the words are spoken by him. For instance, 'No other witness' could have been said by the court clerk, 'Accidental death' by the jury spokesman. We feel that it does not matter, and by implication that the death of one miserable man also does not matter. The court is purely concerned to get the inquest over with as quickly as possible.

The apparent disappearance of the narrator's voice means that characters are left to condemn themselves out of their own mouths for their uncaring attitude. Bleak House is, in large part, a satire on the legal system and here Dickens makes use of this style of speech presentation to produce a satirical effect.

The last two examples are classified as Free Direct Speech (FDS) by virtue of the apparent distancing of the author from his characters' utterances.

There are also forms of speech presentation which show a greater authorial presence than direct speech. The most obvious of these is Indirect Speech (IS).

Let us take the famous words spoken by Topsy when asked how she supposed she came into the world:

'I s'spect I grow'd. Don't think nobody never made me.'
(Uncle Tom's Cabin; Harriet Beecher Stowe)

Converted into IS this becomes: 'Topsy said that she expected she had grown. She did not think that anybody had made her.'

Although we have kept the meaning of the DS form it has changed in various respects. The most significant difference for the novelist, who strives to breathe life into his creations, is the loss of the charming dialect of the young slave girl. This makes IS a very formal style which is not often encountered in fiction beyond the occasional sentence.

Far more common is the mixed form Free Indirect Speech (FIS). This displays the main features of IS but also retains more of the flavour of the original utterance. Unlike IS, FIS does not edit out all those colloquialisms, typical turns of phrase, or dialect words that make up the idiosyncratic speaking style of an individual which the writer so relies upon to produce distinct and convincing characters:

Sir Thomas heard, with some surprise, that it would he totally out of Mrs Norris's power to take any share in the personal charge of (Fanny)... Mrs Norris was sorry to say, that the little girl's staying with them, at least as things were then, was quite out of the question. Poor Mr Norris's indifferent state of health made it an impossibility: he could no more bear the noise of a child than he could fly, if indeed he should ever get well of his gouty complaints, it would be a different matter: she should then be glad to take her turn and think nothing of the inconvenience: but just now, poor Mr Norris took up every moment of her time, and the very mention of such a thing she was sure would distract him.
(Mansfield Park: Jane Austen)

Although the tense has changed and third person pronouns are employed, many other elements of Mrs Norris's original form of words are retained. In effect, two points of view are indicated at one time, a useful technique for the satirical writer who relies on the reader understanding that he actually disagrees with the views expressed.

The effect can be even more striking where the speech of the character is very colloquial or dialectal. One of the witnesses at Nemo's inquest is the street urchin Jo:

Name, Jo. Nothing else that he knows on. Don't know that everybody has two names. Never heerd of sich a think. Don't know that Jo is short for a longer name. Thinks it long enough for him.
(Bleak House: Charles Dickens)

There is a strongly comic scene, with young Jo on the stand blithely giving all the wrong answers, as far as the court is concerned. But there is also a more serious point. The dual point of view brings home the gulf between the values of the legal profession and the street boy. It is clear from Jo's answers exactly what the coroner's questions are and also clear that it is not relevant to the facts of Nemo's death, only to the keeping of 'correct' court records, that details of Jo's proper name are recorded. The impersonalised indirect speech form suggests further that Jo's testimony is only perfunctorily attended to.

There is one final variety of speech presentation to consider, the Narrative Report of Speech Act (NRSA). In this mode the author does not retain any suggestion of the actual words used in the original utterance:

Some laughed, and answered good-humouredly. Miss Bates said a great deal. Mrs Elton swelled at the idea of Miss Woodhouse's presiding; Mr Knightley's answer was the most distinct.
'Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?'
'Oh! No, no' - cried Emma, laughing as carelessly as she could - 'Upon no account in the world...'
(Mansfield Park, Jane Austen)

In addition to moving the action along quickly, by adopting NRSA Austen injects a nice touch of humour. Although she merely indicates the manner in which Miss Bates and Mrs Elton reply, it is amusing because both speak exactly as we would have expected from their personalities. Mr Knightley's answer, on the contrary, is no laughing matter and is important for showing that he disapproves of Emma's behaviour . (She is blatantly flirting with a young man.) Emma is very conscious that Knightley is right, although she tries to laugh it off. This interchange proves to be a significant plot development point and its importance is signalled by a shift from NRSA to DS.

So the writer has a number of options when presenting speech in fiction. They do not, of course, have to be used in isolation. As we have seen, a judicious mixture of varieties can be very effective. Why not take some dialogue from your own stories and experiment with different styles of speech presentation?

To summarise:

Types of Speech Presentation

Direct speech (DS):
Speech reported verbatim. Speech marks and reporting verb used.
Example: She said, 'I'll go to your bloody mother's tomorrow!'

Free direct speech (FDS):
Speech reported verbatim. No reporting verb. Speech marks might not be used.
Example: I'll go to your bloody mother's tomorrow!

Indirect speech (IS):
No speech marks. lst and 2nd person pronouns changed to 3rd person. Tense backshifted into past. Time/place indications more remote (eg. 'here' becomes 'there'; 'yesterday' becomes 'the previous day'). Language formalised.
Example: She said that she would go to his mother's the following day.

Free indirect speech (FIS):
As IS, but elements of the original form of words retained.
Example: She said she'd go to his bloody mother's the following day!

Narrative report of speech act (NRSA):
Narrator reports that something has been said without indicating the actual words used.
Example: She promised to visit his mother.
Or: She agreed to go.

New book

Welcome to the New Baby

I had another exciting delivery from the postman yesterday. My new book, hot off the presses. It's almost like that first sight of your baby after nine months of pregnancy and labour - although much quieter and less messy, of course...

Nicki

Thinking Laterally

I hope you're enjoying the literary quizzes I've been posting recently. Their purpose is, of course, to provide a litle diversion as you rest your fevered brow after - or during - the creation of your current masterpiece.

But don't forget that not everything you write needs to reach masterpiece status. Indeed, the stuff that makes most money is usually far below that standard. These quizzes are a case in point. They provided me with a small but regular income over a period of several years. I was commissioned to produce a page of quizzes for each bi-monthly edition of a UK writing magazine. Various writing books were offered as prizes, and the ulterior motive was to increase the sales of these books. The quizzes were there to make the customers actually read a page which would otherwise have been passed over as just another advertisement.

The moral of that story is, if you want to make money from your writing, don't overlook the small regular payments in favour of the elusive best-seller earning mega-bucks. Send off readers' letters to paying markets. Write short fillers. And think laterally. Instead of looking at publications and thinking: 'what can I write which fits in with what they already publish?' think: 'what don't they publish at present which I might interest them in?'

What are you good at? Humour? Crossword puzzles? Sudoku? Gardening tips? Short fiction? Film/theatre/restaurant/book reviews? Whatever it is, think how those particular skills can be angled to different publications.

Compile themed crossword puzzles for a range of different titles - e.g. literary themed for a writing mag; one with a plants and flowers theme for a gardening mag; a geographical one for a travel mag, etc.

Or write some sample reviews for a local publication, of films or plays currently on in the area.

Or a restaurant review of your favourite eating place in the area.

Or write a short story with a relevant theme for a specialist magazine - gardening/railway/fishing/religious, whatever.

Or write a humorous article for a publication which is currently far too serious.

Or write a few sample columns with your musings on life, the universe and everything - or just your daily life if you can write entertainingly about it - for your local rag.

Then send it off with a covering letter pointing out to the editor that although you really enjoy his/her magazine/newspaper you feel that a regular crossword puzzle/humorous slot/review page/column would attract and keep new readers... And by the way, you should add, here are some I made earlier...

The worst they can do is say no. And they might just say yes.

Write-lines

Can you match up these comments on writing with their authors?

1. Only a person with a Best Seller mind can write Best Sellers.
2. A classic is something that everyone wants to have read and nobody wants to read.
3. No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.
4. The artist is present in every page of every book from which he sought so assiduously to eliminate himself.

a. Mark Twain
b. Henry James
c. Aldous Huxley
d. Robert Frost

Tabula Rasa

We return home from Texas tomorrow, and all my good writing intentions, I must now admit, have gone for naught. I brought with me a pristine notebook, in which I intended to do some writing. I had an idea before I went, and thought that two weeks away from my 'normal' writing would allow me to produce the start, at least, of a literary gem.

Well, 12 days later and my notebook contains three meagre lines - written on the plane. Since then it has remained firmly closed, as has my creative mind.

I've never found it easy to write when travelling or visiting a new place - and despite my good intentions it's proved to be as hard as ever this time. I think the reason is that my mind is just too involved in the process of 'data in' for me to spare any brain cells for 'product out'. Grist to the mill, rather than making bread.

I find that distance, in time and/or space, from any specific experience, is required before I can write well about it. Time and space to allow the thoughts, impressions, events to settle into the bywaters of my brain, to slosh around for a while, getting churned up and merging with other streams and currents of thought, gradually coming together in the first sluggish, later faster-flowing, river of creativity.

Give me a week or two, maybe a month, maybe more, and I'm sure something will emerge. And I bet it'll be different from the embryonic idea I had before I left Glasgow. Similar, maybe, with many of the same elements. But the new experiences will have added to it - and hopefully improved it - by the time it sees the light of day.

Funny thing writing, isn't it?

Imagine That!

Another holiday challenge!

Name the title and author of the novels in which the following imaginary creatures appear.
1. The Jabberwock
2. The Kraken
3. Houyhnhnms
4. Orcs

Betje-Know Your Betjeman?

A quiz on a great British poet - although somewhat old-fashioned now, it sums up a certain period in England. As I was born and brought up in the mediocre southern town of Slough, my favourite has to be 'Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough/ It isn't fit for humans now...' Well worth reading this and others - such very English humour, don't you think?

Can you identify which John Betjeman poems the following lines come from?

1 . The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall

2. Phone for the fish-knives, Norman
As Cook is a little unnerved

3. With a thousand Ta's and Pardon's
Daintily alights Elaine

4. My bread is sawdust mixed with straw;
My jam is polish for the floor

Heart of Darkness

Forgive me for quoting again… But I am forever saying, “ ‘The horror! The horror!’” Or actually, sometimes I even go so far as to say, “Da Horrwa! Da Horrwa!” Which I heard Robin Williams say was his best impression of Elmer Fudd doing Kurtz.

Kurtz, of course being a character from Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad… I am sure folks remember this passage:

“Anything approaching the change that came over his features I have never seen before, and hope never to see again. Oh, I wasn’t touched. I was fascinated. It was as though a veil had been rent. I saw on that ivory face the expression of somber pride, of ruthless power, of craven terror – of an intense and hopeless despair. Did he live his life again in every detail of desire, temptation, and surrender during that supreme moment of complete knowledge? He cried in a whisper at some image, at some vision – he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath:

“ ‘The horror! The horror!’”


Very famous passage, indeed. But check out the following paragraph… again from Heart of Darkness – marvelous in my estimation.

“Going up that river was like traveling back to the earliest beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings. An empty stream, a great silence, an impenetrable forest. The air was warm, thick, heavy, sluggish. There was no joy in the brilliance of sunshine. The long stretches of the waterway ran on, deserted, into the gloom of overshadowed distances. On silvery sandbanks hippos and alligators sunned themselves side by side. The broadening waters flowed through a mob of wooded islands; you lost your way on that river as you would in a desert, and butted all day long against shoals, trying to find the channel, till you thought yourself bewitched and cut off forever from everything you had known once – somewhere – far away – in another existence perhaps. There were moments when one’s past came back to one, as it will sometimes when you have not a moment to spare to yourself; but it came in the shape of an unrestful and noisy dream, remembered with wonder amongst the overwhelming realities of this strange world of plants, and water, and silence. And this stillness of life did not in the least resemble a peace. It was the stillness of an implacable force brooding over an inscrutable intention. It looked at your with a vengeful aspect.”


Oh my... Mr. Conrad... will you please visit me in a dream and teach me to do THAT!

Amy

Double Birthday

I’ve been vacuuming my apartment and while vacuuming my apartment I was thinking of Willa Cather. Yes. It is Friday night and I am vacuuming and trying to remember the opening lines of a story written by Willa Cather… sometime in the late 1920s.

Well, as luck would have it I found the story. Perhaps not as luck would have it… I had to savagely rip open six heavy boxes of books stored in my linen closet before finding said story… but here it is nonetheless.

The opening paragraph is perfect in my estimation. Let me know what you think.

“Double Birthday”
From The Forum

Even in American cities, which seem so much alike, where people seem all to be living the same lives, striving for the same things, thinking the same thoughts, there are still individuals a little out of tune with the times – there are still survivals of a past more loosely woven, there are disconcerting beginnings of a future yet unforeseen.

I have to laugh to myself now after having typed the paragraph out and re-read it again for accuracy… Now I believe I understand why I was thinking of the story on this Friday night while vacuuming.

Happy writing,
Amy

17th Sewanee Writers' Conference

If you're interested in "networking" and participating in an excellent learning experience via a writer's workshop - take a look at this site.

The Sewanee Writers' Conference will be held July 18 - 30, 2006 at the University of the South and will feature the following industry-folks ready, able and willing to dole out any number of lectures and good conversation about literature and the craft of writing:

The regular faculty will include fiction writers John Casey, Barry Hannah, Randall Kenan, Margot Livesey, Jill McCorkle, Alice McDermott, Erin McGraw, and Claire Messud; and poets John Hollander, Mary Jo Salter, Alan Shapiro, and Dave Smith. Romulus Linney and Arlene Hutton will work with participants interested in playwriting.

In addition, a group of distinguished writers, critics, agents, and visitors will take part. Those who will discuss writing from the point of view of editing or publishing include David Baker (Kenyon Review), David Barber (Atlantic Monthly), André Bernard (Harcourt), Georges and Anne Borchardt (Georges Borchardt Literary Agency), George Core (Sewanee Review), Gary Fisketjon (Alfred A. Knopf), Mary Flinn (Blackbird and New Virginia Review), Ted Genoways (Virginia Quarterly Review), Gail Hochman (Brandt & Hochman Literary Agency), Roger Hodge (Harper’s), T. R. Hummer (Georgia Review), Glyn Maxwell (New Republic), Meghan O'Rourke (Paris Review and Slate), Nancy Reisman, Elisabeth Schmitz (Grove/Atlantic), Willard Spiegelman (Southwest Review), Deborah Treisman (New Yorker), Robert S. Wilson (American Scholar), and David Yezzi (New Criterion). New Dramatists’ Todd London, artistic director, will visit to meet with playwrights. Poets Andrew Hudgins, Brad Leithauser, Charles Martin, Derek Walcott, and Greg Williamson will give readings, as will fiction writers Elizabeth Spencer, Lily Tuck, and James Wood.


More info can be found at the official website:
http://www.sewaneewriters.org/