Take it to the limit, one more time!

As the old Eagles song goes, I'm having to "take it to the limit, one more time!"

It's funny that this line should mean so much to me today.  More later.  Only this past weekend did I just finish watching the first part of a documentary on that 70s supergroup.  That was a blast, reliving my teenage years.  I've just turned 53, btw.

So, what do I understand about taking things to one's limits?  In anything but literary terms, in can mean many things but, primarily, it means seeking out the boundaries to your capabilities.  Most recently, in 2011, I went to one of my limits, stopped and looked over the abyss, well, down one side of Mt. Kilimanjaro actually.  That limit was the height of 18,000 feet, just under 5,500 metres.  At that point I developed pulmonary oedema and, according to our doctor on the expedition, I was within an hour of dying.  Suffice it to say, going beyond that particular limit would have been a death sentence for me.  The plus side was I raised over £6,000 for diabetes research, so all was not lost.

Some limits, then, are not meant to be broken.

As for my writing, I find I keep looking at the horizon and finding new limits to walk towards.  Some of these have included working out the final plot line; welcoming my cast of characters onto the stage; setting goals for words completed etc.  All of these have necessary limits as, without setting them, my novel would just grow and grow and never be complete.  These are necessary disciplines that keep things on track.  What follows on from reaching them is the commitment to settle down and write.

Don't beat yourself up either by thinking that you have to be too disciplined with your writing schedule.  Writing every day can be intimidating, especially if you've got many life commitments as part of your daily existence.  The biggest practise I have had to learn, and most of the time I fail miserably, but I try nonetheless, is to keep a notebook with me at all times and to write snatches of the book in the midst of daily life.  It's also good for capturing things of the moment, passing things that fleet by.

Until I sat down with this novel, my writing had consisted of magazine articles and my undergraduate degree studies, both of which I could take my time in preparing.  Indeed, I used to say it took me half an hour to find my mojo, stir my juices, as it were, on the hob of creativity.  This meant that I could easily dismiss ten minute opportunities that passed by waiting at the doctor's or dentist's surgery, or drinking a quick cuppa while the rest of my family browsed the shopping mall.  Nowadays I have taught myself to focus for short snatches and move something along before the grass grows over my efforts from before.

And finally, why do I particularly have to take things to a limit "one more time?"  Well, after 6 years of planning and writing, on and off, I've lost my memory stick that contains my novel and the last backup that I did elsewhere was months ago!  This is a limit, a goal, I didn't expect to have to reset.  It's a good job that I'm on a week's holiday at home while workmen fit our new kitchen so I have plenty of time to rewrite those 25-30,000 words I had already put down.

Tips for the day:  take a notebook everywhere; practice writing for 2, 5 or 10 minutes at a time; back up your work to at least two hard drives at least weekly!

See you next time!

Bruce

When is a writer not a writer? Answer: never!

As it happens, I'm a published writer of nursing magazine articles, both for a weekly and also a quarterly glossy, as well as a little poetry.  Some of these works earned me a few quid, others I did to help out a friend for a cause.  But, even if I'd never have been paid in the past, I'd still consider myself a writer.  Others I know get all snobby about who is to be considered a real writer, often getting hung up on being published or receiving payment as a mark of acceptance into their supposedly rarefied world. 

Well, I've got news for anybody who stops going as far as picking up a pen or switching on a computer because of such irritating views.  If you write, you're a writer, whether you write just for pleasure or, if you're lucky enough, for profit.  We all have things we'd like to say, how dare anybody curb our ambition!

So, folks out their in the ether, get writing whatever it is that floats your boat.  Stop making up excuses like you're spelling or grammar are poor; you're too old, or too young, or you are afraid others will think you're less than able.  Well, more news for the detractors, we were all beginners at one time or other.  

I have always gained much encouragement from others during my writing career.  Even the smallest of comments has lifted me at times.  But, with equal effect, I've dropped into a darker place when I've read words which castigate my efforts as less than worthy.

Please know that even a one word thought is worthy if you've set it down. Follow that with more words and you're on your way.  Don't let anybody stop you from being creative.  If all you ever do is file your words away in a journal, in a box of papers or rip them up to start anew, you've made a start.  You don't have to begin with the aim of getting published or paid though, right now, that is my aim for my novel.  But, I also write for pleasure, for myself, to express my love for my loved ones, to get things off my chest or just to clear my head.  Sometimes, the latter is the best reason to write anyway.

Imagine being told that you couldn't express yourself in other ways - no painting unless you've already been accepted by a gallery; no instrument playing or singing unless you've got a record deal lined up; no cooking unless you're a buddy of a Michelin-starred chef!  The outcry at anybody trying to intimidate folks to not even begin would appear ludicrous.  Why should it be any less so for writers?

If you are in the closet with your writing, keep on writing.  If you need some encouragement to come out, know that we are together in a huge majority that believes writers are people that write because we can.  We don't need anybody's permission to express ourselves, we certainly don't need their money or their approval.  We write because we are humans and that's what we can do, given the opportunity.  Writers of the world unite!

Oh, and by the way, next time I'm going to write about seeking your limits, but not necessarily going beyond them.  Interested, then come back and join me for a cyber cuppa.  Cheerio for now!

"What's the title?"

For as many years as I've been writing my book and, believe me, it's been quite a few, the one thing that has bugged me is a working title.  Okay, a working title is just that, something to put on my wall, if not yet on a front cover.  I can imagine many a working title gets changed, either as the writing process unfolds, or on the editor's mahogany desk.  But, without one, I feel like I'm at the tiller of a drifting ship. As with many other things that you'll come to learn about me, I like to have my i's dotted and my t's crossed.  Things need to look right on the outside.  A title, for me, is the big carpet bag that carries the story.  Without one, the 100,000 words or so I'm working towards are both drab and lifeless.

You can't talk about a book without knowing it's name.  Okay, once it's a best seller, maybe the opening line might give it away.  Do you know any of these?

"Call me Ishmael." 

"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen."

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."

Any guesses?

Moby Dick; 1984; A Tale of Two Cities.

There are others, of course, personal favourites for each of us, but these are the exceptional ones.  Even the most widely read authors over the centuries, though they usually have gripping openings and story lines that'll keep you up late, all their work has a title that makes you reach for it on the shelf.  Without it, you'd be looking along a row of books with blank spines with nothing to separate one from another.

So, back to my particular drawing board.  I've had one that I've run with for as long as I've been putting pen to paper or finger to keyboard, but it has been, well, a bit obvious.  It's done it's job, a bit like a supermarket carrier bag.  Good for bringing your groceries home, but not something you'd take on a day out.  What I am about to reveal is, to me, my literary version of a leather and brass man-bag, the sort you might get from Fossil or some similar quality shop.  Here it is...

"The Chrysalis and the Cross."

Now, feel free to play around with this in your mind's eye, or suck on it like a juicy fruit pastille.  Only I know, at this stage, how much meaning there is in those five words.  What you'll discover, if you stay with me to the end, is just how poignant they are, even if I say so myself!

Well, I must nip out and get the fish 'n' chips in.  We have no working kitchen tonight as the electricians are here doing some preparatory work before we have our new kitchen fitted over the next week or so... But, the good news is that I've all of next week off, so plenty of time to crack on with the novel, so long as I can stop sharing craic with the builders.  Heck, I've got my own building to do!

See you next time!

Footnote:  After a think through with a friend today, I've changed the working title to The Chrysalis Conundrum.  See, put it out in the ether and already things are moving!

Spitting my dummy out!

Some days I wish I could get over myself.  Sooo full of self importance, not really, but pretty hacked off at running out of reasons not to write.  You ever been there?

Today's revelation came care of an interesting book by Julia Cameron entitled, "The right to write." ISBN 0 333 78202. I must admit, it's NOT self importance I suffer from, more a struggle with jealousy.  I get jealous of writers who are rich, i.e. writing is a hobby; or writers who have no commitments other than to themselves.

There I was, enjoying her book when, come page 216, paperback version at least, up comes the line, "I live alone and have lived alone most of my adult life."  Well, blow me over with a feather, it must be nice to have the time to organise yourself to write when the moment appears for you!  Aaaaargh!

You see, my problem is that I have a full-time job, a wonderful wife, four kids and a house to help run.  Somewhere, deep in the recesses of all this, I want to squeeze out a book.  Would that I had the time to choose when I would write and when I would pay my dues.

But, does it deter me? No. Should I just throw in the towel then? No.  Should I stop being jealous?  Yes. Emphatically, yes!  I'll tell you how I squared this particularly bothersome circle...it's like this.

Two years ago I went on a climbing trip to Mt Kilimanjaro in Tanzania.  After my efforts, which got me to 18,000 feet, not the top, our group went on a day visit to a city at Kili's base called Arusha.  The city is destitute, as if Katrina had blown across the Serengeti plains before she finally blew out.

When I was there, looking at all the poverty around me,  I wondered how I might come to terms with being a Western tourist in such impoverishment.  One of my hiking buddies said this, or something like it, "You can't help where you're born.  But you can help.  You can be in control of your response."

So, folks, there it is, the answer in literary terms at least.

I probably won't stop being the impoverished one in this situation, the one with no time or place to write, but write I must, or I must shut up moaning.  Had I chosen to write when I was a kid, organised my life around it, done a degree in writing instead of nursing, then I would, possibly, be better set up than I am now.  Well, buckeroo, I didn't do any of that and my bed is made as it is.  I'm genuinely happy for those that have chosen different paths, or have had them opened up for them by a chance marriage, good fortune or cruel fate.

So, however my novel will be written, it'll be my story, written in my way.  Nobody will have my journey, as it's my journey.

But, here's the thing.  If you want to keep watch on me, please take up my invitation and come alongside me.  I enjoy company.  I'm not into the solitary writer locked into a garret somewhere, woe is me-ing, blah, blah, blah.  I'm Bruce.  Your Bruce, if you will.  That guy you ran across who is trying to write a story.  If you want to be part of it, then welcome.  Nice to meet you...