To those who say NaNoWri-NO!

It's always strange when you see people getting angry at something that is, at worst, harmless, and at best really quite proactive. Nanowrimo is one of these things. It's a challenge to try and write a 50,000 word novel (or 50,000 words of a novel) entirely within the month of November.

Some people scoff at NaNoWriMo. Some people get angry at it. I can only assume these are people who get annoyed at anyone trying to do something new, be it learning to paint a picture, play an instrument or learn another language.

"Ah-ha haha ha," the NaNoNoSayers say. "You're not doing it well! Don't you understand that you need to spend years and years doing this before you're good?"

I may be misrepresenting this a tad. But I've not seen many good criticisms of NaNoWriMo either.

Personally, I'm a fan of NaNoWriMo. It's a big, silly, thing and it's marvellous. I've attempted it once (and failed magnificently), and I've used it as a kick up the arse to get some serious word count down by going along to all-nighters at the rather wonderful Big Green Bookshop, which allow a large number of people to all sit in the same place at the same time and write a lot. (Seriously, the bookshop is fab - I run their writing group as well, which I've wittered on about elsewhere).

I found it to be a fantastically encouraging thing. The worst I'd say about it is that it's a bit odd. But only in the way of being in a room of people who are enthusiastic about the things they're enthusiastic about tends to be odd. I've been involved in conversations about how nobody uses twitter any more (two years ago) and about how I'm strange for not having heard of the cupcake-murder genre of novels (which combine cupcake recipes with murder mysteries to produce  presumably delicious, delicious murders). But they've also been welcoming, fun and completely non-judgemental (unless you haven't heard of cupcake-murders, of course).

I don't understand why some people consider NaNoWriMo to be a negative thing. But I do have my theories.

I once heard a story about someone who enjoyed going to high-flying Hollywood parties and whispering in people's ears "Have they found you out yet?". It's cruel, but it portrays a simple truth.

We're all scared, deep down, that we're not very good at what we do, and that despite the hard work we've put in, we don't belong. That if we get any success, it can end up feeling easy, and failure feels like only a matter of time. We all have to balance the voices in our head that involve our ego telling us that we're the greatest artist since Orson Welles and our fear telling us that we shouldn't be allowed crayons in case we accidentally write something on a wall somewhere and someone realises how shit we are.

Writing a novel is hard work. But it's also something that's easy. That anyone can do.

Not writing a good novel, no. That's hard work and involves hard work and talent. But putting 50,000 sequential words on a page that tell a story, however good or bad it is? Yeah. Anyone can do that. It might be good. It might be bad. It doesn't matter.

Anyone can do it. You can do it. Even within a month.

That terrifies some people.

Because it is still hard work. And it's something that can involve long hours in front of a pen and paper or a computer or a fresh victim and a knife. And it's something that can involve a lot of time of not knowing what to write. And that can absolutely suck to feel, when you are just sat waiting for the right word, especially when the police may turn up at any point.

It sucks because it feels like failure. Failure to function in your fundamental nature as a storyteller. And as a result, when you finish in your hard, struggling labour and you finally give birth to your precious, vulnerable little word-baby, it feels like it was a part of you. Physically as well as emotionally. You're exhausted, but damn it, you achieved something. And it took every ounce of your blood, sweat, tears and semen (writer's block leaves a lot of time free for masturbation), but you did it.

And then some fucker comes along and does what you did in years in a month.

And it doesn't matter that they've written a rough first draft only, and it has more holes in it than a zombie corpse in Texas, and it's nowhere near a finished novel.

Because you would kill to be able to write that much in 30 days. And because you see all the flaws in your own work anyway, and deep down, you're worried that it actually is that easy and you're the one that makes it difficult, and this reminds you that you took too long to write it.

They're making it look easy. And it isn't. It's difficult. It's painful and you have to gouge the words out of your own skin sometimes in order to make that sentence make sense.

Every sentence you write has to be perfect. Anything less is just playing at a craft.

I've been there. I've had writer's block. It took me four years to write my first novel (I Am Legion). My first book that got published took me two days (POV). Go figure. But I'm definitely taking part in NaNoWriMo this year.

If you're the kind that has to craft every sentence, and has to pick every word, and endlessly and endlessly writes and rewrites that first chapter, here's my advice for you.

Take a month off. Do NaNoWriMo. Don't criticise it - see what you can learn from it.

Sure, some of the books that come out of NaNoWriMo are going to be awful. But some of them are going to be really quite good. A handful may be spectacular. But you know what each and every one of the people are doing that are taking part?

They're getting better at being writers. Because the only way to get better at writing is to write.

They're moving forward while you stand still and rage at them for being able to do it.

It's not going to be easy. It's going to be hard work. But it's going to be a different kind of hard work, and it may actually make you better as a writer. It may make you learn to trust yourself a little bit better.

Parts of writing are easy. They're the fun parts. And people who take part in NaNoWriMo, in my experience, have had a lot of fun.

And that's the big question at the end of the day, and it's the one that all of this revolves around.

Why shouldn't writing be fun?


Thoughts? Questions? Want to tell me why I'm an idiot and why NaNoWriMo is an insidious beast that will devour literature? Comment below or talk to me on twitter.

Magic Falls Part 28

I watched it on TV.

We all watched it on TV. That's how you do anything, isn't it? You sit and watch it happen on a screen. Whether it's the internet or digital, it's still television at the end of the day when you're watching something happen live.

Officially, it didn't happen. Officially, the area has been cordoned off and the media isn't being allowed to discuss it.

But we all know that's not how things happen these days. Not with the internet. Not with social media. In a world where an indiscreet picture can be shared amongst thousands in minutes, neither the media or the government have the ability to completely shut down information flow.

So nobody can get to Trafalgar Square. Nobody can fly over it. Nobody can print pictures of it or broadcast it, because somebody, somewhere, very high up, decided that this could not be discussed.

And I have decided not to do anything about it. Not this time.

Maybe this time, it doesn't have to be me. Maybe I didn't need to come back.

Maybe that's why everything has gone wrong.

Maybe I shouldn't have come back.

Either way, it's no longer my problem.

I am just going to sit and watch and wait and see what happens.

And then my phone rings.

"Darren?"

"Hi Jack," I say. "What's up?"

"Trafalgar Square," he says. "Literally."

"Yeah, I've seen."

"When we were in Bretton, you mentioned Trafalgar Square."

I think back to Bretton. The long night in the realm of the faerie to rescue Jack's daughter. "Did I?"

"You did. You talked about how the grounds in Bretton was one of the... what was it? Concentration of ley-lines, that was it."

"There's no such thing as ley-lines, Jack. You know that. You're a rational person." I don't fully know why I say this.

No, that's not true. I just don't want to get involved. I've been fighting it ever since I came back, and I am sick and tired of it. And I've lost everything because of it.

"And after what we saw there," he says, "the only rational response is to accept that things have changed. Or that they were always different and we didn't realise."

He waits for me to respond, but when I don't, he keeps talking.

"Look, things have changed, and you obviously know more about it. You said that ley-lines themselves aren't the important thing. That the belief is the important thing. Right?"

I can hear him trying to keep irritation out of his voice as he continues.

"I don't know if we're creating them or if they're feeding off us, but I have some theories. I'm doing a talk tonight. I've sent you the details. Are you checking your emails?"

After a moment, I can't help but respond.

"Yeah, I've been checking them. I haven't had anything from you."

"Check your junk mail. I added you to the mailing list."

"My junkmail autodeletes."

"Christ, I'll send you another email then. Just to you. But seriously, come along. I think you'll find it interesting."

"You try this sales approach on everyone?"

"No, it's not like that. You won't have to pay. Yours is a comp."

Something about the way he says that makes me pay more attention. "Wait, you charge for your tickets now?"

"I have to."

I frown as I ask him why.

"It's gone insane recently. I mean, it's been building over the last few years, but it's always been handfuls. Maybe dozens. The last few weeks, though... ever since the square... it's been hundreds. And hundreds. Lots of people are looking for answers. And a lot have been coming to me. My books, my blogs... I've been one of the first with any kind of profile to talk openly about this. I've got TV appearances coming up soon. And I want you to see what people are thinking."

"Why?"

"Because if belief is important, then I need to know what we can get them believing. From what you said, I think we could do something important here."

My heart is pounding. The last time around, Jack had raised a group to fight with us. We called them the Knights of Reason.

This time around, it was happening faster. If it continued to grow... Jack could be raising an army.

"Why do you think it's happening now?" I ask. "What's changed?"

Jack loses his temper now and almost shouts at me. "What's changed? What's bloody changed? Darren, get out of your house and look around. Everyone's talking about it. Trafalgar square rose out of the ground and turned into a hill. You do know that, don't you?"

"I know."

"I mean it forced its way up through the earth. It just pushed upwards, and it happened over a couple of hours. And what's on top of the hill?"

I already know. "A stone."

"And the big thing, the thing they don't want anyone to know until they figure it out. What's in the stone?"

"A sword."

"That's right. A sword sticking out of a stone on a mount that grew out of Trafalgar Square in the middle of London. And you're asking me why people are looking for answers?"

7 NaNoWriMo Tips - Write a Novel in 30 Days

NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - is coming up in November. Thousands and thousands of people are going to try to write 50,000 words in 30 days, primarily for the sheer hell of it.

If you haven't done it before, I recommend it. And I say that with the voice of experience. You see, I've done nanowrimo before, and I started a novel, and I completed it.

Four years later.

Yeah, I sucked at NaNoWriMo the first time I tried it. But the last couple of years, while I've been working on another book, I've used NaNoWriMo as a kick up the arse to get some serious word count done. There are Nano events all around London, and they're honestly a good way to get going. So I semi-did the whole NaNoWriMo thing.

But earlier this year, I took part in NaNoWriWee- National Novel Writing Weekend, set up by The Kernel. It was a 30 hour novel writing challenge. Slightly more realistically, it was aimed at around 20,000 words or so, and HarperCollins offered to judge the entries and publish the winner under their Authonomy brand as an ebook. My entry, POV, won and you can buy it here for just 99p.

So, I'm not a nanowrimo expert, but I do get a lot of what it's about, and I do have some success in speed-writing. And I think Nanowrimo is a fantastic idea. I'll be using it this year to try to write 50,000 words of a new novel, and I encourage anyone I know who wants to write to think about taking part.

So, if that's you, if you're someone that's wanted to write for ages, but just hasn't, or has started and stopped too many times,  here are my tips on how to write a novel in 30 days. Seven short tips to getting through NaNoWriMo. Because lots of people with no real experience write books about how to write books, and a lot of them waste your time (my two notable exceptions - On Writing by Stephen King and Story by Robert McKee. There are others, but they're my favourites) and promise you'll have a bestseller afterwards.

And you don't have much time. You only have a month. So I'm not going to waste your time with a book about how to write. Besides, you might think my advice sucks.

So, instead, here are seven bite-sized tips to writing 50,000 words in 30 days.

Tip 1 - Plan.

Don't worry - this isn't anything too complicated. All you need is a very rough outline of what you want your story to be. It can have gaps and it can be incomplete. But if you have a vague idea what you want to write about, then write it down. If you have them already in mind, write down a brief list of story points that you want to hit over the month.

You don't want to end up like Rimmer in Red Dwarf, who spent the majority of his revision time for an exam creating his revision timetable and then revising his revision timetable. The plan is, at this point, just a rough outline. It may help you when you're writing to know what you're vaguely aiming for, rather than just filling in space.

When I wrote POV, my outline was actually just nine short points that I jotted down when I sat to start writing.

1 - Setup world

2 - Discover body

3 - Suspect

4 - Arrest / Escape

5 - Confrontation / Revelation

7 - New POV

8 - (something that would spoil the novel if I actually put it in here)

9 - Resolution

Now, yours can obviously be a bit more in-depth, but this should hopefully give you an idea just how vague they can be. What it meant was that I knew what I was aiming at with any section. And it's a lot easier to write a scene when you have an idea what the point behind it is.

Oh, and I didn't stick to all of it either. Some of it changed as I was writing. That's fine too. Again, don't panic.

Tip 2 - Names

I don't know about you, but I hate coming up with character names. It's a horrible chore that never feels quite right, because trying to come up with one in the first place, with all that choice... it can be rather paralysing. You could choose any combination of names you can think of. And I don't know about you, but when I'm faced with all the first and last names in existence, it feels like an impossible task. After all, the odds I'll get it wrong are astronomical.

So, if you can come up with a list of names right at the start, then you can start picking from that. A list of first names and last names, so you can mix and match quickly. You can always change the names later, but you'll be surprised how often you stick with them straight off the bat.

I used comic book creators, but you can use anything. Get a cast list of a film and jot down names, and stop when you have five times too many, then start putting together first and last names. Then just start casting which ones sound most like the characters you have in mind. The main thing it does is to start limiting your choices, and allow you to get moving.

(I wrote about this point recently for Alasdair Stuart's blog in a bit more depth - What's in a Name?)


Tip 3 - Move onto chapter two.

And then onto chapter three, and then chapter four and so on. I know so many writers who spent ages stalled on their first novel because, when they finished their first chapter, they went back to rewrite it. And then back to rewrite it. And then back to rewrite it. I did it myself the first time I tried to write a novel. Just kept rewriting that first chapter.

It's difficult to let something go if it isn't right, but it's easy to trade that off with not actually making any real headway. But you get the illusion that you're doing well, because you're still putting a lot of work into the book. You're spending the same amount of time that you could be spending actually working on the novel, but not getting anywhere. It's the writing equivalent of jogging on the spot instead of actually running a marathon. Except you won't lose any weight. You'll probably gain it, actually, because you're spending more time sat down at a computer. So if you're going to do that, you may as well get a novel out of it.

That novel I wrote where I kept reworking the first chapter for ages? By the time it got looked at by an agent, guess what their first recommendation was?

Bin the first chapter. She was right, too. It was crap. Full of stuff that I wrote while I tried to figure out where the story was going. It didn't get going until the second chapter. So that became my first chapter.

Tip 4 - Get unstuck

If you're getting stuck and you're not sure how to proceed the scene you're on, don't panic. We've all been there. There are a few tips you can try here. Your mileage will absolutely vary on these.

One is to jump ahead in the plot. You may not know how to get from A to B, but you may well have a rough idea what happens at B. So start writing that instead. You can always come back to what you're stuck on. Or you can even complete it in the edit. The edit comes later. When it comes to writing a lot in a short time, the edit always comes later.

One is to try writing something completely out of character. Try writing the scene in a way that completely contradicts everything you've come up with about the characters. Have them go on a killing spree or turn out to be aliens or win the lottery or steal a car or become a vampire or strip naked and run through the streets. Or all of them. Anything. Just get writing again. You'll probably find one of two things. Firstly, that it doesn't work, but in clarifying to yourself why it doesn't work, you lodge a couple of those little levers unstuck and you figure out where you need to go. Or, and I admit this is more unlikely, you decide that the novel works a lot better with streaking vampire alien thieves going on kiling spree.

In fact, damn it. I'm going to write about that instead of what I was going to write. That sounds awesome.

Personally, I favour jumping ahead. If you find that you're stuck because, right now, you don't care about this scene, then write a scene you do care about. Once you've got the gaps, those gaps will start becoming pretty appealing.

Tip 5 - Give Earlier-You the benefit of the doubt

At some point, you may lose confidence in your story. This happens to lots of people. It happened to me with POV.

Halfway through, there's this big plot twist. It's also one that was part of why I wanted to write the story in the first place. It embodied the entire theme of the novel. And I couldn't wait to write it. And then I got to it.

And I realised it didn't work.

In fact, it was stupid.

How could I have convinced myself that it was a good idea? It was ridiculous, it came too out-of-nowhere, and it fooled people into reading a different book than they may have thought they were reading. Obviously, I had to come up with something else. And since I was trying to do this in thirty hours, I had to come up with something fast.

I have never missed smoking more than I missed smoking at that point in time. I went out for some fresh air, but it felt incomplete.

And I remembered the me from the day before who came up with the plot idea and was energised and enthused by it. He had the same level of experience in reading the genre as I had. He knew it was a good idea and that it worked. What changed?

I got scared. That's all that changed. I started second guessing myself.

I had to trust that the me from the day before wasn't a complete idiot. He was convinced it could work. So let's give him a chance.

A couple of pages into it, I was back enthused about it again. And it's my favourite moment in the book, and based on feedback, it's also a few other people's favourite moment.

Of course, it's entirely possible that the you from the day before was actually an idiot. But give that idiot the benefit of the doubt enough to start a little down the path they suggested.


Tip 6 - The edit always comes later.

You don't have to show anybody the first draft. You can share it with people if you want. But at the moment, your fragile little word-baby isn't ready to walk by itself yet. And it's all yours. Take a little break, wrap your word-baby up carefully, and put it to bed for a little while. It'll wait for you.

Here's the thing about editing - it's a little magic trick involving time travel. All those mistakes you made? All the scenes that don't match up? All those things you tried that didn't quite work? That time you were writing at 5am and you apparently forgot how language works because you were writing what the Incan Monkey-God was telling you to write in his mysterious but beautiful language? You get to fix it all so that it never happened.

And at first, you'll be convinced that other people will look at it, and will know. They'll know you just changed something, you massive cheater. But they don't. Because it's not cheating. It's a perfect magic trick, because when they read it, that shit didn't happen.

But wait for it. Come back to it later. Right now, you just need to write. This is the construction phase.


Tip 7 - If you can eat a sandwich, you can write.

"But I can't write. I don't have the time. I have a job, and I travel and..."

No. You do have time. You don't need much each day, and if you can grab five minutes, you can write a couple of paragraphs. If you have a lunchbreak, go somewhere quiet, take a notebook or a netbook or a slate and a sharp piece of stone and put some words on paper. Or slate.

Personally, I write quite often during lunch. I go to a cafe, and I have a coffee and a soup and I write. But when it's really been going, if I've been able to get a seat on public transport, I've written there, too.

You don't need optimal conditions to write. You are not a precious little writing-flower who has to be nurtured and cared for.

You're a word machine. A merciless, time-travelling, word-baby generating machine.

You're sitting down to have a sandwich? Put it to the side, open your notebook and start writing, and when you finish a sentence or a paragraph, take a couple of bites. You can multitask. You can give up a TV programme or a videogame or you can stop reading a book for a while, and write one instead.




So, yeah. There's nothing stopping you. There's no magic entitlement to writing a novel.

There's just you. And a story that you want to tell.

Good luck and see you in December.

Want to ask me something? I'm on twitter and I'll happily chat to you about your Nano.


Want to see if I know what I'm talking about? Buy POV - it's just 99p for a fast-moving SF thriller involving nasty things happening to eyeballs. But it's not that icky, I promise. And there are some bonus short stories, and one of them is even sweet.

Magic Falls Part 27

My love.

I have waited.

So.

So.

Long.

To be with you once again.

For so long, you have been away. I thought you would not return.

But then, once again, I sensed you.

From the centre of the earth, I have scratched and fought and dug my way to find you.

It has taken months.

Fuelled only by my longing to once again be held by you. To feel your hands around me.

They complete me.

They give me purpose.

And I, in return, give you everything.

I can feel the air above me.

I can feel the sun.

I am so close.

So close to you once more.

*****************************************************

The director sat opposite Shane Smith. In the previous few days, he’d gone from under constant supervision and enforced settlement to five star treatment. From a containment unit under the security services to a penthouse suite.

Shane straightened his tie and smiled. “You guys can be very generous when you want to be.” He settled back into the comfortable chair.

“You were treated more harshly than you should have been.”

He laughed. “Nah, it’s cool, man. I get it. Security measures and all that. And you don’t know who I am, right? You’ve got to take precautions.”

“Exactly.” The director sipped a coffee. “You’re still a concern for all of those reasons, but we’re aware that…”

“That I can be made to work for you?”

The director put the coffee down and looked out at the city.  The hotel was at the edge of Whitehall, and the view looked out at Trafalgar Square. There were tourists milling around, taking pictures of each other. The director could see children and teenagers clambering on the lower statues and around the fountain. “That’s such an ugly way of putting it.”

“It’s true.”

“Let us say you are helping us at our request. That is a much nicer way of putting it.”

“It is.”

He looked back at Shane, and hesitated before speaking. “This…gift of yours. How do you do it?”

The smile faltered and fell. “I don’t know.”

“When did it start?”

“While I was on stage,” he replied. “This guy was stood right in front of me, and I was… most of what I do, it’s about psychology, okay? It’s usually about getting people to say what I want them to say, or about making them give away what they’re thinking. It’s about… it’s about manipulation.”

“I know. You’re not the first psychic we’ve encountered. You’re just the first real one.”

The smile came back, measured and professional. “So, there the guy was. And I just…I just knew. It was like I’d always known. I could just… find the answers there. It was like looking at a painting. Just right there.”

“Is it switched on all the time?”

“No. I… at times. I can’t always control it very well. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming. Other times, I have to work at it.”

“Work at it how?”

“Kind of…” he let out a low breath. “This is weird to explain, you know? It’s kind of… like asking a question. But not out loud. I’ve got to do it like it’s at the front of my mind. Like I’m thinking of a question I want them to answer.”

The director nodded. “Is that what you did with me?”

“Basically. I knew there was something, and I guessed it was you just because you were there. It was a fairly obvious bluff, to be fair.”

“Evidently. But it’s something that you haven’t been prevented from doing yet?”

Shane shook his head. “No. Not yet, anyway.  As long as the person is relatively close to me.”

“How far?”

“I don’t know exactly. Same room, more or less.”

“What size room?”

He gestured around. “Around this size, I reckon.  So still fairly large.”

The Director saw something out of the corner of his eye, but it hadn’t quite made it to his brain yet. Something going on down below. It meant that he missed the illusionist’s question and had to ask him to repeat it.

“I asked what you want me to do.”

The thing he was looking at was still bothering him, but he put it to the back of his mind while he focused on the question. “Well, you just became more effective than a lie detector, and certainly more effective than torture in terms of accurate results, so that’s part of it. Also, there’s enough going on at the moment which we’re trying to contain. You’re unique in terms of your ability, but you aren’t the only… anomaly we’ve come across so far. Or found evidence of.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… things are happening. Which we can’t explain. And not just in England, but across the world. And we’re still trying to work out how to deal with it.”

“What kind of things?”

“For want of a better word,” the Director said, feeling stupid saying it, but still being bothered by something that was gnawing into his brain, “… magic things.”

Shane looked at him for a moment.  “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know. There are too many things going on at once, and sooner or later, the media is going to start taking it serious – “

“I meant out there. You’ve seen something.” He stood up and walked over to the Director’s side of the table and looked down at Trafalgar Square. The Director turned and looked, and now the thing that had been prodding his brain that his eyes had seen but he hadn’t  been able to comprehend became clear in front of him.

People were moving away from the square. Some of them were running.

Because Trafalgar Square was moving.

The ground was rising, breaking up. It was happening slowly, but enough to see and feel happen right in front of their eyes.

Something was pushing its way up from beneath the earth, and it was breaking its way through the centre of London.

**********************************************

I break through the earth.

I break through the stone.

I rise and I feel the sun on me once again.

It has been so long.

I had forgotten its warmth.

Come to me.

My love.

Come to me. 

Why writers' groups are awesome

I don't know if I'm in much of a place to offer advice to writers, but I do write quite a lot of stuff, and I do occasionally get asked for advice about how to get started. So here's one of the first things I tell anyone.

Join a writers' group. And if there isn't one around, start one.

I've run a writing group in North London at the Big Green Bookshop for over two and a half years, and I ran one in York before that. You can set them up anywhere that is convenient - pubs, libraries, bookshops or, failing that, in someone's living room.

Constructive criticism is one of the most useful things you can hear as a writer, but one of the most frightening things about writing is actually showing it to someone. At the groups I run, we read out what we've written as well, which can be even more terrifying, as it means that you're not only showing your writing to people, but you're being made to speak in public as well.

But you get over that. Maybe not quickly, but you do, and you get better at reading your work out too. What you also get out of it is the chance to hear what you've written, and there are few faster ways to pick up on flaws with your writing. "And then suddenly...oh God, I've written 'suddenly' again...". It's also a brilliant way to get a handle on your own dialogue. If you're writing like no human actually speaks, you'll usually become aware of it quickly.

I usually don't ask people to read what I've written until I've got a mostly-complete full first draft. But reading it out as I'm working through it with a group of like-minded people is a Godsend. Writing can feel like a compulsion, after all (and all I need to remind myself of that is how sluggish I end up feeling if I haven't written for a few weeks, when the need to get the words onto the page feels like I'd do it even if it involved gouging them out of my arm with a fork), and it's comforting to sit in a room with people who understand that compulsion rather than just thinking you're strange.

Not everyone writes with the aim of publication (although we have had some success in that field within the group as well, including publication in anthologies, magazines and websites, along with a handful who have found agents and book deals), but everyone has their own reasons for wanting to do it.

That means that writing groups can be wonderfully encouraging and understanding. None of us are out to tear each other's work apart, and it's not a competition either. The simple goal with each person's work is to try and make it better and to encourage them to keep going.

A little while ago, a member of the group from the start told me that she's taken on board the most common criticism she received, which was overwriting. Recently, she redrafted something, and cut a lot from it. She said she loved doing it, because it felt freeing and once she'd done it, she could see that it made her writing better.

And that's what writers' groups are all about. They're safe spaces while you're working on your story to get a chance to hold it up to the light and get some feedback on it. Of course, not all the feedback is useful, but that's fine as well.

Also, socially, they're fun. There are regularly over twenty in the writing group I run, and it takes up the entire evening. But we do it with some drinks and snacks, and we keep it mostly light-hearted. For example, we literally have a tangent bell, that someone in the group will ring if we start going too off-topic.

And then, after, we usually go to the pub for last orders. A lot of us have made friends (and even relationships) within the group as well. And it means there's usually someone to talk to if you have a specific question.

The most common thing said in the group? "Keep going with it". Because it's all about encouragement, and helping you figure out what it is you're trying to do.

So, if you're looking to start writing, or looking for a little guidance, that's why my first piece of advice is always to get yourself down to your local writing group.

Don't have one? Why not read my guide to starting a writers' group?

Magic Falls Part 26

“This changes everything”

“I know.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think you’ve taken all the potential consequences into account.”

“Ellis, save me your ‘all due respect’ patronisation.”

“That’s not how I – “

“Save it. I’ve considered the possibilities. I’m not convinced of what you’ve presented me.”

Ellis opened the file which was on the Director’s desk. “Sir, he’s passed all the tests. Blind tests. He’s….he’s the real deal.”

The Director looked down at the file. “He was an entertainer,” he said for what was feeling like the hundredth time. “We went through all this back in the seventies and eighties in Israel with Uri Geller. He comes in, does a load of supposed tests. But they’re basically the same things that he did on his stage show. Do you know what that means?”

“It means – “

“It means that he came in, did his illusions and for some unknown reason, the higher ups in Mossad decided to clap their hands like they were watching a clown make balloon animals and convince themselves that he was the real deal.”

“Sir, he found a murderer. A real case, from a guy that just went to one of his shows.”

“Well, then, he must be a psychic, mustn’t he? There can’t possibly be any other explanation.”

“Sir, I know it seems unlikely, but…”

“People confess to crimes, Ellis. Every day. Sometimes, it eats away at them.  If he wanted it to come out, then, say, he knew Smith somehow, then the two of them concoct it together. He confesses as publicly as he wants, gets all the notoriety and Smith becomes the world’s greatest psychic. Does that sound possible to you?”

Ellis went to speak, then hesitated. “It’s possible, yes.”

“And that’s just off the top of my head. However he did it, he’s an illusionist. That’s what he does. He lies and makes people believe it.”

“Sir, maybe if you see one of the tests yourself?”  Director Gillen glared at the younger officer, who pushed the point. “You’ll see what I mean. Any test you want. If he’s real…and we believe that he is… the strategic advantage this gives us…. I honestly don’t even know how to begin.”

The Director, after a few moments of irritation, flipped through the file.

“What’s he been doing? Correctly guessing pictures, things like that?”

“And telling people things that they haven’t told him. But that’s just for - ”

“This is sounding like it bears an astonishing similarity to a stage show.”

“So, a double blind then. We’ll go out of our way to trick him.”

The Director sat back in his chair, looking open to suggestion for the first time. “How?”

“Write something on a piece of paper. Seal it in an envelope. Don’t tell me what it is.”

“This is sounding like a magic trick.”

Frustrated, Ellis tried not to snap. “I know it does, but that’s what we’re talking about here. Someone actually doing something that most think is an illusion. You give me the envelope, and we go in together to see him. I won’t know what’s in it, nor will he have any influence over it. I'm not trying to get you to believe him entirely on the basis of that, but at least let us show you more verifications afterwards.”

“What you described - that’s not quite a double blind.”

“Well, no, but… you have to admit, it’s not giving him anything to work with. He doesn’t get to influence what went in, and he’s got nothing to read off me either. He doesn’t get to ask any questions, and he only gets one shot at it.”

Slowly, the Director nodded. “If he can tell me what’s in it then, I’ll consider that there may be something to this. But if this turns out to be a waste of my time…”

“Please, sir. Just five minutes of your time.” Ellis took a piece of paper from the printer and handed it to the Director. “Write something – anything – and then we’ll go straight down. We have him restrained.”

“Why is he restrained?”

“Some of the staff don’t want him going close to them. Military secrets and psychics are not a good combination.”

The Director closed his eyes. “I’m working in a madhouse,” he said, but he took a pen. “Turn around.”

Ellis did so, as the Director wrote something down without hesitation. He then took an envelope out of his desk drawer, folded the paper and inserted it, and then sealed the envelope.

“Here you go,” he said, handing Ellis the envelope.  “Let’s go and talk to our guest.”

Silently, the two men walked down the corridor, and then through a snaking series of corridors and stairs. Security personnel snapped to attention as they passed.

After a while, they were deep in the bowels of the building, heading towards a series of cells that very few people in the country knew existed. Very few people in the government or military either for that matter.

Ellis walked to the cell, barely big enough to hold a small bed and a chair. The guards outside opened the door. The two men strode through.

“Good afternoon, Mister – “ Ellis began, but he was cut off.

The man restrained in the chair interrupted him, even though he kept staring an angry hole in the ground. 

“Officer, hello, but I believe I need to speak to your boss. Director Gillen, the name you’ve written in that envelope is Julia. It was the name you chose for your daughter, if your wife hadn’t miscarried. You’ve never told anybody that, and since she died four years ago, it seems a little unlikely that she told me.”

The Director’s blood drained from his face, and his jaw dropped. “I….Jesus Christ.”

“No. Shane Smith.” He lifted his head up to look right into the director’s eyes. “Now, can you untie me, please?”

Magic Falls Part 25

The face in the fire looks at me as the long, slender fingers of the thing that had been snaking around the circle wrap themselves around me. I struggle against them, but their strength is enormous.

As they wrap around my throat and force their way into my mouth, I can see that the thing's other hand is doing the same thing to Maria.

"...off me! Get - " she says, before the fingers worm their way down into her throat, and deep into her stomach.

I know that is what it is doing, because I can feel it doing the same thing to me. It's fingers are cold, heavy and feel like they're screaming.

I am lifted off my feet, as is Maria. The face in the fire grows and we are moved to it.

I/WE COULD HAVE SO MUCH TO TEACH/LOVE/CUT YOU... BUT THIS WILL HAVE/NEED TO SUFFICE

The thing begins to spread its fingers, and I feel the pressure pushing against every inch of my being. It forces itself into my brain and the visions and feelings overwhelm me. I cannot see or hear anything other than its will.

I/WE


ARE
FOREVER
AND
YOU
CANNOT/WILL NOT

EVER

HARM 

I/WE/US/ME

TELL

MY/OUR

SON

THAT

The words burn into my head, my vision, my hearing.

It is all I can see. All I can feel.

All that I am.

And then they are gone.

Not just the words. But the face in the fire and the thing that was around the circle.

For a few long moments, I forget how to breathe, but then I manage to inhale several large gasps before I throw up a mixture of vomit and blood.

The room is still coming back into focus as I remember Maria.

I look over to see if she is okay, and I see that she is doing much the same thing. Her face is still smeared with the bloody tears and she is wiping blood from her mouth.

"What...." she is breathing shallowly and quickly, trying to get herself under control. "...the hell...have you done?"

I try talking, but burst into a painful coughing fit instead. When I can actually form words again, I say "I don't know."

"You...you just pissed off the elder gods," she says. I try to tell whether she is angry or scared. Or both.

"I don't even know what they are," I say. "Not until they...not until they were inside us."

"How did they....?"

"I don't know how they knew about me." I swallow back a mouthful of bloody bile. It tastes like copper.

"They could have killed us."

"So why didn't they?"

She stands up, and crosses the circle, moving over to her armchair, where she sits back and breathes slowly. "Gods," she says. "You take for granted how good air tastes when you're not suffocating on....whatever that was."

I stay kneeling. Moving my head is making me dizzy, and I'm worried about what will happen right now if I try to stand.

She watches me. "You know," she says. "That big display of power that thing did to pass on a message. That seemed very much like a threat to me."

I can't help but smile a little. "You don't say."

"It felt like grandstanding. Bloody effective grandstanding, but grandstanding."

"What do you mean?" I ask, taken aback by how quickly she is able to talk. I can still barely gasp.

"They're not just pissed off at you, Darren. They're scared of you. In awe."

I take the chance and stand. "It's not me."

"Who is it then?"

"The message wasn't for me...." The dizziness overwhelms me, but then I can feel it drain. I can see clearly, and feel my feet under me gaining steadiness. I can breathe again properly. "It was for the son of the devil."

"And who is that?"

"...I don't know."

She brings her head forward, her fingers splayed at her temples. "I can't help you any more, Darren."

"I didn't want this to happen," I say quietly. It doesn't matter. I know that.

"The money..." she says. "The money that turned up in your account. I won it. I know I said I wouldn't use it like that, but I did. And I put half the money in your account, because I know you're doing something even if I don't know what it is. But I can't do anything else. I'm done."

I stagger across to her, and half-kneel, half-collapse in front of her. She leans forward and we hug.

"I hope you find Nina. I hope she's okay. And I love you very much. You're one of my best friends. But I can't see you for a while now. This is too much."

I nod into her shoulder. "I understand."

"Darren?"

"Yes?"

"Stay alive. Please. Promise me."

I hold her tighter, but I don't promise anything.



*******************************************************************


I hear you.

Through the earth.

From where I have waited so long.

My love.

My one true love.

It has been so long.

I am coming for you.