It’s 3.00pm on New Year’s Eve, and guess what? I still don’t know what I’m doing to celebrate, or if I even want to. This happens every year for me. New Year’s Eve = Indecisive rubbish. I can’t remember the last time I had a spectacular time on NY’s eve, or if I ever have. There’s so much pressure pending on going out and getting so drunk that you end up in bed for the first week of an expectant new year, and it doesn’t seem worth the bother.
I’m not going to do that tonight. I’m getting over a nasty cold, my friends are dispersed in too many different directions that it would be impossible to chose one specific party to attend and the miserable weather is one more good reason to stay in. The anticipation to NY countdown just doesn’t cut it for me; I’d rather be at home watching a good film with a take away. Which is exactly what I might do, with my flu-riddled boyfriend snivelling and coughing next to me. Great.
Another reason I don’t dig NY is that I’ve got a lot of catching up to do work-wise. I’m heading back down south on Tuesday, and desperately need to tie up loose ends and pack. I have to get my business cards printed, (I’m still waiting for Luke to come up with a caricature of me to put on the cards that does justice to my features without making me look fat or demented. I know it’s only a sketch, but it wouldn’t hurt Luke to accentuate a few of my features to make me look more beautiful. If he doesn’t produce something I’m happy with, I’ve got some arty photos to use…
But I hope I can use one of his pictures because he’s got great talent and having Luke’s work on my cards will give both of us a bit of harmless self-publicity. If I ever get round to writing a children’s story, I’ll definitely ask him to provide the illustrations.
Back to NY - the sooner it’s over the better, and then I can get my head and hands back where they should be: in a book or on my laptop. I’ve tried so hard to keep up with my ‘to do’ list over Xmas, but the time has galloped past and chucked me at the starting line again. I’ve read a few books, composed letters, written a 3000-word story, but that’s the extent of it.
I was going to send off my work experience letters before Xmas, but realised there wasn’t a stapler at the house to staple my CV’s together. Then, before I knew it, Xmas had descended and if I’d have sent them off, they’d probably be lying on office floors ready to be chucked away with the rest of the Xmas junk mail. So, I’ll send them on Tuesday and keep my fingers crossed. I’ve written to ten companies, and I’m hoping that I’ll at least get one positive response.
I’ve just finished reading Blake Snyder’s Save The Cat! Which is a one-stop-shop scriptwriting machine. Snyder is one of Hollywood’s most prolific scriptwriters, he’s had over a dozen movies put into production and earned millions of dollars from it. I met him at a seminar in Penzance, where he single-handedly taught us the best way to pitch, structure, write and re-write a script. It all seemed to make perfect sense, and reading the book helped to reiterate everything he went over in the seminar.
Armed with my new found story structure tools, I’m ready to start writing my own script. If I stick to Snyder’s ‘beat sheet’, and Robert McKee’s slightly more complex formulas, it should be fairly simple. I’m already applying these principles to all types of story I write; these principles are nothing new – just new approaches to the time-old tradition of storytelling.
Sunday, 31 December 2006
Friday, 22 December 2006
Decisions, Decisions
Having just rushed to finish an article for Bloc, I’ve come to realise how much I enjoy writing features, and may consider changing my option for next term. I arranged an interview with a writer friend of my parents, Brigid McConville on Tuesday. I’ve known Brigid all my life, but I had no idea that she’d achieved so much as a writer and filmmaker.
Equip with my new Dictaphone and digital camera, I spent an hour with Brigid discussing her unconventional career from a travel writer in London to a journalist in treacherous, war torn Somalia and Afghanistan, all in pursuit of the most intriguing stories. Her bloody-mindedness is an inspiration; her over-arching goal is to give a voice to marginalised women through her writing and films.
What I admire about Brigid is her willingness to cross any terrain – literally and metaphorically to source her stories. I was astounded to find out that she had narrowly missed being shot several times in Africa and Afghanistan. A few years ago she went to Afghanistan to interview a Taliban governor. She was the first woman he’d ever spoken to and apparently he was extremely hostile and uncooperative.
She wasn’t even allowed to write anything down, but she took the risk. Not only has she risked her life for the sake of outstanding journalism that has won her prizes, she has written over a dozen books, brought up three children and been a freelance features writer for many of the nationals and women’s magazines.
For a writer with no formal training, she has risen to a comfortable level of recognition and she’s gained a sufficient list of regular slots with the Radio Times, Woman magazine and most recently, Mslexia magazine. I really appreciated her honest view of the media machine and hope I have relayed as much as I could of her advice in my article.
It was my birthday yesterday, and so I am twenty-four and I care less and less for birthdays, as I get older. The day was vague and uneventful. Luke made me breakfast in bed; I had a late lunch with dad and Lilli, and then donned my heels for a night out in Bridgwater. On the way out of Wetherspoons, I hit upon an idea for a good story opener.
As we walked down the street, a section of the pavement in front of us was littered with glass and splinters of wood. A few lads were talking to two policemen, looking up at the broken window. The perpetrating object of the angry incident had landed in the boot of a swish new car – shattering the back windshield. Who ever threw that fire extinguisher must have thrown it from the huge bay window above, minutes before we walked past.
The reason I thought this situation would be a good story opener is because there is so much intrigue behind it. Who threw the extinguisher and why? What if someone was on the street as the window shattered? What caused the instigator to react so violently?
Equip with my new Dictaphone and digital camera, I spent an hour with Brigid discussing her unconventional career from a travel writer in London to a journalist in treacherous, war torn Somalia and Afghanistan, all in pursuit of the most intriguing stories. Her bloody-mindedness is an inspiration; her over-arching goal is to give a voice to marginalised women through her writing and films.
What I admire about Brigid is her willingness to cross any terrain – literally and metaphorically to source her stories. I was astounded to find out that she had narrowly missed being shot several times in Africa and Afghanistan. A few years ago she went to Afghanistan to interview a Taliban governor. She was the first woman he’d ever spoken to and apparently he was extremely hostile and uncooperative.
She wasn’t even allowed to write anything down, but she took the risk. Not only has she risked her life for the sake of outstanding journalism that has won her prizes, she has written over a dozen books, brought up three children and been a freelance features writer for many of the nationals and women’s magazines.
For a writer with no formal training, she has risen to a comfortable level of recognition and she’s gained a sufficient list of regular slots with the Radio Times, Woman magazine and most recently, Mslexia magazine. I really appreciated her honest view of the media machine and hope I have relayed as much as I could of her advice in my article.
It was my birthday yesterday, and so I am twenty-four and I care less and less for birthdays, as I get older. The day was vague and uneventful. Luke made me breakfast in bed; I had a late lunch with dad and Lilli, and then donned my heels for a night out in Bridgwater. On the way out of Wetherspoons, I hit upon an idea for a good story opener.
As we walked down the street, a section of the pavement in front of us was littered with glass and splinters of wood. A few lads were talking to two policemen, looking up at the broken window. The perpetrating object of the angry incident had landed in the boot of a swish new car – shattering the back windshield. Who ever threw that fire extinguisher must have thrown it from the huge bay window above, minutes before we walked past.
The reason I thought this situation would be a good story opener is because there is so much intrigue behind it. Who threw the extinguisher and why? What if someone was on the street as the window shattered? What caused the instigator to react so violently?
Wednesday, 13 December 2006
Lost Words
I went back to the canal yesterday, to write down the words and phrases carved into the wooden beams supporting the space between the footpath and an ancient building over the other side of the water. I have yet to discover the history of the carvings, but I’d like to research it and maybe create a story from my findings. They read as follows (each line represents the words carved on each separate beam):
Navigators
Sinew and Bone
Jolt of the pick
Clack of the Hammer
Iron on Stone
Red Quantock
We came and went
Our legacy
A Boat
Coming Clean
Through the Hill
I sometimes find it hard to believe that Bridgwater was a highly prosperous port town, with a brick making industry that was hard to rival. It has all but lost those affluent connotations now. The river Parrot is now nothing more than a mud bath for abandoned supermarket trolleys. But I have seen old photographs of magnificent boats entering the town’s high and clean waters, and the contrast is striking.
I’d like to think that the carvings on the beams above the canal are there to honour the men who worked so hard to make the town industrious. It tells of their toil and the pride they bestowed on their work. I think ‘sinew and bone’ is a reference to the close relationship they have with the earth they were extracting. I have a feeling that ‘Red Quantock’ is the name given to the stone - this would fit perfectly with the colour of the stone walls the beams are supporting. Quantock Red is abundant in Bridgwater; most of the houses built in the same period are all a very distinguishable burnt red colour.
The last three phrases really confuse me. Obviously, there were boats on the canal, but I can’t figure out the significance here. Unless the men are digging the canal, ready for boats to use. The only reason I could give for the use of ‘through the hill’ is another reference to the Quantock Hills.
The form is poetic and I am intrigued to find out the true meaning of the words. Why they are placed where they are? Who wrote them?
Navigators
Sinew and Bone
Jolt of the pick
Clack of the Hammer
Iron on Stone
Red Quantock
We came and went
Our legacy
A Boat
Coming Clean
Through the Hill
I sometimes find it hard to believe that Bridgwater was a highly prosperous port town, with a brick making industry that was hard to rival. It has all but lost those affluent connotations now. The river Parrot is now nothing more than a mud bath for abandoned supermarket trolleys. But I have seen old photographs of magnificent boats entering the town’s high and clean waters, and the contrast is striking.
I’d like to think that the carvings on the beams above the canal are there to honour the men who worked so hard to make the town industrious. It tells of their toil and the pride they bestowed on their work. I think ‘sinew and bone’ is a reference to the close relationship they have with the earth they were extracting. I have a feeling that ‘Red Quantock’ is the name given to the stone - this would fit perfectly with the colour of the stone walls the beams are supporting. Quantock Red is abundant in Bridgwater; most of the houses built in the same period are all a very distinguishable burnt red colour.
The last three phrases really confuse me. Obviously, there were boats on the canal, but I can’t figure out the significance here. Unless the men are digging the canal, ready for boats to use. The only reason I could give for the use of ‘through the hill’ is another reference to the Quantock Hills.
The form is poetic and I am intrigued to find out the true meaning of the words. Why they are placed where they are? Who wrote them?
Wednesday, 6 December 2006
Editing Exam
Today we had an editing exam, which consisted of two quite daunting tasks. One was a 'top' edit, where we had to read a text and then rearrange it, according to our own personal logic, and to make the text more comprehensive. I would have quite enjoyed this one, except for I didn't have a watch on, so was completely oblivious to the fading time. Needless to say - I struggled to hand it in as a complete edit. I spent too much time planning a mock-up on paper and then when someone said there was only ten minutes left - I had to hastily copy everything and more onto the test paper.
I think with fifty or sixty minutes, this test would have been ideal. But forty minutes went by quicker than a blink of an eye. In terms of what I actually got done in the time frame - I think I grasped the basic errors in the original text and my dodgy drawing of guitars and their accessories will certainly amuse Christina and Susannah: endlessly. I used to be so good at art - where did it all go wrong? It was the pressure - that's what I'll keep telling myself!
The second test was a four page biography of Charles Dickens. It was poorly written, poorly punctuated, and the grammar was all over the place. This text came with a style guide of three pages and again, a forty minute deadline. Now - I like to read slowly, I have to read slowly to take things in properly. But I couldn't decide whether to take the text slowly and edit it as I went, or to read the style guide first - so I knew what to look out for as I read the text.
I ended up doing a really close edit on the first two pages, and then a semi-close edit on the third. I didn't even realise there was a fourth page until five minutes to the end. Susannah said she'd prefer us to do a detailed study of a fewer number of pages than doing all of them to hastily. I did get to tackle it, but not as closely as I'd have liked. I think the second test was more subjective than the first - so it's harder for me to gauge how I did with it. I think I picked up on a lot of the typos and grammatical errors, but I didn't really have time to sift through the structural details.
Enough of the critical analysis all ready!
Lets talk about something fun. Only one more lecture left before the old Xmas celebrations begin. We have Bill from nine til two then on to Five Degrees West for a good old fashioned Xmas knees up. From what I can gather, there is going to be a superb turn out (of staff and students). Must pace myself though, I've got parties lined up for the next three days - don't want to burn myself out at the first hurdle.
I've got my Cornish work placement sorted out, so I can look forward to a few days off over Xmas, and maybe I'll have time for some light reading. Maybe a spot of Blake Snyder or Robert McKee? It's not going to be a holiday , but at least I get to curl up with my cats and boyfriend and don't have to sit in a room without windows all day. (No offence to Tremough's designers... but really - space as a motto? (I laugh in the face of adversity!)
Don't know how I'll get all my books and clothes home with me, I haven't been back for longer than a few days at a time. Three weeks at home requires a lot of baggage, and I am a girl. Never mind, as long as I don't pick up to much on the other side, I'll be OK. But it's my birthday on the twenty-first, so I'm bound to accumulate more...
Bill's session tomorrow should be interesting and highly entertaining for all. We weren't allowed to put our names on our homework this week, so I'm presuming it's going to be guess the author time. I can pick out a few peoples style without seeing their by-line, but I have not read work by everyone on the course. It will be intriguing to see if anyone has deliberately tried to hide their style in order to confuse us.
I think with fifty or sixty minutes, this test would have been ideal. But forty minutes went by quicker than a blink of an eye. In terms of what I actually got done in the time frame - I think I grasped the basic errors in the original text and my dodgy drawing of guitars and their accessories will certainly amuse Christina and Susannah: endlessly. I used to be so good at art - where did it all go wrong? It was the pressure - that's what I'll keep telling myself!
The second test was a four page biography of Charles Dickens. It was poorly written, poorly punctuated, and the grammar was all over the place. This text came with a style guide of three pages and again, a forty minute deadline. Now - I like to read slowly, I have to read slowly to take things in properly. But I couldn't decide whether to take the text slowly and edit it as I went, or to read the style guide first - so I knew what to look out for as I read the text.
I ended up doing a really close edit on the first two pages, and then a semi-close edit on the third. I didn't even realise there was a fourth page until five minutes to the end. Susannah said she'd prefer us to do a detailed study of a fewer number of pages than doing all of them to hastily. I did get to tackle it, but not as closely as I'd have liked. I think the second test was more subjective than the first - so it's harder for me to gauge how I did with it. I think I picked up on a lot of the typos and grammatical errors, but I didn't really have time to sift through the structural details.
Enough of the critical analysis all ready!
Lets talk about something fun. Only one more lecture left before the old Xmas celebrations begin. We have Bill from nine til two then on to Five Degrees West for a good old fashioned Xmas knees up. From what I can gather, there is going to be a superb turn out (of staff and students). Must pace myself though, I've got parties lined up for the next three days - don't want to burn myself out at the first hurdle.
I've got my Cornish work placement sorted out, so I can look forward to a few days off over Xmas, and maybe I'll have time for some light reading. Maybe a spot of Blake Snyder or Robert McKee? It's not going to be a holiday , but at least I get to curl up with my cats and boyfriend and don't have to sit in a room without windows all day. (No offence to Tremough's designers... but really - space as a motto? (I laugh in the face of adversity!)
Don't know how I'll get all my books and clothes home with me, I haven't been back for longer than a few days at a time. Three weeks at home requires a lot of baggage, and I am a girl. Never mind, as long as I don't pick up to much on the other side, I'll be OK. But it's my birthday on the twenty-first, so I'm bound to accumulate more...
Bill's session tomorrow should be interesting and highly entertaining for all. We weren't allowed to put our names on our homework this week, so I'm presuming it's going to be guess the author time. I can pick out a few peoples style without seeing their by-line, but I have not read work by everyone on the course. It will be intriguing to see if anyone has deliberately tried to hide their style in order to confuse us.
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