Showing posts with label the Novel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Novel. Show all posts

Thursday, 7 May 2015

12 Writing Process - History, Empathy and Intuition


Wendy’s NewsletterThe Writing Process


Newsletter 12 

Thursday May 7th 2015

Hello again. Thank you for returning to my Newsletter.If this is your first time, welcome. 


Another set of crucial decisions for you as a creative novelist are those involving the issue of timing within your narrative. These decisions need not be hard and fast: like the early creative stages, these too can have an improvisational, intuitive element to them.

In the early stages you eventually come to know just when your novel begins, in terms of time. If  you see your novel as  contemporary  - perhaps  now or in the last fifty years = you need to be just as precise with your research as you would be with a novel set in – say - the time of the Tudors, or any part of Victoria’s reign or,  the mid-Twentieth Century.

The purpose of a novelist’s research , in writing a story based at a certain point in history – contemporary or historical - is get caught up in a web of that time. This web is formed by threads of information emerging from the time context of your novel.  Details count.  In every decade during the last fifty years, the time-contexts - the politics, the fashions, and the social and cultural assumptions - have been changing year by year and surging on at an increasing pace.


The cultural and political contexts of the year 2000 are different to 2004, are different to 2006, and are different to 2008 and so on. An election year is different to a non-election year. An Olympic year is different to a non-Olympic year. A novel beginning on July 7th in London in 2005   would be qualitatively different from a novel beginning the month before. Even if you don’t mention the bombings you need to know that this incident will be buried somewhere in your characters’ minds ever after. Even if such events are not mentioned in your narrative, your own essential awareness of them will filter through in your intuitive writing.

Although I lived through the 1960s I re-researched those times for my 1960s novel Sandie Shaw and the Millionth Marvel Cooker.  For this novel I reconsidered the very different aspects of work and leisure, travel and fashion, student life and home life which were part of the taken-for-granted life in those days.
I had not realised how I had embedded in this novel the social and interactive role of smoking cigarettes until I read one reviewer’s comment that, ‘I had forgotten how much we smoked in those days.’ Such things can strengthen the authenticity of the world view of the characters and the narrative set in a particular time.

I course, in researching the time-settings of your novel, you will only ever get to a partial truth in historical terms. One thing I tend to do, with fiction set in the Twentieth Century, is to build into my historically based time-web threads of – knowledge about - contemporaneous art.  films, novels, radio, documentaries, magazines, photographs and newspapers. Such sources are there for us to absorb a fruitful time-based feeling sufficiently strong to write freely and intuitively.

 I am currently researching a World War 2 novel. The conventional historical sources – so many of them – are easy to access, fascinating to read. But as well as that I am reading post-war memoirs of wartime exploits: William Moss’s  Ill Met By Moonlight the anecdotal memoir, the source of the eponymous, iconic film about wartime exploits on Crete; I am also reading Abducting a General, Patrick Liegh Fermor’s more poetic , possibly more informed, but equally gung-ho take on those same events.  The fact that these two young men were bosom buddies and shared these adventures makes it good to read them in tandem. As well as this the biography outlining the post-war Fitzrovian life of Elizabeth Frink is on my reading table.

As well as this I am reading Elizabeth Bowen’s novel. The Heat of the Day:  a beautifully written, highly personal novel reflecting her own high octane experiences in wartime Britain.  

Unexpected things can happen in this process of empathetic research. Once, researching for another wartime novel I checked the documented radio programming for 1941.  Radio was crucial during the war. I wondered what else my characters would be listening to, apart from news from the war front.

 On the pages of the Radio Times I discovered– around the time when I myself was born -   the very first broadcast performance of J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.  My own mother would certainly have listened to that. The name Wendy had not existed before J.M.Barrie invented it.

 So, in my research for my novel Land of Your Possession - although she never told me - I discovered the reason why my mother decided on this odd name for me, her
third child. Lizza, the young pregnant mother in the story, lives through the Blitz on Coventry and the novel follows her adventures in surviving it. And Lizza, too, listens to the radio and hears the play.

All well and good, we creative writers will say. One writer friend, however, recently pointed out to me that there was a problem in using such sources as a key to empathising with the world contemporary to one’s novel. What, she said, if one looked at today’s art, novels, magazines and media to absorb true feeling to write a story set on present times? Think about the extravagant perfection of Interiors Magazines, the excesses and omissions of News media both in newspapers and on the Net. Consider the cloud cuckoo-land of celebrity magazines. Think of the rash of erotic novels, of slash moves.   How ‘real’ is all this for some future writer who bases her novel on the year 2015?

Would such sources give a true reflection of our age for a writer to build the time-web of her novel so she can reflect her characters’ lives in 2015? And then I have the thought that we need to remember that there would be a different time-web for each class, for each region, for each year.
(One thought. Perhaps writing future fiction - very popular now - is a much clearer, simpler project.)

Of course there comes a time when you must roar STOP! And go and sit in a quiet place for a week or so to let all this stuff sink in to the point of empathy and the level of intuition, before returning to the free-flowing  creative processes of writing your fiction that I proposed in my earlier Newsletters.

But this is an exciting point in your writing process, isn’t it? This is when the further development of your novel will be informed by truly empathetic creative intuition which will allow your novel to sit well in its historical frame and still be relevant to your readers in the present day. Wx.



Thursday, 12 March 2015

4 WRITING PROCESS: WRITING BY HAND

Wendy’s Newsletter No. 4 Thursday March 12 2015

Hello again. Thank you for returning to my Newsletter.

If this is your first time, welcome.


Being a writer demands acts of courage, large and small, such as:

·         
Working entirely alone and sustaining your self belief

·         Writing with honesty and telling the truth
·         Tapping into strong elements of your own experience and telling some kind if truth that will relate to more generic human experiences.
·         Having faith in your vision of the world even if it doesn’t fit the genre-ridden business model of modern publishing,
·         Most of all I have discovered other small acts of courage which involve opening a new notebook and making a start on new work.  

A very common question for me and other writers when we meet writers and readers is’

How do you set about it? What is the process?


After saying very carefully that all writers evolve their own idiosyncratic method I usually admit that I write my first draft by hand.

These days this admission is met by a degree of disbelief and a kind of pity that one feels for a bag lady in the road. There is sometimes a frown. 'I would have thought computers would have been a Godsend for you! Make things easier.' Then (add in kind tone of voice) 'They're very easy to use you know,'

Well, I do know. 

I love my computer(s).They are brilliant for instant researching, for blogging and Facebooking and now Newslettering. I think I might have been a pioneer in that field.  I remember the joy of my first word-processer, an Amstrad 9512 - such a brilliant improvement after my electric typewriter and my bottles of SnoPake.  

I shudder at the thought of the state of my original manuscripts - which were accepted by publishers. Never mind. Daphne du Maurier sent her publishers scribbled hand-scripted drafts…
I do like to write in ink pen or, when pushed, a sweetly flowing gel-pen.


These days I own and make use of an office computer, a standard laptop and more recently a tablet.  So nowadays my drafts, well edited and neatly transcribed, reach the publisher in the immaculate computer-rendered form that I always recommend to all my students.


So, why, you may ask  do you not write now straight onto the screen? 


That is a non-starter for me.  I have experimented with drafting straight onto the screen and rejected is as far too rigid, too self-limiting. For me, staring at a screen neutralises the diverse energy of the creative mind. It hinders the nascent surprise of the millions of word in your head clustering around an idea, a concept, an inspiration as it leaps into the imagination in sentence form.


But as blocks and pages of screen-rafts build up on the screen, clearly they are too finished too complete, too self-referring, and insufficiently open. They have too much authority and too little vulnerability.

These blocks of print in the screen utterly lack the liquidity of blood transferred from the brain, down the arm to the ink or the gel that makes the mark on the page.

So for me, although computers are a wonderful gift for the end process, in the beginning the work must exist in a fluid, tentative state in notebook – always available for changing, imagining, creating and re-creating your story.

So, the only way for me to write the first draft of a novel is in a bound notebook (NOT loose pages, not ring bound…) with an ink or a gel pen.

Everyone has their own protocols.


But normally I write in bound hardback A4 notebooks. I only write on the right-hand side of the page, leaving the left-hand space for insertions, scribbled self-instructions and amendments. This often evolves into a kind of dialogue with myself about the story. The empty left hand page is crucial to my process.

At first it’s like writing my way up a hill, my ink-pen finding its way through a new landscape, dislodging here and there a tiny pressed petal or a strand of grass. The ink suffices, makes its mark.

In the end, like many things that have seemed hard, almost impossible, it has been easy. 


After drafting 20 thousand words of a new novel I embark on the first lot of transcription onto the computer, (It’s important to wait until there is this bank of original drafting before it gets onto a rigid screen.) Firts I write on a fresh page in my notebook all the queries and questions, changes and modifications that have emerged in the process of transcription

It is important not to be tempted into a full blown edit at this point. Leave that to the very end.


Then more ink drafting in 20,000 blocks. Then more transcription. I sometimes find that I have scenes and scraps, brainstorms and locations in other notebooks. I can blame that on my habit of writing on trains, in cafes, pubs and parks on whatever is to hand. So the transcribing of this first part of the novel can extend to time hunting down scenes out of sequence.

This is when I say to myself that EVERYTHING – whether or not I think it is really part of the novel - should go somewhere into the three notebooks 

As I follow these protocols, the contents of my three A4 notebooks, will organically emerge as an 80,000 word novel, give or take. Two A4 notebooks can emerge as a 40,000 novella. 

As I have said, it takes acts of courage to embark on a large writing project in this fashion. Trying my protocols might help you in these acts of courage:
·         Working entirely alone and sustaining your self belief
·         Writing with honesty and telling the truth
·         Tapping into strong elements of your own experience and telling some kind if truth that will relate to more generic human experiences.
·         Having faith in your vision of the world even if it doesn’t fit the genre-ridden business model of modern publishing,

For me the smallest and the largest acts of courage involve opening a new notebook and making a start on new work.



Next week – The benefits of the computer as a creative tool for self-editing.