Fuck it

Fuck it. I'm going to fucking do them both. Let's see what happens.

Audentes fortuna iuvat, or something like that.

2013 is going to be both productive AND painful.

Never ending stories

So I'm sitting here working on the third draft of my novel and my mind keeps tacking back to a tale I've growing in my mind for several months now. In a nutshell it's about metamorphosis and maturation. It's a about a young girl who hungers for adventure and who yearns to explore her world who starts out very much like Link from Nintendo's Zelda series or Sansa Stark from George RR Martin's Song of ice fire novels (Know to everyone in TV land as Game of Thrones) : nieve, brave, trusting and fiercely self righteous.

Over the course of her tale she grows and matures into a noble and fierce warrior. But also scarred by what she's seen and done. She essential transforms into a cross between Logen Ninefingers,  Conan, Brienne of tarth, Guts and Mokoto Kusanagi. I want to write it in the old pulp style. A la Robert E Howard. Short, dense, fast moving and full. Each punt would be a maximum of eight thousand words. Figure I could write one a week if pushed. And I want to write it for a teenage audience. Something that teenagers could pick up when the become tried of their videogames. I want to write the kind of book that I would have picked up when I was fifteen.

But, and here comes the kicker, I would want to illustrate the hell out of the fucker. I remember being enthralled by the beauty of capcom illustrations by Shinkiro, Bengus and Akiman. Their work for such games as Final Fight, Magic Sword and, most famously Street Fighter 2 had me locked in my bedroom with an endless stream of paper and pencils trying to capture the brilliance and energy of those two Japanese masters of illustration.

I want to inspire the same awe in others that I felt when I was in my formative years. Or try at the very least. But i have a hell of a lot to learn and a hell of a lot of drawing to do, and a hell of a lot of bad drawing to get out of my system to do before I even begin to reach that level of proficiency  Gotta start somewhere though, right? One illustration a week would force me to commit pencil, ink and brush to paper without fail. I'm so tempted to do it along side the writing of Frostfeld but I wonder if I might not be filling my plate with too much work.  My reach has always been shorter then my grasp.

Well surely the only way to know for sure is to attempt it, right?

Arse backwards and back to front

So I'm working on the third draft of the novel while trying to simultaneously do the illustration when I came upon these videos by irish illustrator PJ Lynch.





It occurred to me that I was approaching the project arse backwards. Book illustration is a response to a finished text. Not a text in progress. And as the novel in still a work in progress and has changed a lot between drafts-one would hope for the better-there's no telling what will be junked or rewritten between this draft and its final version.

So between now and the final dotting of I's and crossing of t's, I'm going focus my energies on the character designs and reference collection. As the bulk of the story is set in Amsterdam/Netherlands it I'll be a safe bet that anything I collect will be usable.

And I still need to approach that Malaysian illustrator to see if she's interested in contributing work to the project.

More later.

Hello again Part 1

Evenin' all.

I'm alive.  This is proof of life. If you're  wondering where I've been, well, i'm about to spend some time filling you in.  You might want to put the kettle on and make yourself a cuppa, caus' we're going to be here for a while.

Don't worry.  I'll wait.

Grab some biscuits too.  But only if they're custard creams.

You done?  Sure?

Cool.

Sitting comfortably?  Well, I'll begin.

If you've been in a mine for the past few weeks you might not have noticed that the Olympic and Paralympic games descended on London like a hurricane this summer. I cannot tell you how much it effected the city.  There was an almost euphoric buzz which permeated the city and left almost noone untouched.  Never before have I either seen nor felt such a sense of profound sense of nation pride.  It was almost as if the entire country forgot that we were in the middle of a recession and had less the two pence to rub together and collectively decided to celebrated the brilliance and diversity which makes this united kingdom unique.  Its exactly England's ability to take that which is alien and make it England that is our strength.  We are a mongrel nation.  A melting pot of cultures and beliefs and people who have be brewing for almost four thousands years.

Maybe longer.

Definitely longer.

Both our behavior as a nation and our performance at games was astounding and exemplary.  Everyone who participated, from the athletes, to the volunteers who worked entirely for free, to the organizers, to the workers who served both the staff and the public has every reason to feel proud of themselves.

I had the opportunity to see the beast up close.  I worked at a McDonalds in the athletes village.  I served athletes from every country on the planet.  I worked with people from all corners of the globe.  The professionalism and hard work I both saw and was a part of was inspirational.

Especially the disabled staff and the paralympians.

I saw and served men and woman who had lost limbs, their eyesight.  Who were wheelchair bound.  And each and everyone of the refused to feel sorry for themselves.  They demanded your respect.  They refused to see themselves as disabled.

In the face of their fierce determination and refusal of pity I made a solemn vow to again complain about my life choices or hardships.  I have neither the excuse nor the right.  Am where I am because of conscious choices I made. Not through flights of fancy.

More later.  Enjoy your sunday.

Writing is supposed to be fun..

In 2001, the celebrated writer Ray Bradbury delivered a keynote address at The Sixth Annual Writer's Symposium by the Sea entitled "Telling the Truth,"

Ray Bradbury offers young writers a wealth of advice, included how to the avoid the various pitfalls they invariable fall into.

Its surprising how familiar all of what he say is to me.  I need to process and digest this before I can react to it.

Observations on flaws in work ethics

The underlying flaws of my approach to my work are easy to spot once the best of my work is collected in one place.

These flaws are numerous but fixable.  They are as follows:

1: A constant repetition of mistakes and no effort made to address them. 

Hence the repetition.

2: Not enough time spent studying the techniques of practitioners. Not enough time spent trying to reproduce the said techniques. Enough so that I am able to reproduce those techniques AT WILL.

3: Not enough time spent focusing on one illustrator.  Too much time spent jumping from one influence to another without learning what is needed. 

4: A lack of critical analysis of the illustrators being studied.  Learning and understanding both how and why their work works.

5: No time spent on learning the basics of drawing.  The fundamentals.  The building blocks.  Too much of a desire to jump forward.

6: A reluctance to spend time on either life drawing or observational drawing.  Both essential to learn how to draw the figure in space.

7: A refusal to collect, study, acquire or use reference for illustrations.  No realisation that I lack the skills to draw directly from my head.

8: Not enough time spent mastering one tool before moving to another.  (Dip pen(s), brush(es) pencils….)

9: A fear of working due to not being able accomplish a perfect image first time.

10: A reluctant to work large.

11: A reluctant to experiment with materials or tools.

12: Work environments are frequently cluttered and distracting, leading to an inability to focus on the task of being creative.

The war of art

I have a confession to make: I find it really difficult to drag myself to the drawing board to produce artwork. Its akin to pulling teeth: both excruciating and avoidable. I've deliberately devoted more time to the writing aspect of my novel because I find it far easier to paint a picture using words than doing so with art materials.

Every once in a while I'll drag out a sketchbook run some pencils and ink around the page because I have a killer idea for an image that I must commit to paper before it evaporates. But for the most part the art side of the book is, and will be, the most difficult and demanding aspect of the novels creation.

Why is this the case I hear you ask? Well unlike writing where you can write pages of work before your realise its errors and plot holes and the nessitation for rewriting, where as with art or illustration the mistakes are instantly obvious. Also, there factors the artist, if they're producing figurative work, has to have beware of as whiles they're working.  Factors such composition, colour theory, anatomy, perspective, mood, lighting, technique all come into play.

Simultaneously.  Whiles you're working.  You have to have a clear goal in mind for end product as well as,  at the very least, some mastery of your tools.

I've dreaded putting pencil to ink to paper because I have a keen enough eye to know that work does not match up (yet) with my ambition.

But here's there thing: no ones first work ever does.

You have to do a ton of work before your work comes in line or at the very least begins to approach your ambition.

That fear, that dread, is a barrier that you need to fight against. Because the world is filled with people who reached this stage and stopped dead. They could not continue. No light at the end of the tunnel.

You have to fight to be better.  You have to be hungry. You have to be self confident to the point of arrogance but be humble enough to both ask for and take advice.  You have to be humble to enough to shut the fuck up and L.I.S.T.E.N to advice and criticism given you by professionals who work in the industry you wish to break into.  The phrase "Yeah but..." should never exist in your lexicon.  From this moment onwards it shall be considered a blasphemy.  Punishable with scorn and ridicule.

Do you really think that Christopher Hitchens or Masamune Shriow or Joanne Rowling or Jean Giraud (Moebius) or Warren Ellis or Ridley Scott or Frank Frazetta turned their nose up at advice or criticism given them by their peers?

Really?  You think so?

Ev-ery-one you admire has gone through it. And I'm afraid that there are no shortcuts.

None.what.so.ever.

You just have to do the work.

You have to fight to be better.


Ira Glass' thoughts on the matter are more concise and to the point then mine.

You have to stay hungry.  You have to have your eyes open.  You have to be confident.  You have to be humble.   You have to be prepared to make sacrifices.


And you can never, ever give up.

Because those who inspire you never did.

Don't be a pussy.

Now get back to work.



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City of the Lost

Just picked up Stephen Blackmoore's début novel City of the Lost.  A pulp horror novel set in LA illustrated in black and white by the mighty British illustrator, Sean Phillips. Check it out.

I mention it for one very special reason: apart the the cover layout, It's almost exactly what I want the Frostfeld novels to look like.  I'll be using it as a template for when I start to design book one.

Its coming closer.  So much so that I can almost see it.

Back to work.

You have to let go

You can edit.

You can rewrite.

You can re plot. Restructure. Rethink.

You can redraw. Recompose. Revisit. Revise. Repaint. Re-pencil. Re-ink

But at some point you have to say: "I am finished. It is done. I have tired my best. I can do no better. I have cut no corners. I did not sell myself short. It done."

At some point to have to let go.


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A time to reflect

It is the 29th of January.  2034 pm.  32 years ago this night, I had just about taken my first few breaths outside of the womb.

32  years.

Think about that.

I've been alive now for a quarter of a century and only now do I feel as if I know what I want in life.  Only now do I know how to get what I want in life.  I wasted 10 years through indecision, stupidity, stubbornness, close mindedness and fear.  And every day i try to make up for lost time.  Every single day I try to claw back the time I've wasted.

But this is not a day of recrimination.  Or at least, it is not a day for recrimination alone.  I would be doing myself  an injustice if I didn't draw attention of the monumental achievement that is the completion of draft one of my novel.  I would be doing myself an injustice if I did not recognise that how profoundly that has changed my life.

I am a better man by virtue of committing myself to finishing something.  I am a better man by virtue of the friends I have.  I am a better man by realising that pain and struggle are transitory and are the price you pay for success.  They are universe testing you to see how badly you want what you say you want and what you are prepared to do to get it.

I am in pain now.  I will do almost anything with in reason to get Frostfeld Book 1.0 in your hands by summer.  Success is forthcoming.

Some things to get off my chest

Firstly, let me take this opportunity to apologise to everyone who read the first draft of my manuscript, i'm sorry.
I'm sorry for sending you a work reflective of enthusiasm, but not of professionalism. A work riddled with grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. A work which would frustrate even the most diligent of reader and test the patience of anyone who read it.

I'm so very sorry. It demonstrated an attitude of casual amatureness and wilful inconsideration. It will not happen again. Indeed. I am not the person I was when I started writing my novel.

Anywoo, on to the finer things. The first half of the first draft has been completely edited. All 250 pages worth. There is not a single page that is not filled with red pen marks and corrections. It was very hard work, made harder by the afore mentioned grammatical errors, spelling mistakes and some really, really turgid, cliché writing, but you live and learn. No one is cooked fresh out of the box. Everyone need to do the work to become who they are. Doing the work and learning takes you closer to being you.

I've written several pages of notes on what needs to be fixed and how, which has given me a map of how more the first draft away for being a Frankensteins monsters and closer to being a the story i want it to be. I have a lot of work ahead of me, but if I plan carefully and set goals for myself, i should be able to finished the book with time to spare.

Also, as a matter of urgency, I need to get the second draft done before the beginning of the festive season so the my "faithful editors" they can spend a bit of time going over my draft before the holiday madness.  You need a second set of eyes to help you see the cracks you cant see.

I'm aiming to have the third and (hopefully) final draft finished by my birthday. Then I've got just over a month and a half to layout and design my book. Not to mention the illustrations that I've been working on undercover of darkness. Which reminds me, I have an email to send a certain working illustrator. Also need a fresh set of eyes for my book illustrations.

So, it's November 1st. 2011. Just under six months until the deadline I've set myself to have the book finished in its entirety. A month later it'll be eastercon. And nothing would give me greater pleasure that to put my novel in the hands of the writers who have influenced me. And who know what will happen then.

But before that come a lot of hard, hard work. Lets see if I cant nip this second draft in the bud my months end.

1500 words a day?

We'll see.

To work then.

24 weeks

From midnight tonight I'll have exactly 24 weeks to finish writing, illustrating, editing and designing the first half of Frostfeld: The End of The World as You Know.

24 weeks.

24

Blink, and it'll be the festive season.

Blink again and it'll be April 2012.
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No one ever knows

No one ever knows what you were planing to write. No one ever knows what you were planning to draw. All you'll ever be judged on is what the reader holds in their hands.

Make it count. Make it the best.
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Illustration, ambition and ability

So. The first draft is done. Finished. Complete.

Well done me.

Now the really hard work begins as I have to start work on the illustrations for the novel.

My biggest flaw has always been that my ambition has out stripped my ability. I am at the point now where I'm finally being realistic about what I can accomplish with the time and skill available. Though not without a lot head pounding, to be certain....

So, eight black and white illustrations and six-ish months. Doable? Possibly. But only if I approach the illustrations with the same passion and dedication I did with the writing. That I refuse to cut corners and actually do the hard graft.

Firstly and most importantly, I need to complete "one" to the best of my ability in order to see both where I'm at skills wise and how it takes me to complete the piece. Based on that outcome I'll have a clearer idea of whether I'm still being too ambitious and I need to curtail the amount of pieces I intend to submit.

So, eight illustrations to do. But which ones? Its been suggested that I should either work on the images that I can visualise clearest, or create a beat board and illustrate the most pivotal moments in the book. Which funnily enough are all the moments I originally envisioned illustrating.

So, here I am. I know what has to be done and how to do. And I know what how much work its going to take. What I don't know is how long its going to take. The only way I can find out is by doing it.

It never ends people. But, I wouldn't rather be doing anything else.

More later.
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Tomorrow, when the war began

I just deleted/destroyed almost every single illustration I originally created for the 3rd year final major project-Frostfeld book. And truth be told a lot of it was bloody atrocious. Did I really believe I could blag my way into getting a degree? Did I genuinely believe I could create anything NEAR to what I was capable of without doing the work?

Everything I created for that final year demonstrated a complete inability to recognise my shortcoming or work to overcome them. I genuinely believed that I could polish a turd and get away with it?

Where as, if I had actually done the work and created something smaller that I could actually complete instead to consistently creating ambitious projects that were WAY beyond my ability to complete.....well.....I would be in differently place now and I certainly wouldn't be writing this harsh critique of my shortcomings.

Every failure I have encountered has been due one of more of the following four factors:

1. Fear of failure/looking stupid

2. Not doing the heavy work nessecary to accomplish my goals.

3. Creating extremely ambitious goals for myself without realising that my ambition out strips my ability.

4. All of the above.

Not anymore. The 350+ page manuscript currently sitting in a brown envelope in my chest of drawers is proof positve of what happens when you sit your fucking ass down and DO THE THRICE DAMNED WORK

Whole new ballgame. Completely different approach. No blagging. No shortcuts. No easy routes. No lazyness. No excuses. Just HARD bloody GRAFT.

Watch this space. Wish me luck.

Tomorrow, the hardwork begins in earnest.

The first draft of my first novel is done

Finished. Completed. Done.

Just shy of 150 thousand words and 318 pages. The first draft of my first novel is complete. I cant help but feel a great sense of..emptiness. Something which had taken up my life entire has left a void. I remember when the first ideas for the novel came to me. Way back in 1996. They were random bits and pieces but had no cohesive center. Rubble and debris circling a star.
It wasn't until 2004 that elements of a story began to form. But I still had no protagonist. No structure. Just a series of uncollected islands in close proximity to each other.

One day in 2006 Marlyn Frostfeld popped into my head.

Followed in quick succession by her best friend: the pugnacious Ayami Kojima.

A story quickly began to take shape as well as a desire to tell it. I hadn't written in years at this point but the desire to craft a story became stronger everyday.

In 2007 I became serious about writing the novel.

In early 2009 I actually started writing the fucker.

Fast forward to today. 2011-09-21 and i have the fruit of my labors sitting in various media around my house and on the net (dropbox is your friend). I still find it difficult to accept what I've been able to accomplish. That there exists in the world a rough manuscript with characters and situations which do not exist before i breathed life into them.

I see them so clearly now. I hear their voices. But for now, they must remain silent. But only for a time. By the end of the week a printout of the manuscript will be in my hands. This will find its way into a secure folder and be put in a drawer. Where it will remain for six weeks.

At that time I will start work on proof reading and editing the work. Soon after that i will start work on the second draft.

Its fun. Its interesting. Its a learning experience. But it is work.

So, what do I plan to do over the next couple of weeks? Why, start work on the sequel and the illustrations for book one of course! I've got a plot outline to nail down!

It never ends my friends. Never.

Back to work.

korW sdrawkcaB: A hguor nalp rof gnitteg ym levon ydaer ni emit rof nocretsae 2102

Or:Work Backwards: A rough plan for getting my novel ready in time for Eastercon 2012

EASTERCON 2012: April 6 2012
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PRINTED BOOK RETURNED FROM BIDDLES BY THE WEEK BEFORE EASTERCON, AT THE VERY LATEST.
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COMPLETED NOVEL FILE UPLOADED TO BIDDLES - 2ND WEEK IN MARCH
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BOOK DESIGNED AND LAID OUT
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ILLUSTRATIONS COMPLETED, SCANNED AND RETOUCHED
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FINAL DRAFT COMPLETED.
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(NOW 2012/8/29)FIRST DRAFT NEARING COMPLETION(95%)



SIX MONTHS IN TOTAL.

A FUCK LOAD OF WORK.

DOABLE?

What is it like to finish?

No seriously. What is it like?
What is it like to hold in your hand something for which you have labored on and sacrificed time and energy for?
What is it like to hold in your hand something that would not exist if not for you?

What is it like to hold a physical representation of hours/days/months/years worth of work?

My thoughts have been dwelling on these questions of late. As i approach the end of creating the most demanding thing i have ever attempted, I find myself wondering what it will feel like to finish.



I have an invested interest in doing this right. Never before have I been so committed to delivering something which is genuinely that best that I can do.

Never.

This is an entirely new experience for me. Part of me wondered why I've never done it before, then another part of me remember full well how much hard work it has taken for me to reach this point. Part of me remembers how much time i have sacrificed for this..novel.

Let me share another revelation with you. It is only now, after writing nearly 124,000 words, 272 pages, reading voraciously in a manner that I've not done since i was a child, and actually buying books for research purposes that i actually feel that conformable with calling myself a writer. Previously, i felt like a fraud. As if at any moment, someone would tap me on the shoulder and inform me that i was a fake and charlatan. That I would be escorted off the premises forthwith and not be allow back in. I've been informed by several writers that this feeling is quite common when your just starting out.

The end, the REAL end is still some way off. But AN end is within sight. And for some reason i feel a great sense of....apprehension. That the feeling of euphoria I'll experience will be tainted by the knowledge that i should and could have done this sooner if not my my own laziness and fear. A fear of failure or fear of looking stupid.

So i ask: What is like to finish?

Tell me

30 pages till the end

Thats it. 30 pages of A4 and my manuscript will be completed.

30 pages.

Wow!

I scrolled through the manuscript yesterday afternoon, and it began to sink in what an achievement I've had been able to accomplish.
I vividly remember writing the very first page. The very first line of text. I can remember reading the first chapter back to myself and being astounded that I had been able to write something that was readable.

I remember every library, every festival hall, every bedroom and hotel room I wrote the novel in. The novel has become an indelible part of my life. I cannot imagine my life without my netbook open and the voices of Marlyn, Phillip, Michael, Ayami (The mighty Ayami!!)Georgina, Miriam and the mother superior speaking to me in low whispers, bidding me to tell their tale. I am their narrator and I sing their song.

It is only now, that i near the end that I can actually say I am a writer and not feel like a fraud. I think of stories all the time now. I hear voices and they ask me to tell their tales. They ask me to bare witness. I am a conduit.

I cannot imagine what it will feel like when i press the full stop button for the last time and save the manuscript to the mutiple locations i save it to and declare that the first draft it completed. I have no idea what it will feel like to have the finished novel, illustrated, formatted, printed and in my hands. No idea what so ever.

But what I do know as a matter of certainty is that the day of this happening is fast approaching. This time next year the finished novel will be in my hands. This time next year all the doubters and nay sayer will be proven categorically wrong. I will have a physical object that represents-at this point-two years of hard work and sacrifice.

I just don't know what its going to feel like.

I only wish I had done this three years ago, instead of two. I wish I had listened more to the right advice. I wish I had done the work instead of trying to take short cuts. I wish read all the books I have surrounded myself with.

Shit.....

Novel writing....

Writing a novel isn't a sprint. Its a long distance marathon.