The Value of Writing

Ever wanted to carve out a career as a writer? Writing is one of those skills that gets seriously undervalued. Take this little example I copied from a jobs website… (Some of the words have been changed.)

I need a romance story of about 50,000 words to be written before the end of July. Elements that MUST be included in the story are Bad Boy/Alpha, Motorcycle Club Romance. Sub-elements, character descriptions and the plot will be provided.

I am looking for an excellent writer who not only can supply FULLY EDITED work, but is also experienced in character development, dialogue and plot development that can hook a reader. Again, any work submitted should always be error free.

The proposed budget is between .01-015 per word (cents, not pennies) but I have been known to give excellent bonuses. PLEASE NOTE – content should be creative, high quality and 100 percent original. If you decide to accept the job offer, you agree that you will own no rights to the work or parts of the work and you understand/agree your name will not appear anywhere on the work. I would retain all copyrights to these stories. It cannot be used for portfolios or as samples for other clients.

The candidate must be experienced with this type of writing, be a NATIVE ENGLISH SPEAKER and have excellent spelling, grammar and punctuation. I am looking to create an ongoing business relationship with chosen bidder(s). I have many future projects in mind. Hope to hear from you!

Lordy.

So, not only must you come up with 50,000 original words in five weeks, but you will need to have them professionally proof-read and/or copy edited. It is nigh on impossible to proofread your own work when it is this length. You don’t own the copyright, and you’re now allowed to use the content in samples. And all this for $800.

Wakey, wakey Sleeping Beauty…

Another chapter from a book I’m working on at the moment. It does contain adult content and swear words, so please don’t read on if you don’t like that kind of thing…

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lesmemorables/16524725715Kippy resurfaced slowly, his awakening senses taking account of what he could see, hear, touch, smell and feel.

He wasn’t in his own bed, the single mattress in his room in the student halls. This bed was far more luxurious, twice the size and covered in clean sheets, for a start. The room was large-ish too, spacious enough to hold not only a bed and wardrobe, but a sofa, a desk and chair, and an exercise bike draped with clothes. The view from the bay window told him he was in a flat some three or four storeys up. The sun was high enough in the sky for it not to be early morning.

His mouth felt furry, his tongue sticking too closely to its insides, and his head ached. Next to him on the cabinet beside the bed was a glass of water. It wasn’t very cold, but refreshing nonetheless.

The door to the room opened slowly, a face peering cautiously around it.

“You’re awake then, Sleeping Beauty?”

The face was joined by its body, the man letting himself into the room and closing the door gently. To his dismay, Kippy didn’t recognise him. He’d have guessed the guy to be in his late twenties, perhaps even his early thirties. He was sporty looking, wiry and muscular arms under a black tee shirt and powerful quads encased in Lycra shorts. Also very much on view was the outline of his genitals.

He heard his cousin Katrina, her mocking wee voice singing in his head: “God almighty, that would poke your eye oot wouldn’t it?” and he stifled a smile at the thought of it.

The man sat down on the bed, plonking himself down on Kippy side. Kippy had to force himself not to pull away.

“How are you feeling?” the man asked.

“Rough as a badger’s arse.”

No-one could possibly know what a badger’s arse felt like, but the saying had been enthusiastically taken up by students everywhere of late. Kippy, a mature student compared to everyone else, felt he had to stay on top of modern slang in case he stood out.

“Not surprised,” the man said. “I’m John, by the way, in case you’d forgotten.”

He had a nice face. His nose was too long and crooked, and his eyes too close together for him to be handsome, but there was kindness in the way he looked at Kippy.

“I got you this,” he held out a bottle of Lucozade. Now that was ice-cold, and the sweet fizziness of it made Kippy feel one hundred percent better. He drank the whole bottle down in three big gulps and laid back on the propped-up pillows.

“Did we…eh…do anything last night?” Kippy was still in that pristine white tee shirt Lillian had insisted on last night and his Calvin Klein boxers, so any night-time derring-do seemed unlikely.

The Lucozade gave him confidence, though. Maybe last night he’d fully embraced gayness and was no longer a homo virgin. It would be a relief to be rid of it, the burden of not knowing what to do, and at the same time coping with the lustful imaginings that ran rampant through his body, and overwhelmed him at times.

John’s elbows were on his thighs, his hands clasped together and his backside touching Kippy’s legs, which were covered by the duvet. What did you do in these situations, Kippy wondered. Did he put out a hand and touch the back of the man sitting on the bed?

John turned his head sideways, so he was looking at Kippy. He had dark brown eyes, almost black in colour—eyes that would be a challenge to paint.

“No. You were too drunk. If I’d done anything, I would have felt like a rapist.” He smiled as he said it, a soft, sweet smile that took the sting out of the too-drunk sentence.

“You’re only just out, aren’t you?” Again, it was said kindly, but the question felt like an accusation. Kippy sat up, mustered all his courage and placed a hand on the back of John’s head, pulling it to his. He pressed his lips on John’s, noticing at once how different the mouth felt to the last one he’d kissed, a firmer, harder, rougher feel.

John closed his eyes, and moaned softly, the lips opening slightly. Kippy couldn’t stop now. The pent-up and frustrated desire that had dogged him all through his pre-pubescent years and into his adolescence, the want that he’d always tried to ignore fired up through his torso into his head, his mouth and his tongue, the tongue that now pushed itself into John’s mouth, tasting coffee, toast, bacon and more.

The heady rush of want had made its way back down his torso, and he felt himself stiffen. Eyes closed, he patted the bed around him, trying to find John’s hand. He must, must, must place that hand on his cock, and have it encircle the hardness of him, work its way up and down the shaft until he–

John pulled away. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one. Well over the age of consent.”

Some years ago, he’d asked Daisy that same question. He’d been stalling then, using her youthfulness as an excuse not to do anymore to her. John stood up, running a hand through hair that was lightly flecked with grey at the temples. He blinked several times, glancing out of the window.

This might be the same excuse.

Or it might not. Evidence of his body’s approval for what he and Kippy had just been doing was apparent, the front of those Lycra shorts straining to contain him. Kippy’s own body quivered in response.

“I’m more than fifteen years older than you. You’re a student, you’re young, you’re just out. I don’t think we want the same thing.”

Fuck knew where the bravery was coming from this morning, but Kippy recognised ethics when he heard them. Here was a man trying to talk himself out of something Kippy now wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything in all his life. More than he’d ever wanted to go to art school, maybe even more than he’d wanted…

Well, now was not the right time to be thinking about HIM.

Danny had said last night that he was pretty, aye?

He closed his eyes and took the tee shirt off, stretching his arms to the ceiling slowly as he did so, making sure John got an eyeful of naked chest. Kippy had always been lean, ribby-looking in his teenage years. Slight physical changes had taken place in the last six months or so. He was still slim, but now the pecs, shoulders and biceps were padded so that you could see the muscles under the tight stretch of skin. There was even—finally—a neat smattering of hair starting an inch or so below the clavicle and covering him to just below the nipples.

He opened his eyes. John hadn’t moved, his cheeks puffing up as he blew out air and a heartfelt sigh.

“Oh, God…”

Who knew Kippy had it in him? He pushed aside the duvet, and lay on his side, one hand supporting his head, and the biggest, brightest smile on his face.

“C’mon then. I wannae know what’s it’s all about.”

 

*Photo thanks to J@YGS on flickr. Shared through Creative Commons.

8 Ways to Convince Book Bloggers to Review Your Book — charles french words reading and writing

Originally posted on K. D. Dowdall: 8 Ways to Convince Book Bloggers To Review Your Book D.A. Bale June 12, 2017 Book bloggers actually do want to review your book! But we don’t have a lot of time so when you forget to include vital information or don’t follow the submission instructions, your requests end…

via 8 Ways to Convince Book Bloggers to Review Your Book — charles french words reading and writing

Rip it Up and Start Again

One of things I struggle with as a writer is revising and rewriting. When I finish something, I want to move on to another project or idea. The thought of going back to a manuscript, reading through it and working out what’s wrong never appeals.

I decided to try something different with one of my finished/unfinished projects – Two Slices of Carrot Cake. Writers tend to get wedded to their own words. It’s difficult to detach. I’m editing a book at the moment for someone else and it’s easy for me to strike that red line through unnecessary text, or see what needs to be rewritten.

Some years ago, I read an interview with the writer, Elizabeth Buchan. In it, she said when she writes a book, she writes it three times. Her first attempt gives her the ‘bones’ and from there she starts again and improves the original story. I’ve decided to try this, albeit I’ll just be writing the whole thing one more time, and not two…

The Creative Stuff

Although it seems daunting, writing the story again appeals because it’s about doing the enjoyable, creative stuff again. I know the plot, I know the characters and what they are like, how they speak and I know what happens to them afterwards, seeing as I wrote another book that featured them.

I wanted to change the angle of the story slightly too. After I wrote my first book, Katie and the Deelans, I sent it to agents. It was rejected by all of them, but I was contacted by one after I’d published it through Comely Bank Publishing, who said that he liked my ‘voice’ and was I working on anything else?

When I told him I was working on Two Slices of Carrot Cake, he said I could send it to him when I’d finished it. I did, and he rejected it, saying the ‘issues’ thing in it (eating disorders) didn’t work for him, but he did like the ‘voice’ and he thought a better idea would be to concentrate on the teenage girl using multiple personalities online and the trouble that results. Keep the eating disorder, but don’t make it the main focus.

The Flow Trap

When you try to shift the focus of a story by going back to the existing document, it’s hard. Sentences, paragraphs and chapters flow in a certain way. You get caught up in that flow – if I change this, then that won’t work, etc. If you start writing again, the existing flow isn’t an issue.

I’ve started it. I’m excited about it. I’m feeling creative once more. Keep your fingers crossed for me…

Storyworks Monthly – A Review

Storyworks Monthly #2Storyworks Monthly #2 by Stephen J. Carter
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I’m kind of in awe of Stephen. In Storyworks Monthly 1, he set out his ambition to emulate the pulp fiction writers of old, the folks that were churning out more than a million words a year. It looks as if he’s on his way to that target.

Storyworks Monthly 2 continues on the same theme as number 1 – the writer gives you various flavours of his craft, from the short story to an ongoing novel and an end part that delves into the craft of writing. I’m a big fan of Stephen’s short stories, and that’s not a recommendation I make lightly as I don’t often choose to read short stories. Stephen uses his skills with words to craft the world that appears in front of you easily and quickly. This is particularly the case with The Shard, Gudrun’s story and The Forever Cloud. Stephen has a real gift for description, again something that isn’t easy to do.

{Note to author – you MUST do more with Gudrun.]

I’m not entirely convinced that it’s a good idea to include parts of a novel (Descent on Abuwesi) in this collection, as the new reader won’t be familiar with it from SWM part 1, and the old reader might have forgotten bits of it. Nevertheless, Stephen’s talent for writing still makes it worth pursuing.

Part 2 of the inciting incidents is very useful for all potential authors (myself included), as it gives guidance to how films work – and thus plotting. I have found Stephen’s explanations of films hugely beneficial in the past. When you understand the tipping point/inciting incidents thing, you’ll be able to write much more concisely and precisely.

View all my reviews