Showing posts with label writer's block. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writer's block. Show all posts

Sunday, 23 September 2012

Running around with guns


The doors slid apart. I held my breath, looked down the barrel of my pistol and waited.
Nothing.
Thirty metres down the corridor, the airlock hatch to my ship stood open. Cavendish waited for three beats, long enough for anybody in hiding to come out of cover.
“Acre.”
Immediately Acre was moving, swinging her weapon to the left to cover the first cross corridor. Livingston was next, the soles of her shoes making hardy more noise than Acre. As she was left handed, she covered the right hand side.
“York.”
I pushed off from the wall and ran, following the first two Bad Girls through the airlock and into the circulation space on deck seven of my ship. I expected to see bodies on the floor; marines from the Stobo assigned to guarding the connection to the citadel class.
“Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted, Captain.” Replied Gregory.
“Report.”
“The engineers are on board and the power plant is on-line.”
“That was quick.”
“The flight officer lost the key to the sealing mechanism a couple of nights ago.”
“Where are the guards?” Asked Cavendish.
“They got called away by the Captain of Marines.” She held up a small comms unit.
“Interesting. Tell us later about all the people you had to sleep with. The rest of my crew?”
“Cromwell and Hall are bringing the command crew through the forward airlock. We lost track of Chakrabarty. Nansen’s gone back to find him. And I don’t kiss and tell.” Gregory stepped back into the airlock and fired two rounds down the corridor. “We’ve got company.”
Acre trotted back from the weapons locker carrying weapons and ammunition. She passed them out to the other three Bad Girls and they took up a defensive position facing out through the airlock.
I activated the intercom. “All stations, report.”
“Engineering, three crew, power plant on-line. We’ll have drives and main systems in approximately thirty minutes.” Dodd; the most chatty of the three engineers.
“Give me a ten minute warning.”
“Yes, sir. Engineering out.”
“Hemingray on deck one. Pearce and Ash in tow. On the bridge in one minute, critical systems on-line in ten.”
“Let me know when they are. I’ll be on channel one.”
“Understood. Out.”
We would have an operational ship in thirty minutes. The citadel was locked to the Stobo but there were emergency procedures we could use that would force the docking clamps to release us. Getting away was another matter. We would be in range of the Stobo’s weapons long enough for them to reduce us to molten slag and, if the reconnaissance group was carrying enough fighters or fast attack boats, they could do the same.
The weapons locker had other equipment. I took a comms set and linked it with my implant, then selected channel three.
“Cromwell?”
“Cromwell on three.” I smiled. I could rely on my troops to find weapons and comms sets as a matter of priority.
Two rounds entered through the open hatch and put a hole in the partition to the EVA suit locker. We’d need to check all the suits for damage later. I filed it onto the implant. Livingston responded with several short bursts from her flechette rifle.
“Lights going out.” Called Cartier. She trotted over to the locker and selected a new weapon. From the length it was either a plasma rifle or a long-barrelled large-calibre rifle. Cartier was my main sniper so I presumed the latter. She had turned the lights off so she could fire down the corridor without being seen. In the dim glow from the emergency markers I could see her hitch up the skirt of her sari then kneel and bring the weapon to her shoulder.
“Cromwell, I need you and Hall to gear up in standard marine kit.”
“Are we going back out?”
“Yes.”
“Received. We’ll be ready in five.” She didn’t bother to ask why and complain about the danger.”
“Belay that order. Get down to deck seven immediately.” Interrupted Cavendish. ”I’ll go out with York.” I sighed, but there was no point in arguing with Cavendish.
Cromwell and Hall arrived in less than a minute. In that time Cartier had fired three rounds and, from the noise levels from outside the ship, achieved three hits. Gregory and Acre were in the airlock, protected by the outer hull but positioned where they could fire down the side approaches. Cromwell and Hall found the best place to add their firepower to Cartier’s. Our position was secure against an assault with small arms but once they got organised they would bring sonic emitters or grenade launchers into play

I followed Cavendish and Livingston down to the assault deck where the main armoury held the ship’s largest supply of weapons and military equipment. Quickly we dressed in standard Imperial Marines uniforms and armour.
“What are we going back out for?”
“The Empress.”
Cavendish considered this. “We’ll never get near her.” She started to select her equipment. I looked at the racks and took half a dozen ammunition packs, then clipped as many grenades and diversion devices to the body armour as I could fit.
My implant activated as the comms set received a transmission. “Hemingray to York. Bridge systems are up and running.”
“Received. I need a download of the Stobo’s deck plan and security systems. Tell Pearce to intercept their communications and direct us. We’ll also need to know what Ladywood’s intentions are.”
“Understood. She’s already got the plans. Ash will be Zero.”
“Received.” I switched the set to channel zero.”
“Cavendish to Zero.”
“Zero, receiving.”
“Can we get back through the airlock on deck one?”
“Negative. There’s a full squad of marines up there and we’ve sealed our outer hatch. You need to fight your way out from the main lock.”
“Understood.”  I took an extra pair of smoke grenades from the rack.
The other Bad Girls looked so incongruous in their brightly coloured clothes and assault rifles.
“Listen up.” called Cavendish. “We need to hold an outer perimeter otherwise they’ll start bouncing RPGs around.”
“They’ve got a rotary launcher already.” Said Cartier. She paused to sight her weapon and fire another round. “Don’t trip over it.” I glanced down the passageway. "Or the marine who was carrying it." There were two or three bodies in sight.

Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Facebook friends are not real

Everybody I can persuade to buy Echo has done so. Some people I don't know have also bought it. I'm now trying to squeeze out a last few sales as I've almost broken even, which I think was goal number five or six twenty blogs or so ago.
To try and drum up the last few downloads I've started a Facebook page. I could have just pushed the book through my personal FB but I'm fairly sure people would get fed up of me shamelessly promoting it at them. Again.

The strategy is about like the one I use on twitter. Post a couple of paragraphs taken from an interesting part of the book. The difference, this time is that I've also set up FB accounts for the major characters and they're going to be commenting, making snide remarks and generally refusing to do what I want them to do. No change there then

It's a real pain in the bum. I have to keep switching accounts. To make it a bit easier I've given them all the same password, but FB software has cottoned on to that and decided I had to prove they were real people rather than sock puppets by asking for a different mobile number for each. Between us we have four mobiles so, if I ask to borrow yours, and then you find a strange text in your inbox, I've just added another member of the crew.

At the moment I'm working through the story set out in Echo. When I've done that I think I'm going to work on a back story for some of them. If you read Echo (and were paying attention), you'll know a little bit about Grace Hemingray, but almost nothing about Eleanor Pearce or Edmond Ash. I'd like to colour them in a little, give them a life before York.

I'd like to think the readers know a little bit about who some of the characters are and what they're like. I have notes on them in a paragraph that I cut from the finished chapter and paste into the new one. it tells me a bit about them. It also helps me remember their first names. Apart from Cavendish, who doesn't appear to have one.

Navigator                 Grace Hemingray loyal but lacks confidence to command
Weapons and tactical Edmond Ash         Cynical whinger
Comms and scans         Eleanor Pearce Geek
Pilot.                       Marcus Dryden.              Daredevil

C/S Cavendish         Pragmatist
LC (Suz)Anna Gregory          Likes sex. With pretty much anybody
P Caitlin Acre         Angry (but funny)
P Helene Cartier            

C Nat(asha)Livingston             (Left handed) medic
P Marianne Nansen
P Jude Cromwell

On a completely different note, I took the hard copy and showed my Dad. Science fiction isn't really his thing so I'm not sure if he'll read it, show it to everybody, or pretend he wrote it.



P Caro(line) Hall Easygoing. Doesn’t say much


Sunday, 18 March 2012

Writer's Block


I've been working on book two for a while but it's been a bit of a struggle. I know the broad outline of the story and i'd managed to complete chapter one but then it all ground to a halt. Partly that wasn't a problem as i was editing book one and getting it on to Kindle, but there was a real pressure there.

i read this in The Musings of DS Taylor today               http://www.dstaylor.me/?p=111


If you don’t spend your days either writing, or thinking about writing, don’t tell me you want to be an author.

 He also said a lot of other useful stuff in this post. If you're a writer yourself, have a read.

For the last few weeks i've spent a lot of time thinking about publishing and marketting and selling book one, but hardly at all about the important stuff. Writing. Last night i spent a long time thinking about how to get the team out of the conundrum i'd put them in. By morning i had an outline for chapters 2, 3 and probably 4.


I suspect that i didn't actually have writers block, i just needed a rest. Now I'm back in the grove. Hurrah!

Friday, 3 February 2012

A change is as good as a rest

Sometimes it's difficult to write. You've been sat at the same desk, looking out of the same window all day. No wonder nothing's coming. Rather than doing some washing up or ironing as displacement activity, take the laptop / notebook / whatever you write in or on and go somewhere else.

One of my most productive writing days started with only fifty words in a couple of hours. So off i went. Two hours in the library resulted in a few hundred words. The same happened after a couple of hours in Starbucks. Nicely caffeined up i did more when i got back home.

Yesterday i wrote almost a thousand words in a hotel room. Different town, different view, different coffee :-) I often get lots done on the train (particularly in first class  - it's about having enough room rather than being a snob - so it's quite good that first class is cheaper than second glass - go figure) although that might be because i'm just avoiding something else. Like work.

If you're wanting to reproduce my 1000 words, i can recommend the MacDonald Hotel in Bath. Not just as a good place to work (any hotel would do really), but because it has a fantastic outdoor swimming pool - the air temperature was minus two but the water was 38 degrees. Aaaahhhh.

I didn't get work done anywhere else in  Bath as it was freezing and my fingers wouldn't work.



Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Once upon a time

Today somebody asked how writers write. That's an easy answer and almost every writer will tell you a similar answer. One word at a time. Just write.

 He made some comment that, if he wrote a story, it would probably start Once upon a time as if that would be a bad thing. True enough; if i started my novel with Once Upon A Time, you'd probably think you were reading something by a five year old and wouldn't get past the first paragraph. So, what if i started with A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? It's basically the same sentence and, yes, it's from a sort of fairy tale. But it's also the opening line of something very special. Well, i think so.

If it works for you, start with once upon a time. That doesn't have to stay in the final version. I wrote a piece about a fireman attending an accident on the motorway. I'd probably written 500 words and it just wasn't working. it wasn't a story, it wasn't exciting and i didn't want to know what happened next. i kept going for a while then stopped, highlighted the first paragraph and pressed delete.

No better. The next paragraph went the same way. Once i'd deleted the third, i realised i have the start of the story, but hadn't been able to see it because it was hidden amongst all the rubbish. The start sometimes isn't at the start.

Joseph Grand, one of the characters in The Plague by Albert Camus is a writer. He is trying to write the perfect opening sentence and rewrites and revises it constantly , never actually getting on to the next sentence and never writing the book. Many people who want to write end up in a similar trap. There is a cure, although it's a bit extreme. National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) sets the challenge of writing a fifty thousand word story in a month. Starting with a blank sheet on the 1st of November each year thousands of people try to get 1500 words a day down. It's not easy, particularly if you want to create a masterpiece from the start. However, NaNoWriMo's strap line is that it's all about quantity, not quality. Put words on the page and you can come back and polish, revise, edit, change, delete, add later on. Just Write.

Part of the charm (or not) of blogs is that they aren't thought through properly before typing begins - this one certainly isn't. It's a stream of consciousness, clunky and rambling. Unfortunately, when i run out of things to say, i just press the Publish button. So, what you get is the raw version of what i wanted to say. However, as i'm spending more time blogging and twittering and facebooking in the hope of raising awareness of my book (published on Kindle in February) than writing the sequel, i haven't got time to revise and polish etc etc. Sometimes i'm blogging at midnight, and it shows.

Publish and be damned (he said, out of context).