Writing Outdoors

I’ve always regarded writing as a strictly indoor activity. On account of the unusually warm weather over the weekend, however, I decided to try it outside again. It did not go well.

Despite being in the shade and having my computer screen brightness set to 100%, it was difficult to see what was on the screen as I finished off a project. When the battery ran low and the screen automatically dimmed, it then became near-impossible to see the mouse and cursor.

At that point, I decided to switch to writing a letter by hand. There have been times when the wind has blown my papers all over the place, rainwater has ruined them, or it was simply been too cold to hold a pen. That said, I had more success there. The only real obstacle was the sun glaring on the white paper, so I had to wear shades.

I don’t foresee too many more sunny days over the coming weeks, but if there is, I think a better solution would be to sit inside, open the door, and let the outdoors come in.

Notes of Note

Jack Kerouac wrote his novel On the Road in the era of the typewriter. The trouble was that had a story to tell and didn’t want to be interrupted every five minutes to replace the sheet of paper.

His solution was to buy a roll of teletype paper, giving 120 feet of paper in a continuous scroll. That’s the equivalent length of approximately 123 sheets of A4. The novel was reportedly written in three weeks while his wife supplied him with coffee and Benzedrine.

The entire scroll was displayed at the British Museum in 2012. Had it been written today, he likely would have used a computer, robbing popular culture of this artefact.

I’m reminded of this stream-of-consciousness approach as I look at a Simplenote entry I’ve had for the past two weeks or so. Coming home from a poetry gig, I thought of a few lines of verse, adding a few more lines shortly afterwards. Then yesternight, I added a lot more lines, with only minimal editing.

In terms of plot structure, it’s very disjointed and I don’t intend to resolve this. I’m also satisfied with the opening lines and the closing lines, yet I feel it needs something more in the middle to bulk it up from the 23 lines it currently contains and I can’t tell yet what its final form is likely to be.

While it’s unlikely this short note will end up like On the Road, I do have one precedent for a project that grew out of all recognition. I started off writing a one-line gag about how we fictionally used to order YouTube videos by post. By the time I’d finished editing, it had ended up as a short story with more than 1,700 words.

Converting Formats

Of all the factors plaguing Dungeons & Dragons players, arranging a convenient time for everyone to gather is probably the most difficult. This meant my group ended up seeing the film Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves at different times in different cinemas.

Making this film was a real gamble. Not only is it taking a largely open-world game and telling a linear story, but it also sits in the shadow of the last Dungeons & Dragons film made 23 years ago. That one has a score of just 3.6 on IMDB compared to 7.9 for the current one, and Ginny D from Critical Role has analysed what makes it so terrible.

Computer games in particular have a track record of being made into badly-received films, and there are plenty of top-ten lists online purporting to show the worst. Conversely, there is also a history of movies being made into great games. More than 25 years after its release, for example, GoldenEye 007 for the N64 is still highly regarded.

For me and two of my group, though, the gamble seems to have paid off, with all of us enjoying what Chris Pine and the cast brought to the table. It’s also no secret that a solid structure plays a large part in the success of any motion picture. In a blog post, the writer Michael Hague explains the key turning points of most major scripts, and the writers nailed this one near-perfectly.

With all this in mind, it remains to be seen how The Super Mario Bros. Movie fares at the box office this weekend.

T

Where to Start?

I’m attempting to write the 22nd instalment of a short story series. It was supposed to be a one-off piece, so to reach this point is a tremendous achievement. But because of the existing body of work, this plot in this part has to be consistent with the rest. It therefore needs to include two particular elements:

  • A small piece of wrap-up from the previous story.
  • A scene where one of the characters makes amends with the rest of the group.

The trouble is that these elements need quite a bit of explanation. They’re slowing down the plot, even when I start in the middle of the action and refer back to them. At this stage, I might have to take the story in a different direction, as long as it fits with what’s gone before.

The good part is that there’s no particular deadline for this piece of work. It’s for a private group and I’m under no obligation to write anything. In this case, however, a deadline might be useful to focus my thoughts. Maybe I can impose one on myself and come up with a workable solution.

Doubt, and the Avoidance Thereof

There have been a few occasions recently where I’ve had to explain a complex idea in writing without the risk of being misunderstood. This is where my favourite clarifying phrase comes into play: For the avoidance of doubt.

The last time I deployed this phrase was yesternight in a business email. I’d previously asked one person to refer me to another, and then I’d changed my mind a couple of days later. However, the first person hadn’t received the revised message before the second person made contact.

I then replied to all parties explaining there had been a misunderstanding somewhere but – for the avoidance of doubt – it wasn’t a big deal.

It’s normally considered bad form to use the passive voice, but I find it an advantage here. The phrase doesn’t accuse the other person of communicating poorly, only that a mix-up has occurred somewhere.

Depending on how you normally speak, you might want to use different phrasing, but it’s a good template for ensuring all parties are on the same page.

Exploring the Collaborative World of Renga

About three years ago, I had the privilege of becoming one of the first people to sign up for a collaborative poetry project spearheaded by W N Herbert.

Each month, he sends regular emails to a group of fellow poets, inviting us to contribute new verses to a renga poem. One suggestion is chosen every day and added to the email chain, so it builds up as the weeks go on.

A renga is a form of Japanese linked verse alternating haikus with pairs of seven-syllable lines. Each stanza has its own distinct direction, not necessarily responding directly to the previous one, but the end result is a collaborative work that showcases the individual voices and perspectives that make up a cohesive whole.

As W N Herbert receives quite enough suggestions from our small group, the mailing list is not open to the public. However, you can read the finished rengas and other pieces on the Gude and Godlie website.

‘Those expressions are omitted…’

The major literary news story of the week was an announcement that Puffin Books would revise selected passages in new editions of books by Roald Dahl. The Telegraph provides a decent background of the reaction this has provoked.

One word that keeps cropping up is bowdlerising, a reference to Thomas Bowdler. Beginning in 1807, he produced a series of books titled The Family Shakspeare [sic] that removed what he considered to be improper language. The title page claimed: ‘Nothing is added to the original text; but those words and expressions are omitted which cannot with propriety be read aloud in a family.’

It is also known that his sister Henrietta started the project and contributed to the subsequent volumes, although it’s not clear how evenly the work was split.

While the public largely agreed with the changes during its first hundred years, attitudes had changed by the early 20th century. This is when the verb to bowdlerise gained its modern meaning of making overzealous edits.

In the case of Dahl, I think the situation could have been approached differently. Perhaps a newly-written foreword to explain the historical context would have been more appropriate to help young readers understand the language choices.

However, it’s clear that Puffin is banking on solid sales, as hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds must have been spent on the changes. It remains to be seen in the long run whether the readers of the future agree that the text has been bowdlerised.

At the time

Uninspiring Prompts

I’m in a monthly poetry circle where we write a new poem each month. There is always a prompt to help with inspiration, but there’s no obligation to follow it.

For this month, it was suggested we write about public art. I thought this would be a simple task, as I live five minutes away from three separate sculptures on the same piece of land: one is a spiral, another is a vertical zig-zag, and the third is in the shape of a large egg.

I instead spent days trying to be inspired by one or more of these pieces. I tried rhyming poetry, free verse, a self-referential style, and a critical style, yet nothing was working. I eventually figured out the problem. I needed context for these sculptures, but there is absolutely none, not even a sign with a title or something about the artist. Without this background information, I found myself unable to engage.

Instead, I walked a few minutes up the road to a mural painted last year. It spans the height of a six-storey building, is attributed to a particular artist and there is background information available online. That poem took less than an hour to write and I’m more satisfied with it than any of my previous drafts.

There is no telling what’s going to be a prompt for your next poem, but if something isn’t working for you, there’s no shame in moving on to something else that does inspire you.

The Best Bad Poetry

A few days ago, I received an email from a blog I didn’t know I was following.

The author had just updated with a poem about the Ship Canal Bridge in Seattle that was heavily influenced by the William McGonagall verse The Tay Bridge Disaster. For the avoidance of doubt, only the style is lampooned; the Seattle bridge is in no danger of collapse.

I’m from Dundee, right next to the Tay, and McGonagall is closely associated with the city. As I read the Ship Canal Bridge poem, I found I had more and more I wanted to say about the poet and his output.

A major hallmark of his distinctive verse came from forcing clumsy descriptions into rhyming lines. It amused me to see the critically-panned film director Tommy Wiseau under the See Also section in his Wikipedia entry.

However, I’ve also heard McGonagall’s technique described as ‘journalistic’, as his words often give a factual insight into the subject. This is showcased neatly in The Tay Bridge Disaster.

To our eyes, such a poem might seem insensitive to its victims and their relatives. However, there appeared to be no public outcry 143 years ago; even in modern times, performances are often played for laughs.

I must credit Dundee Rep Theatre with making an exception in 2019. As part of a local history show called The A to Z of Dundee, one of the actors read an excerpt from the piece. Despite the overall show being comedic in nature, he gave it a poignant tone that I think was better suited to the subject matter.

One of my university tutors believed McGonagall was the only poet whose entire body of work had been published. Better still, his output has been in the public domain for decades, so it’s easy to find countless other examples of his style.

New Notebooks and Diaries

This festive season, a lot of writers will be given gifts of brand-new notebooks. It’s a safe bet that most writers will appreciate the thought, plus they’re relatively inexpensive for all but the fanciest designs.

Indeed, some writers find they can more easily start a new project with a fresh book, even if – paradoxically – nobody wants to spoil the new pages with ink.

I’m someone who doesn’t don’t fall into that camp. I do write by hand much of the time, but I can reach into my cupboard and pick up at least one that still has a number of usable blank pages. I also don’t have the storage space for too many new books. As such, buying new is a rarity for me.

There is one exception to this. Every year, I buy a specific type of diary, usually a Moleskine or a Leuchtturm 1917. These have a diary week on each left-hand page, while the right side is feint-ruled, allowing for notes to be taken.

I began this approach after reading The Books of Albion, a collection of diaries by the musician Peter Doherty. His diaries often document what happened during a particular week or contain fragments of song lyrics or poems. Some pages also act as a scrapbook, with photographs and tickets glued in.

While my diaries don’t have this level of detail, it’s interesting to read what I’ve written some years before. Often I’ll find a draft of something that was never developed into a final piece, or occasionally an early draft of a now-finished work.

So until I really do run out of space, buying new notebooks will remain a once-yearly occurrence.