Tag: fiction

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Putting a Full Stop to Scams

I watch a YouTube creator who goes under the alias Kitboga. In 2017, he discovered his grandmother had fallen victim to several scams, costing her hundreds of dollars every month.

Inspired by this, he now produces content aimed at exposing phone scammers and educating viewers about how to spot their tactics. At the very least, he wants to waste hours of their time that might otherwise be spent scamming others.

The style of the channel took some time to grow on me, as it’s rather chaotic. He typically uses a voice-changer to make scammers think they’re talking to an elderly person, before making up nonsensical stories to tell them, often on the spot. Between calls, he explains to the viewers what he’s doing and why.

On Sunday, Kitboga posted a video where he spoke to a scammer who claimed to represent the publisher Penguin Random House. Unusually, the other party agreed to a meeting via Zoom. I won’t give away the outcome, but I promise it’s worth watching the entire 36-minute video as he explains the scam and considers his next move.

This isn’t the first time a publishing scam has been featured on the channel.

Back in October, the channel exposed a group targeting self-published authors with screenwriting deals. At around the 27:45 mark, he even gave a shout-out to the Writer Beware blog, which had been documenting these cases over many years.

Most of us want to see our writing out there in the world, but we also need to be careful. One of the best ways is to be very dubious about anyone who reaches out with an offer regarding your work.

If you’re ever uncertain whether a contact is genuine, be sure to check with the company. You can often find details on their official website, in the indispensable Writers’ Handbook, and/or in the Companies House database. When in doubt, hit the Block button and move on.

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NaNoWriMo – The Last Word

It was quietly announced last week that the organisation behind National Novel Writing Month was to close. Universally known as NaNoWriMo, or even NaNo, this was a challenge to draft a 50,000-word novel during November each year, later expanding to include smaller challenges in other months.

The announcement, made on Sunday 31 March, was so quiet that only those on the mailing list received it. There also exists a corresponding video from the Interim Executive Director, which has not gone down well with the commenters.

And yet, at the time of writing, the official website remains unchanged. So when I heard the news second-hand on April Fool’s Day, I had to double-check it, missing the chance to include the news as last week’s entry. Still, the week-long gap has allowed some time for reflection.

I joined NaNo in 2010. It had been around for 11 years at that point, and was arguably at the height of its popularity, as illustrated by Google search trends over the years. There were dozens of affiliate groups around the world, including one in Dundee city centre. At my very first meeting, my laptop ran out of battery, so I rushed out to buy a notepad and a mechanical pencil. The graphite rods kept breaking, rendering it next to useless.

Fast-forward five years, and I’d graduated from member to organiser in the natural flow of people leaving and joining. I stayed in that role for nine years alongside several different co-leads until we withdrew our affiliation in 2024 over the nonsense that had been happening.

By this time, I’d fallen out of love with the central November challenge, as I found myself with an increasing series of started but incomplete novels. I didn’t fall out of love with bringing writers together, so I’m pleased still to be co-leading the independent group we created to replace it.

So the big question: what caused the closure? It’s a complex story that can best be told by the NaNo Scandal website, which has documented the problems with the organisation from December 2022.

However, the simplest analogy is that of a Fortune 500 company, which will typically act to keep its stakeholders satisfied. In the case of NaNo, the stakeholders were the organisers on the ground who encouraged members to keep writing and to keep donating. After alienating these folks, the cash dried up.

Speaking of cash, search information from the US Internal Revenue Service (IRS) website makes for interesting reading. From what I can gather, the nonprofit National Novel Writing Month should be filing Form 900 annually, which then becomes a matter of public record. However, the last document at the time of writing dates from 2021.

A screenshot from the US Internal Revenue website illustrating the points mentioned in the plain text.

I’m absolutely no expert, so perhaps there’s a genuine reason why the last four years are missing from this list. But if you’re an accountant or you’re connected with the IRS, you can access the search function and enter the Employer Identification Number 65-1282653 to find out the details.

I really don’t want to leave this entry on a sour note. I was involved with the organisation in some capacity for 14 years, so more than half of its 26-year history. I had some wonderful experiences, and I still speak to so many former participants. So here are three memories that stand out:

  • I held a couple of midnight launch parties at my home, with the plan to start writing in the first hour of 1st November. I had only a two-seater couch at the time, so every chair and cushion was taken up with people, who were also dodging electrical extension cables. As the clock hit 12am, the entire room fell silent for an hour, aside from the tapping of keys.
  • I’d met someone in real life and was chatting to her via Facebook Messenger. I wanted to take a gamble and ask her out, so I enlisted the members of that week’s NaNo meeting for advice, all of whom were in long-term relationships themselves. They helped me to steer the conversation and figure out what to say next. She still turned me down.
  • A local organiser used to be known as a Municipal Liaison or an ML. As the pandemic was easing, the government was permitting people to meet up again, while NaNo was still warning MLs to hold only online meetings. To circumvent this, I told the group I would be in our usual venue at a certain time, and there were spare seats if anyone happened to be passing, but that this was not a meet-up. I even wore a sticker reading NOT ML, which became an in-joke for a long time afterwards.
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Money for Nothing, Join for Free

There are a couple of perennial topics on this blog. One of them is public speaking, and the other is banging the drum about joining the Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society.

The ALCS was founded in 1977 to ensure writers are given fair payments for any of their works that are copied, broadcast or recorded. The organisation is the literary equivalent of the better-known PRS for Music, which does a similar job for musicians.

This year, £35,038,136 was shared between 111,415 members. It’s important to note this is not an equal share, but calculated according to the activity of each author’s work. You can bet that bestsellers like Richard Osman and Julia Donaldson took a sizeable chunk of the pie.

My payment this year was around £133. It’s not enough to live on, of course, but it’ll pay my energy company for nearly two months. What’s more, that’s from just nine publications spanning as many years.

So how does an author grab a piece of the action?

The ALCS has recently suspended online applications for reasons unknown, but will accept a postal version. Visit the How to Join page to download and fill in the form.

You don’t need to send any money. Instead, the organisation will deduct a one-off fee of £36 once you’ve earned that figure in royalties. This grants you lifetime membership. Payments are collected for a variety of different visual works, so check the website for details of these.

To start earning, you’ll need to enter the ISBN of each work you’ve had published. This is the 13-digit string of numbers beside the barcode, or 10 digits if the book was published before 2007. Remember to include every publication where you receive credit, regardless of its age.

After all that, it’s just a matter of maintaining your list of works on the website and awaiting the annual payment.

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Going Off-Script

From 2002 to 2005, I studied for a BSc Music Technology degree at what is now called the University of the West of Scotland. The course taught us how commercial music is recorded, along with related skills such as composition, Web design, and making promotional videos.

Last week, I had cause to rake out a short film I’d made as part of the degree. It dates from around 2003 or 2004, but nobody had thought to write the date on the box.

Although DVD was fast becoming the dominant format, we had to submit the piece on VHS. I wish I’d at least kept a disc-based copy. I can’t say for sure whether the tape has been partially wiped or whether my video recorder is at fault, but the picture is almost unwatchable.

The sound, by contrast, is more or less intact. Hearing this for the first time in years unexpectedly reminded me of the scriptwriting process. I distinctly remember sitting in the student union discussing ideas before someone flippantly said, ‘Why don’t we make it about four students who fall out making a film?’ That flippant suggestion became the backbone of our script.

At this point, I wasn’t routinely writing any fiction, but I recall enjoying the process. This should have been a foreshadowing of where my interest would ultimately lie in the future.

Some of the lines were a little clunky, aside from gems like He’s about as much use as a mic stand, yet the structure was spot-on. Each character blamed one or more of the others for the failure of the film, whether it was the director having a go at the others for not understanding his vision, the technician who kept forgetting to charge up the camera batteries, or an unseen ex-girlfriend who split up with one character to date another.

It really does leave the viewer guessing, and I’d be pleased if I managed to pull off that complexity in a current piece. What’s more, the action takes place in a span of well under five minutes. I vaguely recall our brevity cost us some marks, but it was a self-contained story.

I haven’t yet returned the tape to the cupboard, so my plan is to find someone with another video recorder to test whether my equipment or the tape is at fault. At a minimum, it would be prudent to make a safety copy of at least the audio portion and figure out whether the drama could be adapted into a longer piece.

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Friday Poetry in St Andrews

It’s the time of year for StAnza, the annual poetry festival in St Andrews. I’ve made a point of going for some years now, as it’s only half an hour away by bus.

I would normally go on a Saturday and/or a Sunday, but I could only attend the launch party on Friday instead, and this also meant missing a visit to a pal who lives nearby. Before the pandemic, I would set aside the weekend, typically staying in the town. I’ve fallen out of that habit, but next year would be a good time to resurrect it.

During the same period, the festival length has been reduced from six days to three. I’ve heard grumbles from poetry pals about this cut-down programme, this would work in my favour. By omitting weekdays other than Friday night, there’s less chance of events clashing with work, and I’d be able to attend late-night readings with a finishing time dangerously close to the last bus home.

The next email I’m expecting from StAnza is a feedback form. They’ve nothing to worry about on that front, as I enjoyed the launch. Half of it was improv, calling poets at random to read poetry themed around colours, with the other half a structured reading from Ruth Padel.

The more important aspect is that such festivals often rely on sponsors for their continued operation. The more customer reaction the organisers receive, the easier it is to convince funders to back it the following year, so always fill these in.

The other two places I would like to visit for the first time, ideally this year, are the Wigtown Book Festival and the Orkney Storytelling Festival. These start in September and October respectively, but it’s a good idea to start planning now.

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When to Veer Off-Course

I’m a founding member of a monthly writing group called the Wyverns. Over the decade or so of existence, the format has remained relatively constant. A prompt or theme is agreed upon at each session and the members strive to write a poem on that theme for the following session, in return for constructive feedback.

These prompts are generally abstract or open to interpretation because our members write in a variety of styles. Recent themes include peace, cartoon characters and view or scene. I couldn’t make it to the last meeting, so I’m not aware of the conversation that happened, only that the resulting prompt was the more specific Devices that control our lives.

Importantly, the prompts are not mandatory but are treated as a springboard that members can use for their work. As such, this is one of the few instances where I’m considering not following it and instead submitting work on another topic.

On the one hand, I’m up for a challenge. Some of the most difficult prompts have resulted in superior work that I might not have achieved with a simpler one. On the other hand, I’m growing weary of hearing such endless discussions and debates, let alone contributing to them.

It’s not always wise to evade the brief. Try submitting a piece to a competition that isn’t within the rules and I guarantee the editor will have binned it by the time the ink dries on the rejection letter. But there are instances where it’s acceptable to change the nature of what you’re writing.

In 2019, I was looking to write a short joke about how YouTube originally started as a mail-order video-rental catalogue. The more I considered the idea, the more detail I kept adding. It turned into a 1,700-word short story. In the process, it morphed from a one-liner into a satirical alternate history, yet I was pleased with the outcome.

I’m still considering what to do with the Wyverns prompt, but I do intend to submit something before our meeting next month.

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Stories That Spawned a Saying

There are any number of everyday sayings that started out as phrases in literary works.

The example that comes most easily to mind is Hamlet. The script virtually acts as a Rosetta Stone of phrases that were probably fresh when first penned by William Shakespeare, but have since devolved into clichés. We won’t have time to explore all these in this entry; besides, Wikipedia has us covered.

Before introducing the two phrases I’d like to explore, a couple of honourable mentions:

Monkey’s Paw

Last week at writing group, one of the members used the phrase monkey’s paw. Having never heard it before, I assumed this was the invention of the Internet era, perhaps in reference to some meme or another. As such, I was surprised to find it dates back to 1902, specifically a short story by W W Jacobs. With those initials, it’s a real shame he didn’t live to see the World Wide Web.

The story centres around a mummified monkey’s paw which has been cursed. The owner will be granted any wish by the paw, but always with unforeseen consequences. This has come to apply to any similar situation in real life where the positive effect is outweighed by the negative.

The Monkey’s Paw is now in the public domain and can be read on the Project Gutenberg website. On the whole, I feel it’s well-written, but I would like to have seen more time taken to ramp up the tension before the third wish was used.

Jekyll & Hyde

On Thursday of last week, I went with a couple of pals to a stage production of Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde; a search reveals the title is apparently not prefixed with The.

The concept of a Jekyll and Hyde character is so widely known that even those unfamiliar with the Robert Louis Stevenson novel often understand his duality. I too wasn’t particularly familiar with the story, but I enjoyed its execution and I’d be interested in reading it in full.

This particular adaptation took the source material and turned it into a one-woman stage production. Additionally, I’m already acquainted with the writer (J D Henshaw) and the performer (Heather-Rose Andrews), and we had a brief discussion after the show about the staging of it.

There was, unfortunately, just one scheduled performance or I would urge you to go and see one.

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Blogging on The Move

On Wednesday and Thursday of last week, I had a plan to visit the eight Millennium bridges in mainland Great Britain: seven listed on Wikipedia and an unlisted one in Ayr that I learnt about from pals. Along the way, I would keep a blog of my progress on Tumblr.

As I had such a strong idea about where I would be at certain times and what I’d be doing, I was actually able to draft a substantial chunk of text in advance and simply copy it over to my travelogue.

Real life, of course, frequently has other plans. For instance, my first stop was to be the Millennium Bridge in London. However, my train from Edinburgh Waverley was cancelled at Newcastle. By coincidence, I’d planned to stop there on the way back for the Gateshead bridge, so I hastily wrote up a revised entry explaining the situation.

The planning did pay off, though. When reached the Big Smoke, I’d also planned to make a quick side-visit to the former London Weekend Television Tower and I’d already written and edited a block of text about why I was going there.

It was helpful that most of the trains had at least a USB socket, if not a 230-volt socket, so I rarely worried about running out of power. It was also helpful to have an All Lines Rover, which lets you travel on almost any National Rail line for a week, as it was necessary to be very flexible about my plans.

That was especially true when I cut the tour short after the seventh bridge at Ayr. The Glasgow one was within sniffing distance, but Storm Éowyn was closing in. There were already some cancellations that day, and no trains the following day, so I couldn’t risk being stranded.

By complete coincidence, I missed the bulk of its effects. The same day, I’d already arranged to be in York, where I’d booked a hotel before the full tour was planned, with it being somewhat central. I was then heading further south to visit a pal in Rhos on Sea. I did catch the fringe of Storm Herminia as I visited Penzance and Land’s End, but that was rather tame in comparison.

Some of these journeys took hours at a time, allowing me to make a lot of progress on a fantasy fiction series I’m writing. I write different projects in different ways, and this one uses a Google Drive document in a browser so the formatting of the text matches the paragraph spacing of the website, meaning I can copy over the text wholesale.

Even today, phone signal is still patchy on many parts of the nation’s railways. I’d assumed Google would simply cache my text locally during dropouts and post it when I next reconnected. What happens instead is that the browser won’t accept any more input until the signal is present. To work around this, I made a local copy, which I hope has maintained the correct formatting.

My next piece of writing will be less fun: an email to Great Western Railway, who sold me the train ticket. While the staff accepted it, all but two automatic ticket barriers failed to recognise it, and those two were only at exits rather than entrances.

That was the second time I’ve been on a tour of the Millennium bridges, the first being in 2023. Although I’ve no plans to do that route again. I’ve learnt a lot about how to prepare for such a tour and how to write about it. Once I think of a new challenge, I’ll build on that even further and tell you about it nearer the time.

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Fun with Fandoms

The website Archive of Our Own – or AO3 to its users – has existed since 2008, growing in popularity over the next few years. Writers can use it to post fan fiction, taking characters that already exist from books, films or even real life, then placing them into new stories or retelling existing stories from another angle.

Despite knowing about the site since almost day one, I didn’t open an account because I only used it to read the stories of one pal who would use characters from Star Wars.

More recently, it’s been brought to my attention that another pal writes and collaborates on steamy romances between two male Formula One drivers, so I finally opened an account in September to read them. Then, quite independently, I learnt someone else had published a multi-part tale placing the members of a 21st-century alternative rock band into a 1930s adventure story.

I’m being deliberately imprecise in these descriptions because all three writers use pseudonyms and don’t necessarily want their identities associated with their pseudonyms.

It’s common for fan fiction authors to stay anonymous, as some published authors actively dislike their characters being used in other work, even when the resulting work isn’t earning any money. Anne Rice and George R R Martin are two prominent examples. In other cases, there is potential for libel where living people are featured.

While mere threats of legal action are a dime a dozen, I can think of just one case involving fan fiction that actually went to court. In 2009, Darryn Walker was arrested on charges of obscenity after writing a story imagining the kidnap and murder of the pop group Girls Aloud. Ultimately, the author was cleared of all charges. If you’re interested, the offending text has been archived.

Although I’ve published many short stories online, they all featured original characters rather than existing ones. I think if I were going to write any fan fiction, I’d probably pick Rosaline from Romeo & Juliet. For starters, there’s no risk of legal action from William Shakespeare. For seconds, she’s a seriously underdeveloped character considering how pivotal she is to the early plot; if she hadn’t rejected Romeo, the events of the entire play might never have happened.

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Start a Story Late, Finish it Early

Every so often, a pal and I run a readathon where we invite members to set aside some time one weekend to catch up on reading. It last took place a couple of weekends ago, and I intended to make some progress with War & Peace.

However much I wanted to read, though, I kept putting it aside because I wanted to write. I can’t think of the last time I had such an urge to pick up a pen. I was continuing a fantasy series under a pseudonym on a well-known website. It’s a passion project and I can’t foresee a time where I wish to claim ownership, so references to the plot will be vague.

The classic wisdom for writing a story, and especially a play, is to start late and leave early. The aim is to hook the reader by going straight into the drama rather than explaning the backstory, which can be done once said drama is established.

Stories will sometimes will arrive fully-formed, and these are a joy to write. In the most recent parts, I’ve had a strong idea of where the charcters should be, yet I’ve struggled with how to place them there while maintaning the pace of the story.

Despite its genre, this series still has one foot in the recognisable world. In the most recent part, I needed four characters to end up in a riverside cottage and I tried to build up a sense of drama before they even arrived.

The first draft saw their trains delayed because of industral action and bad weather, so there was a sense of relief upon arrival. Another draft saw them arrive early, only to be told by the grumpy cottage owner they couldn’t enter for another two hours.

Because fiction is so subjective and personal, it’s difficult to teach someone how to spot where the action should begin. When you’ve been doing it for a while, though, you develop a sense of where it fits best.

As I continued, I realised the real drama would happen at the cottage, so I didn’t need to create any more on the journey and I began the story at the time of their arrival. By contrast, if I’d needed to convey any backstory to the reader, having the characters stuck on a train chatting about previous events might have been the ideal way to do it.