Tag Archives: writing in long hand

Want to know what I write in my Morning Pages? Here you go… #amwriting

dear-diary-entry-b6687

Welcome to my weekly ‘Diary of a hopeful author.’ Here’s a sneak peak into what I write in my Morning Pages…

I’m off for a while. A break. A small one, but it gets to a point sometimes – and I don’t know whether you find this – that you need a wee bit of time away from technology and the day job and just, well, chill.

So for the next few weeks, that’s me – trying to clear my mind. But, as a writer, I’ll have with me my pen and notebook, scribbling my morning pages in the shadow of big, snowy mountains. Morning pages to me are a bit of a saviour. I know I’ve written about them before – and you may have tried them yourself – but it really helps to write in the morning anything that enters into you head. It’s therapeutic I find, a way of keeping the drama on the page – a way of listening to what you have to say. And that’s what writing is about, essentially – listening.

So, I thought I’d let you have a sneak peek into what walks out of my head on to the page some mornings. Unsurprisingly, I end up writing a lot about the day time, the rise of it, the sun and all that entails. Here, below,  for you, is an unedited copy of what I wrote a few days ago when I woke up at 6am, downing strong coffee. It’s basically painting a picture with words of what I could literally see from the window that day, the weather, the feelings it created, ears and eyes open, listening to the words that wanted to speak.

Here’s to us and our glorious morning pages. Have a great few weeks. I’ll catch up with you soon  🙂

My Morning Pages, March 26th, 2016

“A halo of blue light rests on the horizon beyond, a thin silk band of shimmering brightness, fragile under the burgeoning weight of the heavy, grey clouds above.

Morning has begun. But the sun is quiet. Hidden behind an artist’s wash of black and navy and marbled pewter, the sun struggles to punch out, settling, instead, to whisper through the sky, to skim paint brushes of buttercup yellow in small, secret lines across the horizon.

The trees that stand tall at the bottom of the garden are still. A gentle wind breathing in and out, they appear relatively untouched by the looming rain that threatens to charge from above, the birches and the ancient oaks saluting the morning as solid and stoic as perhaps an old grandfather would, medals on his chest in the face of an unwelcome intruder.

The rain comes now, tapping at the window panes. Only a few seconds pass until, clouds parting in biblical waves, it lashes down in great big streaks across the glass and the concrete and the petals of leaves that scatter along unpruned borders, squirrels huddling in bowing groups under the wide umbrellas of the trees.

The sky, right now, has morphed to a dirty dish cloth wash,  a soup of wet and damp and upturned, pungent soil. And yet, even through all this, the birds sing. They announce their presence through short, intermittent voices, small radio transmissions of song and sound, their dedication to the day. Light, carefree, their dance to the sun that lies kidnapped behind mottled, clotted clouds.

And as they sing, one slip of blue sky sneaks past. One glorious, warm ray.  It blinkers bright,  a single slither of pure determination, of defiance and rebellion as if shouting, ‘Come what may, the day will win!’ For, of course, it always does.”

Thanks for reading 🙂 Share your own thoughts from your own Morning Pages below…

How to find your writing voice… #amwriting

dear-diary-entry-b6687

Welcome to my weekly ‘Diary of a hopeful author.’ This week it’s all about finding your own writing ‘voice’.

I come from a background of regulation, working wise, that is. Embroiled in a world of statistics and focus groups and set patterned deadlines, my mind asserts that things should be done certain way at times, to a particular timescale. And while this approach, this attitude, if you will, was very handy in the domain of marketing, turns out it’s not quite so hot on a permanent basis for creative writing.

And so to my week and my utterly paralysed writing. I am, see, in the middle of an edit. Book two of my trilogy and way before this stage I assumed I had it all figured out – plot, characters development. The lot. And yes, while these things are definitely moulded, what a great (my) editor does, I am discovering, is take what you’ve got and help fine tune it in ways you never thought possible.

With my head in a muddle, it was only when I went away for the weekend, away from not only my laptop, but from my routine, from statistical head, really, that I realised I had been applying my old marketing work ethos to my writing. I was, in effect, attempting to ‘statistically analyse’ the merits of my edit changes. It came down to this: I had lost my voice. I was forcing words and ideas into my mouth without them actually being mine. It was not genuine. It was not,  I realised as I journeyed up the M4 home, me.

So, Monday morning and I asked myself this: was I writing from my gut? The answer, when I made myself admit it, was no. It was a light-being-switched-on moment. It was not me, that voice I was trying to shoehorn into the edit, but something else, my statistical head, maybe, who knew. But no amount of economics degrees or results analysis were going to help me, because I had been censoring myself, restricting, without realising, my own voice. It was not coming from inside.

We all find this, us writers. Do you find this? We think we should, see, write perfectly straight off the bat, forcing our words into a mould because we think that’s what should be written, that’s what people expect. And the result? The work we produce when we write like this is not true, not us, instead it is someone else’s and, the irony is, that when that happens, the result ain’t good.

So what to do? Well, you can, as I did this week, get into your true writing mojo mode by asking yourself a series of simple, honest questions. Honesty is the key here…

To find your voice, ask and answer these questions:

  • What I would really like to say is…
  • What am I frightened of is…
  • It would be great fun to say…
  • If no one was reading my work, I would really write about…

We all get a confidence knock from time to time – hell knows I do – but these questions to ourselves help. You may have one answer to them, you may have several, but the single thing you’ll most certainly end up with is the true key to who you are and what you write. In short,  you’ll end up with your voice 🙂

Thanks for reading 🙂 Join in the writing conversation  below…

How writing morning pages can increase your creativity – and keep you calm…

dear-diary-entry-b6687

Welcome to my weekly ‘Diary of a hopeful author.’ This week it’s all about writing your morning pages…

I’m all for a morning page. Let me explain. See, every morning, well, for the past year really, I’ve been, upon waking and fixing a strong cuppa, writing with pen on paper whatever comes into my head. It could be about anything. The weather, the birds singing in the wall of ancient trees outside, how I forgot to put the bins out last night and will I have time this morning to do it – anything. Who knows what’s in this head of mine.

And that’s the thing – I don’t always know what I’m thinking and so writing my morning pages unlocks it all. It’s like therapy. I’ll often find that I may rise feeling a little angsty, say, but can’t place my finger on why, and then my pen will glide over the page and whatever is on my mind will go figure itself right out on the the piece of paper before me. It’s amazing. It’s like, without me even realising it, my head – purely through the simple act of writing – is getting to the nub of a) what’s truly bothering me and b) the solution required, and all this without me having to even try, to even put any real conscious effort in.

In the past, morning pages not only have worked through answers to whatever I need, they’ve also helped me tap into a creative writing source I never knew was there. Take the birds. My study desk in our new home faces onto a huge old window through which lays our beautiful, sprawling garden crammed with tall, ancient trees, busy, extended families of birds, and what appears to be a very active, cunning (but cute) pack of quick witted squirrels. And so, several times when I sit, cup of tea by my side, pen in hand, I find myself daydreaming about what I see, then writing about it. The birds, their chatter, the way they flit and scamper and tease the morning into awakening – you name it, it all just flows out.

The trick is not to over think it. Just write. Get your pen and paper first thing before the day has begun and see what trickles out. You’ll be surprised. The important point is, though, the time of day – it must be done in the morning, these writing off-the-cuff pages. See, by evening time the day is done and, instead of looking forward, solving, creating, night sees us becoming more reflective, looking back on the time passed rather than pointing our brains ahead at what’s to come. That, see, is where we find the answers.

Whether you’re a writer or not, I urge you to try morning pages. Pick up a pen and pad (and strong coffee…) and start scribbling down whatever’s in your head. As a writer it, if nothing else, means that, at least once a day you’re stretching your writing muscles, even if it’s only for ten minutes.

But, above and beyond that, I’ve found that, whatever your day job, morning pages are a way to keep life calm, to not only discover with delight a creative capacity you never knew you had, but to find the answers, deep inside the recesses of your brain that, in truth, you always had. It just took a pen to unlock them.

Thanks for reading 🙂 Join in the writing conversation  below…

How writing long hand can unlock your creativity…

dear-diary-entry-b6687

Welcome to my weekly ‘Diary of a hopeful author.’ This week it’s all about how I discovered a love of long hand writing…

I’ve taken to writing long hand recently. In fact, aside from typing this up afterwards, this piece too is in long hand.

There’s something free about putting a pen to the page. As a (new) author, I seem to have spent the last two years typing away furiously on my Macbook, working on novels one and two and generally getting insane cramp in my fingers, with shoulders so hunched over the desk they feel like boulders. And not in a strong way.

Back in August, I finished a draft of the second instalment of the Project trilogy series for my editor, and I was bushed. Snow blinded from the white, bright cellular screen, I staggered away from the laptop, drunk with hard work, hair resembling a bird’s nest, cups littered around me smelling of stale milk.

It was intense. No one ever tells you before you get published quite how all-consuming trying to hit a deadline can be. You feel, at least I did, understandably responsible – you’re suddenly not just writing alone anymore. You have a team relying on you – lovely agents editors, sales teams, foreign publishers. ‘These people have paid for this,’ I would sometimes find myself muttering in the late hours of the night and early rise of the morning. I felt a big weight was there for me to lift. But more worryingly, I felt myself begin to slip out of love with writing.

So, deadline done and knowing drastic action had to be taken or I was done for, I stepped back from the Macbook and, without any conscious thought found my hand drifting to a pen. That was it. Immediately, I grabbed my coat, notebook, purse  and pen, and drove to a cafe tucked away in the Cotswolds and began to write longhand.

It was a revelation. Writing on the page, hand gliding across the smooth plains of the paper – the words, they just tumbled out. I was amazed.  I instantly felt the ice that had formed over my love of writing begin to slowly thaw.

See, what I have realised is that, while technology has its place, while it is so very essential in how we as writers research and scribe and interact, it also has its downfalls. The keyboard can lock you into a state of mind that can, if you’re not careful, sap any shred of creativity that you may have. It can, that computer, become your writing prison.

So now, for me, since my long hand revelation, writing as my way of life has improved no end. Yes, I still use the laptop, but sitting, always, to my side are pen and paper (I prefer clear pages, no lines so as not to ‘box in’ any thoughts). If I am typing and stall on a scene, I clutch my pen and sketch out some words until, eventually, an idea flows and whatever problem there was sorts itself out.

If you’re in a writing funk, if you’re falling out of love with writing – or even if this is your best writing phase ever – I urge you to do your creativity a favour and grab your pen and your paper and go do the one thing your brain and hands together were made to do: write long hand. And then, trust me, you’ll find yourself falling back in love with writing all over again. Aah.

Thanks for reading 🙂 Join in the writing conversation  below…